I tapped my foot impatiently, checking my Rolex for the 5th time since I've sat down 11 minutes ago. What was the f*****g point of paying $300 a month for private membership to this Spa if I have to actually wait?
I had an annoying kink in my neck after a tense lunch at the Yale Club having to listen to Luis and f*****g Paul Allen talk about themselves non-stop for almost an hour. Not even the 4 glasses of Scotch could unnerve me from the agony of looking at their faces without being able to tear them off.
And just thinking about dinner with Evelyn later at the Arcadia gave me an anxiety attack. If I had to listen to that woman whine about the scuff on her Jimmy Choos one more time I don't know what I'd do.
I checked my appearance in the mirror. Flawless, as I expected. I licked my thum
