SEVEN
The jet was as sumptuous as Roxie would expect from Rouge. It wasn’t either of Zairn’s, but that wasn’t a surprise. He owned a company that specialized in private planes. Sending a jet meant nothing. As the premium prizewinner, the excess made sense.
Toria and Jane hammered the champagne. Their spirits were high. So much so that Roxie could disguise her own wariness. Her friends were right that she loved nightclubs. Crimson always showed her a good time. Nothing to worry about. Everything would be just fine.
Job offers from entertainment companies, media conglomerates, and random scam artists still hit her email. When that didn’t work, they called. Unrecognized numbers got diverted to voicemail. She emptied her mailbox without listening to the messages. The email folders she’d cre
