I looked at the man in front of me, standing under the lights like some upstanding gentleman.
Too bad I knew exactly how disgusting he was underneath.
"Then thanks, I'll take it."
I didn't bother with politeness. I took the check.
The humiliation had already been paid for. Might as well make sure the money was, too.
I turned and walked into the restroom.
I took out my phone and sent a message to Noel Henson.
"Attorney Henson, I need you to draft an agreement for me."
The day before Victoria's new drama premiered—nine a.m. sharp—"Deidre Morton Escort Scandal" shot to number one on the trending list.
The attached photos were from a private club gathering I'd attended three months ago.
In them I wore a red dress, held a glass of wine, and was smiling while talking to a middle-aged man.
The angle was deliberately misleading, making it look intimate.
Comments poured in.
"Wow, spicy. She just got engaged and now escort photos surface? What kind of woman is she?"
"Run, Young Mr. Gilbert. Marry a woman like that and you're bringing home a ticking time bomb."
I closed the page and opened my own social media.
The comment section was already a wasteland.