Well, well, well. If it wasn’t the consequences of my fucking actions. I was breaking out in fucking hives. And why wouldn’t I be? I was allergic to Cal Litvin—and about to spend a whole lot of time with her. All because of Rhy, that thundercunt, who’d decided to make a point. If money was what she needed, I could’ve written her checks to keep her away. Yet here I was, about to pick Cal up for her first shift at the restaurant because Little Miss Broke Ass didn’t have a bike to her name, let alone a car.
