“She actually agreed to help me by pretending to be my fiancée for a little while.” “Row’s gonna love that,” Tate muttered sarcastically into the fresh glass of whiskey that had been placed directly where the empty one was seconds ago. There was a little note with the waitress’s number underneath the tumbler, crumpled and damp. “What does she get out of the arrangement?” My dick, if she has her way. “I’m paying her week to week while she job-hunts.” “In what currency are you paying her, exactly? Potatoes?”
