In the end, I tell her I’ve called her an Uber Black, which I promise will drop her off a few blocks from the Mercury Theater so no one asks any awkward questions. In reality, the Range Rover that drives her into the city is driven by one of my men, pretending to be an Uber. It’s also worth mentioning that the upgraded new phone I gave her to use instead of the shitty, cracked one she had before has a tracking chip in it. Sorry-not-sorry. I won’t apologize for my protective feelings for this woman.
