Bridget put down the pitiful remains of her burger and leaned forward. She looked me straight in the eyes, my cue to shut up and pay attention. “Howard, my relationships are my business. No one else gets a vote. I loved Stéphane, and I’ve mourned him fully and properly. Now, I enjoy your company. And will continue to do so, despite a bitch of a daughter and some zit-faced mouthy mall-rat. Do you have something you’d like to add?” “No, dear.” I grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes.
