Raphael’s gaze trails down the opening of my wet jacket, before snapping back up to my sweet smile. “Yes?” “Cough up, sugar daddy.” Biting back amusement, he tugs out his wallet. His arm brushes mine as he tosses bills onto the counter. “Plus VAT.” “Oh, no sir. It already includes VAT—” “Plus VAT,” I repeat, not taking my eyes off Raphael. With a slow shake of his head, he slams another twenty on the counter. “Plus tip.”
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