CHOICES

The next day, Drake was feeling pretty damn pleased with himself, all things considered. The date had been a disaster, but afterward . . . yeah. Afterward was good. And this morning? He was feeling even fucking better. Things were looking up. He sat on the balcony of his suite, enjoying a tequila sunrise and the cool breeze that rolled off the ocean. There was breakfast on his plate, but he wasn’t hungry. Instead, like a spider, he sat in his web and managed his prey.

First on the list, a to-do left over from last night. He texted his assistant, Ashroff , since he was on Drake’s shit list at the moment. His conversation with Sarah last night had spurred more than a few thoughts, and this one was about shoes. He’d sent an assistant on the task. Have you found a maid to bribe?

@ wmn @ rm 311? Stephanie sent back. U can cnt on me 2 get it, no woryrs.

Jesus fucking Christ, was that even English? He did not want this shit fucked up by some pimple-faced shit head who took a job as his as