Money, sex and murder

Farrell:

I stayed up all night drafting a written consent agreement between Molly and me. She needed to stop crying like a baby. I have seen girls at the club and strip house take in more than I did yesterday, but she made a big deal out of nothing.

When I was finished, I printed it and took it to her room.

“Molly,” I said softly, tapping on the door. Then I opened it to find her curled up on the bed.

I was concerned about her well-being, but this was more important. Things had to be done in the correct order for me.

“Molly,” I called out again, and she turned around slowly. Then I threw the contract on her bed.

“I would like you to go over this carefully. If you agree to the terms and conditions, we will proceed with this relationship,” I told her.

I watched as she drew her brows to the center and sat up to examine it.

“Money, sex, and murder,” she read aloud, then squeezed her face as if she had swallowed something sour.

The contract was short and to the point. It contained only thre