SCARLETTI looked up Harlan’s doctor last night, Dr. Beatrice Wensworth, lead cardiologist at Lonsdale International hospital, and it’s safe to say I will not be paying her a visit.Her services are as expensive as her bougie last name. She has a two-thousand-five-hundred-dollar consultation fee, and apparently, only the top two percent of the world’s population can afford to get medical care at Lonsdale. So no, thank you.I am already more indebted to Harlan Rousseau than I would like. I’m not taking any more favours from that man. Which is exactly what I’ve been trying to explain to Yahir, Harlan’s driver, for the past thirty minutes.“Ms. Whitmore, the boss explicitly instructed me to drop you off at the hospital. We’re already running late.” He glances at the watch on his wrist and I follow his gaze. Rolex. Wow. I didn’t know being a driver paid that much.“And I’ve told you three times already, Mr. Yahir, I’m not going.”I brush past him, my blue, flowery dress swishing around m
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