His Ex Mistress, His Enemy
Ash leaned in, whispering not-so-quietly, “Papi, do they really have burgers here? It looks like a salad place.”
“If I own this place,” I said, lifting the glass of water just poured, “anything you want can be here.”
He stared at me for a beat, then smiled. Simple. Direct. It landed harder than a gun to the head.
I let his hand go, but he grabbed it back instantly. His fingers locked around mine. No escape. I left them there.
The waiter returned with brioche buns, wagyu patties, cheese oozing like gold. Ash cheered, grabbing the burger with both hands and biting deep. Melted cheese dripped onto his wrist. He panicked, looked at me.
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