The Billionaire’s Regret
In an instant, Chad is out of the car, hurrying to hold the door open for me, his expression apologetic.
I hesitate, staring at the car, feeling trapped. If I get in, I’ll have to endure her persistent questions and the endless talk of fundraisers and gossip.
But if I refuse, she’ll spread the story all over the city by morning. And I can only imagine the rumors that would swirl the lonely billionaire’s wife, suitcase in hand, tears on her face, waiting at a bus stop in the dead of night.
I sigh, resigning myself to my fate. It’s better to have my ears talked off than to become the next hot topic on the Upper East Side.
Bab Populer