Harley
"Okay, let me get this straight—it wasn't Mr. Crush but his friend who used your card and cleaned you out?" Mandy asks, stirring her milkshake lazily, eyes locked on mine like she's trying to solve a puzzle.
I nod, staring into my coffee, willing it to offer me some sort of comfort.
"And to fix the problem, he decided to summon a whole jet?"
Another nod. But Lord, I hate the smirk Rebecca is wearing right now. It makes me feel stripped bare, my every reaction on display like a department store mannequin.
"Not just any jet, a private jet?" Mandy reiterates, reaching for her cinnamon swirl pastry and taking a dramatic bite, as if carbs will help her process my predicament.
Yes, I was catching up with the girlies at Ole & Steen, a sleek little bakery-café tucked between the towering steel-and-glass buildings near their office.
The place was all polished wood, marble counters, and the kind of dim lighting that made you feel both cozy and inexplicably attractive.
