Suri Nightingale
I’m screwed. I am so immensely and utterly screwed.
“In my humble opinion, her outfit did go pretty well with that cookie dough scoop. I think it deserves a spot on the runway.” Dev, trying to extinguish the flames of my already ruined reputation, said.
“Oh, thank you, Marc Jacobs. I’ll keep that in mind for when she’s not serving my head on a diamond-lined platter.” I deadpanned and he snorted out a laugh.
We were in his car driving back to the lair and though I escaped little miss blondie’s wrath thanks to Dev’s help, I was pretty sure that I had not seen the last of her.
Scratch that, I was very sure that I was going to see her again and by then, I hope she’s forgotten all about the little mishap.
But that was just the optimistic–and naive–side of me desperate
