May 5
Kate Nicholson could have passed as royalty, with her high cheekbones, tight bun at the back of her head, diamond studs in her earlobes, and the perfect shade of pink lipstick. Some would have thought her a nuisance because she came across as arrogant and stuffy. Others would have believed her to be wealthy, majestic in a sense, and notwithstanding of anything unimportant.
We agreed to meet at Rotunda, a gym where she enjoyed cycling. The lobby of the business showcased a string of chairs with stainless-steel arms. Since I didn’t have a membership to the gym, Kate thought it best that I ask my questions in the lobby, saving myself a confrontation with the establishment’s manager.
“We have to make this quick. I have a class in ten minutes,” she demanded of me.
“Of course, I will k
