Small gold Tiffany hoops framed her guilty face. She wasn't worthy of her sensational patterned micro skirt, black sweater, and stylish tall boots.“...ou need whipping, Clare.”She stared at her feet, reluctant to meet his gaze.“Look at me,” he demanded.She obeyed.He fixed her with his gaze. Their personal and professional relationship had collided. Although inevitable, he'd hoped it wouldn't be this epic. “I don't tell you everything. I'm not required to justify my decisions to you. For the sake. ”“I try.”“Do you smoke. I have some kush at home.”“Yeah! Dats wassup.”They arrived at Nigel’s ranch-style three-bedroom house. He pulled into the garage.“You stay alone,” asked Damian.“Yes, sir,” replied the homeowner as he lugged his bags inside. “Let me get you the menu for Wing Spot.”They selected a 30-piece box with half lemon-pepper and half fiery. Nigel pulled out a blunt from the air-tight container in the freezer. Damian lit up. Nigel disappeared. “I’m back,” announced the host.“Damn,”. More

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