My phone bust.

A text from Eric Red, come on, please, my treat.

Royal House is like the best restaurant in the city.

Four stars or five stars.

I mean, how many stars can a restaurant get?

It has the max number of stars.

I smiled sadly.

Then I sighed and typed, I'd love to, but you know I can't.

Ma'am, a moment later, Eric shot me in a noy to mojee.

Followed by, we can ask for plastic cutlery when we're there.

No, that's fucking embarrassing.

They'll have like a thousand reflective surfaces there, Eric.

Plates, wine glasses, food trays.

Thank you for understanding.

We can go anywhere else, though.

Ma'am, I looked up.

The handyman was standing in the hallway, waving me down.

I followed him to my bathroom, but stopped at the threshold of the door when I saw the

light was on inside.

You want to join me in here?

No, thank you.

He furrowed his brow, but didn't press me.

...