have eleven hundred people watching. You’re, like, a sidebar.”“Shall I call Kelly again?” Harold asked quietly.
I looked at the wine I no longer wanted to touch.
“No, Harold. I think I’ve had enough.”
I reached under the seat for my bag.
Brittany kept streaming.
I took a hundred-dollar bill from my wallet and let it flutter down beside Brittany’s feet.
“Sweetheart? I think you dropped something.”
“What?”
She looked down, folded forward, snatched up the bill and stuffed it in her purse.
“Guess you’re not completely blind after