“My dad owns every law firm in this province,” the lawyer’s daughter laughed after ramming her brand-new Tesla into my old Subaru

laughter, more than the wine soaking into my jacket—that cracked something cleanly in the center of me. It wasn’t the smirk of a woman stunned by a social disaster. It was the smirk of a woman who agreed with the room. “Get up, Jax,” she whispered, and her whisper was sharper than Bradley’s joke. “You’re making a scene. Just go to the car and wait continue reading …