‘You’re freelance, correct?’ I nodded. ‘Are you good?’ I nodded again. ‘How much do you earn?’ ‘I thought I was the interviewer.’ �...How much?’ ‘About forty a year.’ She laughed. ‘Well, either you’re not that good or you don’t have ambition. But I had you checked out too. You used to live with a lawyer, Susan Stein. She died. She left you money, enough to buy your flat. People say you’re good, that you deliver and that you’ve done more than a few features like this. You did a spell in Iraq.’ I. She looked up at him and grinned. However, the grin turned into a momentary pout when daddy shook his head no."Sweetheart" he explained, "we have other plans right now." He smiled at her display of frustration. He traded places with her to rinse off. She kept running her hands down his body, ostensibly to help him rinse off the soap. He knew better, but chose to ignore it. He turned off the water and they dried each other off. She kept trying to distract him, but he was not succumbing. Not this. More

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