Exclusive Contract
“Rose was saying on Tuesday morning as I prepared my breakfast. “If Carter Hudson is a rock star, couldn't he get a girlfriend on his own? One that would look after him without having to be paid?”
The ancient can opener in my hand slipped yet again from the elderly can of Spaghetti-Os I'd found at the back of the pantry. I swore. I would conquer this can. I would destroy it. Or else I'd give up or something.
Taking a deep breath, I put it down on the counter and tried to compose myself. I was feeling shitty for many reasons, and explaining to Rose what seemed perfectly reasonable last night in a darkened limo with an insanely hot man with whom I'd had the most indecent relations mere hours before was giving me a fresh headache. I chewed on a fingernail for a second, organizing my thoughts. “From what I can tell,” I finally said, “you can't trust people who are already in the industry to do that kind of job because they're all drunkards or hooked on blow.
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