SERENA

'His beautifully sculpted body you mean.' my subconscious doing what she knows how to do best... Always adding fuel to the fire.

"Are...you sure it's him?" Maybe Desmond mistook the right person for Havoc.

"A hundred percent, Serena," he responded, moving away from the table. "The president volunteered himself."

"Ohh," a ball of sweat tricked down the area in between my boobs. It was fucking clear now. Chanel didn't pick him. The asshole fucking picked himself...for what exactly? To punish me or what?

"Bye, Serena. See..."

"Hold on, Desmond, please. Do you know how long it will take for him to come here?"

He shook his head, "Don't know."'...