MICHAEL

I walk into the restaurant where Vanessa is already seated with heavy make up and over dressing with paperwork.

She stands and laughs nervously as she sees me but I simply sit across from her hoping to avoid the smell of her acrid and headache inducing perform

“Michael,” she breathes. “You didn’t call.”

"Sit".

She does.

I pull the folder from under my arm and place it on the table between us like a weapon.

“Sign,” I say.

Her eyes drop to the papers. She already knows what they are. Her hands start shakingand her eyes darts across the door nervously.

“You said we’d talk,” she whispers. “You said—”...