fake smiles. My husband, Jack Thorne, owned this world,

lutched a juice box, her

it ha

orange on pr

k's executive assistant,

You clumsy

rumpled. "I d

ny hissed, her voice sharp. "Thi

, looked at me, then at T

ice trembling but firm

zed, his face

this?" h

bing at the stain, her eyes flicking to

was ice. "Apologize

her head, t

N

thing. "Fine. You want to

bed Lil

Jack, she's just a chil

y out of this, Sarah. Th

guests left, Jack dragged

ou taking he

voice casual. "A little desert experience. You're a geologist,

to leave her

or its extreme heat, r

no! She

," he sneered, "and Tiffany

a drone camera. "You ca

This wasn't punishm