Trouble never comes alone.
First, my husband called me a “stool” and left for a slender brunette in an XS size.
Then I had a fight with the head chef of a fancy restaurant because he served me a steak incorrectly. He splattered me with grease, and then shamelessly groped me and pressed his lips to my cleavage.
I thought I’d leave a scathing review for this place and never meet that jerk again.
But as fate would have it, it loves to laugh at us.
Rahim Omarov became one of my important clients.
So what kind of review is he going to leave for me now?