The leather seats of the black town car were suspiciously cool against my back, a blatant lie in the sweltering Miami furnace. Outside, neon-lit streets bled into a psychedelic smear – the tranquilizer dart before the main event. Miami's peace is always a setup. I pulled out my phone, bracing myself.
The Appreciation Society. Christ. A name so dripping with faux innocence it belonged on a cult recruitment pamphlet left in a dentist's waiting room. Subtext stacked thicker than the divorce papers lurking in half these women's futures.
The notification badge: 147. One hundred and forty-seven reasons to regret ever teaching them how to use a group chat. A veritable hive of bored, wealthy hornets, buzzing with unresolved tension and unlimited data plans.
The Appreciation Society
Vivienne Carter: Ladies, it's been three days. Has anyone heard from our mysterious friend?