Shalma Hughes raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. Her rippling eyes were full of smiles, but her overall expression remained cold. "Do you want there to be a next time?"
"I wouldn't dare! Never again," Wendy Quinn relented.
"That's more like it. Alright! Call the waiter to order. I was in such a rush to leave this morning that I didn't even have breakfast." Shalma's feigned coldness instantly shattered. She rubbed her stomach, looking as if she were about to starve to death.
Seeing that Shalma had dropped the act, Wendy grew bold again. "You're so hungry. Did you do some sort of strenuous exercise last night to end up like this? Confess."
"The Great Writer Quinn, is your mind always in the gutter?" Shalma asked, speechless.
"Damn right! There really is nothing else in my head. Who told me to write romance novels, anyway?" Wendy picked up the glass of lemonade on the table and took a huge gulp.
