It’s seven-thirty, although it feels like half a lifetime has passed. Even though I’m bone-tired, the shock of the day won’t let me blink an eye. So, I grab my worn-out denim jacket that was once black and walk to the public library down the street to use the internet and search for information on Loraine Carter and her multimillionaire husband. Kenneth D. Carter. My hunger this morning when I served Kenneth his coffee wasn’t interfering with my perception of his attractiveness. He’s really ridiculously hot. At least, I won’t feel disgusted about my target if I turn out to be good enough to seduce him. He even has a fan page on Facebook with twenty-five thousand active female members, all posting detailed information about how horny he makes them feel. I can, sort of, understand Loraine’s fears and her reluctance to remain married to him. The competition among these women is discouraging, to say the least. According to the fan page, Kenneth is six feet four inches tall, a full foot taller than me, twenty-eight years old, nine years older than me, with a net worth of two- billion dollars from his medical device manufacturing business.
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