I already knew it had not. Shawn and his friends never settled their bill until they were ready to leave.
The manager laughed nervously. “Oh, that’s Mr. Turner’s room. They haven’t paid yet—Mr. Turner’s group always runs a tab here.”
This club was part of the Iverson empire, and the staff knew Shawn was supposed to be my future husband. To show their respect, they never charged him, instead adding his expenses to an account. Even his friends got the same treatment whenever they used his name.
I flicked the ash off my cigarette and looked at the manager’s ingratiating smile. “Who gave him permission to run up tabs here? Are you planning to cover those bills yourself?”
The manager stared at me, dumbfounded. He blurted out, “Huh?”
“Have them settle all their previous tabs,” I continued, pulling out my phone and showing Blair’s picture. “Has she been here often?”
“Yes, several times,” the manager replied cautiously, unsure of my intentions. “Everything was charged to Mr. Turner’s account.”
I stubbed out the cigarette and said, “Don’t serve her anymore.” When the manager hesitated, I added, “She’s a high school student—is that going to be a problem?”
Blair was 19 years old and a college freshman. Such a bright and enviable age—at least for now. Without my financial support, though, I wondered how much she would have left to envy.
The manager quickly shook his head. “N-No problem at all.”
Satisfied, I left the club, my heels clicking loudly against the floors. Sitting in the car, I leaned back as my phone started blowing up. I knew it was Shawn without looking.
When I ignored the calls, he switched to bombarding me with texts.
“Rowena, what’s your problem?
“Come back and apologize now, and we can resolve this today.
“Looking for a fight?
“You think this is funny?
“Fine! Have it your way!
“Don’t regret this!”
My driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror, asking where to go. As we crossed the bridge, I tossed the matching phone Shawn and I shared into the river.
“Let’s go buy a new phone,” I said.
