When she walked into the office I could see she was a dame used to getting her own way. I didn't let the petite frame and big baby-blues fool me none; this babe had cold steel running through her veins.
"I need a little help, Mr Dirtybast," she whispered in the kind of little-dame-lost voice that could make a guy go daffy if his name wasn't Sam Dirtybast and he hadn't been through the wringer with enough broads to know that it always ended in a bad liver and a broken heart.
"At your service."
"I need a little help, Mr Dirtybast," she whispered in the kind of little-dame-lost voice that could make a guy go daffy if his name wasn't Sam Dirtybast and he hadn't been through the wringer with enough broads to know that it always ended in a bad liver and a broken heart.
"At your service."
Hope your week is great.