“You meddling little BITCH!”

We’re back in the city, after Frederick all but threw me into his car and hauled me here to the elegant old-money apartment he keeps on 5th Ave and 89th, overlooking Central Park. Under normal circumstances, being called a “meddling little bitch” by your own grandfather would probably be traumatic.

Except it takes more than mean words to actually traumatize me at this point. Furthermore, I could give a shit about what Frederick thinks of me, and even less ...