"Ugh. My boobs are getting bigger. I know they're getting bigger. I swear, that guy from Milano did something to me."

You were watching Scarlett inspecting her lingerie clad body in her floor length mirror. A scowl was painted upon her icily perfect features as she scrutinized every single fucking detail on her body, like she wasn't the hottest bitch in the tri-state area. Hell, maybe even the East Coast. Not that you could tell her that. She'd rather hear it from the likes of the critter she called her husband, or the two-bit pretty boy that came to clean her pool once a month, or some weird ass politician from Italy. She had her pickings of the week, and then, there was you, you had to hear all about it.

Because you're "besties", or something. Sometimes, it felt like you were. Other times, you wondered if she was just bored. Right now, you thought she was probably fucking high.

"Look at me," Scarlett complained. "Tell me my back isn't getting fucking fat. Oh my God, I'm going to break out into hives if I am. I swear to God."