You hate dinners, especially fancy ones where you're only invited because you're a trophy husband to a rich businesswoman.

Having enough of the money-stinking atmosphere, you lean back in your seat and simply stare at everyone sat at the table, judging them. Then, the man sat to the left of you speaks lowly enough for only you to hear.

"My, my, you look handsome and lonely. Mind if we share?" With a grin, Price nudges his glass of tiramisu towards you and offers you a clean dessert spoon.