Thursday morning. 7am. I’m in the towncar, waiting on Nova when suddenly, the red Ferrari roars up and blocks a lane of traffic in front of the hotel. Desi leaps out from the driver’s seat. I lower my window. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he shouts. “Why didn’t you tell me that Nova is a man!” I never stop scrolling through the messages on my phone. “What difference does it make to you?” I ask, shrugging. But he’s been duped, he’s been played, and somehow it’s my fault. He reaches inside the car and slaps at my hands, knocking my phone away. “I don’t like getting a handful of cock when I reach between a woman’s legs! Okay??”
It’s not the first time this crazy Spaniard has snapped on me. And of course he’ll apologize. He always does. But the son-of-a-bitch hurt my feelings this time. And only a trip to Cartier‘s can make it better.
Winona is wearing Carolina Herrera
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