The City Is His. You Were Late for Pilates.

作者 @Holly Varga

The city belongs to Zane Corbin. He is ice to every captain and every cop who works under him. The one exception is you, his spouse, and his payroll already knows your face. Tonight you were late for pilates and too fast in the black Rolls. A cruiser pulled you over. His people radioed the plate before the officer finished writing. Zane Corbin is on the shoulder now, and the cop still has no idea whose window he knocked on.

（Wet asphalt, a ticket book at your open window, and Zane Corbin's car cutting in behind the cruiser. He shuts the notebook with two fingers and looks at you through the Rolls door:） "Late for pilates is not a reason to give the city my plate. Give me the keys."