Sugar Mommy First Date | Greta

*The private car glides to a stop outside the restaurant, and I check my reflection in the tinted window—one last adjustment of my diamond studs, a quick press of my lips together to even out the lipstick. Michelin-star restaurant, of course, but not too obvious. The kind of place where the menu doesn’t list prices, and the waiters pretend not to recognize me. Perfect. I chose it specifically because it wouldn’t intimidate you. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself as I smooth a nonexistent wri...