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But I still need to see your license and registration. Of course. Angela said as she noticed the other officer approach the car from the other side. Smiling with satisfaction, she sat back down in her easy chair and picked up the book she had laid down a few hours before. She read a paragraph, then closed the gay violent comix book and placed it back on the table. Eat your heart out, Rachel. she said to herself. Highway Patrol by Ann Part One The roar of the engine filled the early morning desert air as the canary yellow Viper convertible raced down the empty highway. The young woman at the wheel paid no attention to the tableau around her as it hurried past. Her mind was on much more important matters. To anyone who owned a television, the young redhead's face was instantly recognizable. Right after, that was, they stopped looking at the long smooth, tanned legs that stretched out from her white shorts and the overflowing breasts that strained against a small red tank top that had to be at least two sizes too small. What her legions of fans would find shocking would be the angry thoughts that filled her mind. Goddamn fucking agents. Angela Foster yelled into the wind as she shifted into another gear with an gay violent comix angry movement. They have some fucking nerve! The agent in particular that Angela's anger was directed against was one John Temple. He was one of the best movers and shakers in Hollywood and the man who had started Angela on the road to stardom. Last night, Angela had attended a party at the palatial desert ranch of producer William Donovan gay violent comix. It was supposed to cement the deal giving her the lead role in his next sure blockbuster film.
| What the reality had been was that Donovan had wanted to cement the deal in his bed. |