“I met my new agent today,” I say slowly, in an attempt to break the silence. He looks up abstractedly, and I can almost feel his interest fragmenting like a thousand slivers of broken glass. I only get one, and the apathy stabs me like one of Cupid’s arrows.
Something about her smile becomes venomous.
This arrow, it would seem, is tipped with amorous liquid wrath, bubbling up subtly in the warmth of my skin. I feel it before I perceive it.
“Her name’s Emelia Howard,” I say pettishly, surprising myself with the exasperation I let ooze through my tone. “She seems really…”
I try to think of something nice to say, fumbling about in the distant seeming memory like I groped through the darkness of Kattar’s immaculate bedroom.
“She’s very pretty.”
Kattar nods, but he’s not looking at me, glancing sideways at two giggling teenagers as they pass by whispering to each other behind their hands.
His expression is a mixture of nerves and irritation, a cloudy cocktail casting a shadow over his white face. When he looks back at me, his eyes are two lines, like he’s squinting against the sun.
“She’s what now?”
