(cleaned up a bit from what I posted at Sarah Hoyt’s Sunday Vignette for today.)
Like a swift knee to the crotch, rosy-dactyled Dawn broke Morpheus’s headlock. I fell off the office couch onto the floor, slamming my eyes shut against the brilliant morning light.
I open them slowly. A pair of million dollar ankles above some near-death-experience heels came into blurry focus a few inches in front of my face. They were attached to a set of billion dollar gams. After that, things got expensive.
Her hand still gripped the gadget that opens the blinds. She glared down at me, “Do you work for me or just drink your advance money?”
I looked up. My head hurt. Her baby blues could launch a few hundred ships by themselves. A thousand for the whole package was selling it short.
“I don’t see why I can’t do both.”