““You chased my muse away.” My tone was low, lazy, and sort of psychotic. Even to my own ears. “And?” She didn’t bother turning around. “And now you owe me. So it’s a good thing you’re in my possession.” “Your possession?” she echoed, incredulous. “I’m not your anything, Winslow.” “You are. For three months. I have a signed contract to prove it, and now I’m going to take what’s inside you and put it in my notebook, because I’m empty and you’re full.” It was weird. To say the truth out loud. The truth was meant to be whispered, not shouted, but I didn’t care what she thought of me,””
