– It's a deal. Eight o'clock tomorrow at the hotel restaurant. – I passed out.

I was full of contradictory feelings, and I thought my head was spinning, even though it was impossible. But these feelings, these emotions sat inside me, pressing, tormenting, tearing. A worthless conversation with that narcissist Mr. Grayson – and I fell into a state I'd never known. I'm lying. The same state that had come over me in the church eight years ago when that bastard had said to my mother, "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Mroczek, I'm terribly late." Those words rang in my head like the striking of a bell. Does that mean my head is as empty as the dome of a church? No. It's bursting. The thoughts. They're like the strikes of a bell, like Brandon's words, like everything around him and connected to him. My hatred. For him. For that day. For myself.

"Is that how much I need this exhibition? I can break the contract at any time, especially since no action from the performer has yet begun," I pondered. – He needs my work. He loves aesthetics. What aesthetics did he find in that photograph? He'll come for it… I should have just sent all the files by courier! I don't need this meeting. What the hell am I going to do, pretend to be indifferent to his presence again? He's ruined my whole life. Shit, Maria, you're acting like a white bunny trying to hide from a sly fox. What's wrong with you? Have you gone soft? Are you spoilt? It's just another business meeting and you'll be as calm as Everest. You'll chat about nothing…"

– Miss!

The driver's loud voice took me by surprise.

– Are we there? – I asked tiredly, opening my bag and looking for cash.

– Yes. Your hotel, as requested. The Laslett.

I glanced at the taximeter and paid silently, leaving a good tip, which caused the cabbie to change the scowl on his face into a friendly, barely perceptible grin. Grabbing my cardigan, I got out of the car, but suddenly, against my better judgement, I knocked on the window of the taxi that hadn't left yet. The driver rolled down the window. I leaned forward.

– What time do the nearest nightclubs open?

My question caused the cabbie's face to flush with displeasure.

– The nearest one opens at eleven. But it's rubbish, miss, even though it's close to such an expensive hotel.

– Thank you. What's your name, nice man?

– Erm, Harvey.

– Here, Harvey. – I took out another of my big wallets – a twenty, the first one I could find. – Buy yourself some tea.

– Miss, have you already…

– Take it. That's for tea. You can spend that money on something else," I said insistently, and handed the taxi driver the note.

– Erm… Much obliged, Miss. Have a nice evening! – Harvey took the twenty and smiled.

– You too.

I waved him off and headed for the hotel.

In fact, I knew what time nightclubs opened without Harvey. My favourite club in London was near my hotel. That was the reason I always stayed here – to bring another victim with me. Use it. Throw it away. To forget. Forget the real thing. At least for a couple of hours.

Of all the people who come to the club, I always pick the prettiest. By human standards. When it comes to female visitors, no one compares to me, and I rule the ball. I just walk up to my victim and say, "Hi. "I'm bored. Would you like to walk with me to my hotel?" Works like a charm. It works most of the time, but sometimes I like to act out a whole story, a tragicomedy, for fun. But not tonight. I don't have time for that. All I want is to get through the next night without thinking about Brandon.

We're going to the hotel. Me and Adam. Adam is a young vet, I think he said he was 26. His eyes shine with admiration for my beauty. My short black dress proves to be a wonderful lure. Tall, slim, handsome, dark-haired Adam. Loves dogs. Excellent quality. Even though I don't like dogs. Or cats. I'm indifferent to animals in general.

– Do you like being a vet? Sewing on tails and whiskers, putting the sick and old to sleep, sewing up wounds? – I asked, looking into my victim's face.

My heels distinctly ticking off my every step. In five minutes, we'll be in my hotel room.

– Yeah. I love saving lives. – Adam smiled modestly and shifted his gaze to his boots.

'And I love taking away,' I thought with a grim chuckle.

– Are you afraid of blood? – He asked suddenly.

– Hmm, let me think about it. – I put my finger to my lips and furrowed my brow, hesitating – should I tell him the truth? Or stay in the game?

– Most girls are afraid of blood. That's why it's so hard for me to find an assistant. – Suddenly Adam didn't wait for my answer. – One of them quit right during surgery. Bad case. The cat was torn up by a pack of dogs, they were picking it up piece by piece. And the owner was sobbing in the corridor. And then Nancy ran out of the O.R. and never came back. I had to do it all myself. Terrible day.