One of the heels on my five-inch stilettos of death broke while I tried to get away from the octopus-handed man named Cyril who kept chasing me from room to room on the second floor of his heavily guarded mansion. He’d kissed and groped me, heading toward third base, which he shouldn’t have had time to do, so something must have gone wrong with the operation, leaving me fending off the advances of a man who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. I really just wanted to knee him in the groin.
All at once, I heard an explosion, which was the signal that I could drop the act and get rid of Cyril. I grabbed a chair and hit him over the head. He fell to the floor, out cold.
I took off both shoes and ran out of the bedroom and down the ridiculously ornate staircase to join my three colleagues in th
