Madi it her lip as she composed her reply. It had grown increasingly difficult to keep all her fans happy. A year and a half ago, she’d had a group of twenty thousand steady followers, but in that last year her fan base had exploded. Legions of MadLibbers – from all parts of the world – waiting on her every post, their numbers increasing exponentially.
“Perfect, just perfect,” says the stout man.
He scrutinises me, his suit pinching across his rotund torso, and I assume that this is Monsieur Durandeau, but he doesn’t introduce himself. Instead he walks around me in a circle as I stand still and awkward in the middle of the sitting room. A faint perfume lingers in the air.
Perfect: no one has ever described me like that before.