By the elevators on Blade’s floor, there’s a pair of enlarged photos of Max. In one of them, he’s looking bored in a fabulous suit, sprawled on a kingly piece of furniture. A woman stands behind him with her hand in his hair. My belly grinds at the sight. Which just goes to show the devastating power of prize-positioning, as described in his book. So smart. Max has many flaws, but ignorance was never one of them. I only wish he’d seen Antonio admiring me so that I could be prize-positioned, too. What did all of that maneuvering get me instead? Rollins thinks I’m dating my murderous gigolo
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