“You like it?” he asks. I turn. “What?” He tips his head at the wall. “The photo. You look at it enough. I could get you a copy for your bedroom wall. For…personal purposes.” I snort. “As if.” “And to save you the extra labor, I could have my assistants angrily pre-snip the women out of the picture. Or would you prefer I have them scratch their eyes out? Or maybe both? A two-step process?” “Do those poor women know you’re a robot with no feelings?”
