Visa. Mastercard. Lilah writes checks with a heavy, serious Parker pen--she can afford it. Spiky handwriting--no heart-dotted i's for her.
Keeping busy, these days. No rest for the wicked. No Wes for the wicked, either, she thinks, and drops her pen. She bends, fumbles down under her desk and remembers pretend you've dropped your pencil.
Back up in her chair, she looks at the check for Price Financial Services--she's written Pryce, instead.
She hurls her pen across the room, breaks a mirrored sconce, and laughs. Soul's already signed away--she's not worrying about seven years bad luck.