Lila powered up the computer and plugged her headset into the phone, all the while telling herself that it was just another piece of mail, nothing special at all. That, of course, was a lie. The return address—The Tannin Agency—made it all too clear that her entire destiny had been typed, signed, and stuffed into that slim white envelope. And she was such a spineless wimp she couldn’t even gather the courage to slide her finger under the flap, open the envelope, and pull the contents out. It had arrived in last night’s mail, and she’d almost ripped it open right in front of the mailboxes. But then she’d stopped, because if it was bad news, what was she going to do then? The Tannin Agency was her last hope. Every other modeling agency in the city had already slammed the door in her face, albeit more politely than that. But to Lila, the familiar mantra of “you’re a beautiful woman who’s sure to find representation elsewhere” might as well be “go away, kid, you bother me.”
