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Lake lifts her eyebrows. “Or athey. And what about the friend?”

“The breasts,” the guy says, moving his hands as if he’s squeezing my tits.

The woman puts her face closer to the painting. “I don’t see breasts.”

“That’s because you don’t want to see them. It’s not a competition, babe.”

I’m confused as Lake takes my hand and guides me away from the crowd. “The bytes are your parts, and the bending lines are mine,” she whispers. “And those are your tits.”

“I’m so beyond confused,” I say.

“We’ve already gotten seven bids. It’s going to go for a high price. I’ll give you half the proceeds.”

I shake my head adamantly. “That’s not necessary… Betty.”

She winks. “You catch on so fast.”

“But why, Betty?”

She cups a hand around my ear and whispers, “So no one knows who I am exactly.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Really?”

“Each show has a different Lake Clark. Tonight, that guy is LC.”

I follow her pointing finger to a tall guy dressed all in black. A crowd surrounds him. His arms are folded, and he’s smirking as if he’s the most important person in the room.

I let out a laugh. “That’s insane.”

“People can’t help themselves. They’re drawn to gimmicks and games. And that’s how LC got famous.” A couple walks by, and she clamps her lips together. Once they’re way past us, she whispers, “And no one at work knows. Only you, Mason, and…”

“Wow, this is nice…” Mason says. Lake and I turn to look at him, and he reads the nametag on her jacket. Mason grins. “Betty.”

And I suspend breathing while looking into Hercules’s hypnotic eyes.