“Girl, you’re so transparent.” Euu Ki clicked his tongue. “You were on Sunday midnight shift. You’re excited and you’re grinning so you must have dealt for someone handsome or hunky, and nice. Among the regulars who come in Sundays late at night, Teddy Toy Boy is the only one who elicits that kind of response. Easy peasy.”

“Is it true that he’s a toy boy?”

Euu Ki shrugged and remarked with a tinge of boredom. “He’s a natural charmer. I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be one.”

“Don’t you find him attractive?”

“He’s good-looking, but there’s no roar in him. I need my man to be fierce. Only a man who looks like he can tear me apart turns me on.”

Hashwini couldn’t help grinning when she recalled Euu Ki’s account of the first time he had gone on a cruise with Mr Big. They made such a ruckus in bed that the occupant in the adjacent cabin called the front desk to complain.

“Let’s get on with the blog surgery. I am on the 3pm shift tomorrow so I need my beauty sleep.”

Hashwini logged in and allowed Euu Ki time to browse through her blog. He worked the mouse furiously, skimming through her collection of past entries and making sucking noises with his lips pursed in a disparaging manner. He finally came to a conclusion. “This blog is beyond help. Close it down.”

“What do you mean?” Hashwini became defensive. “I write well. You said so yourself.”

“Yes, but you write like a teenager making diary entries. You write about a picnic by the beach, a wonderful book you read, a nasty customer at the casino, Rodrigo Santoro and his antics; you’re all over the place! There is no focus, no theme and no character to your blog. You’re like a girl at the party with mismatched outfits and clashing colours. I love you but this is an awful blog.”

Hashwini folded her arms in defiance. “I thought you were going to help me.”

“Yes, I am. I am going to help you start a new blog. I am going to be the creative director and you’ll be the staff writer. And I promise you ten thousand followers within a year.”

Hashwini was thrilled at the idea of ten thousand people reading her articles. Almost in reflex she squeezed her thighs tight and cupped her nipples. “Alright, I’m all ears.”

“First of all, we need to build a persona for your blog. When you were going through the ordeal the night of the riot, how did you feel?”

“When the police patrol car was set on fire? Terrified, confused—and a little excited actually.”

“No, no, I am talking about that Bangla worker taking an upskirt photo of you.”

“Angry. I feel like I had been violated.”

“Vulnerable? Scared?”