With his audience eating his presentation up, Jon failed to notice the perfectly manufactured hand of Sheila Wentworth reaching her hand almost absent...mindedly for his leather bound day planner.Sheila Wentworth smiled and feigned enthusiasm at Jon's speech, though she had heard it all from a tearful Anne the night before. Her pink Chanel suit stood out in a sea of men in navy blue and black. She tousled her brunette hair resting her chin on her hand. A sea of soft curls drifted effortless down. "Sir, I told you the truth! I'm owned already. My Master is looking for me!" Don't move so much," the clerk warned me. "It takes a minute or two."He was pushing some buttons, flipping some switches, and I thought I felt a little buzzing in my skin, but that was just my imagination. The dye from my tattoo was permanent in the sense that it wouldn't wear away or wash off, and I'd never really thought about how it might be removed. Now I was finding out. That machine was neutralizing the chemicals. More

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