I laugh.

Cal merely stares at me, his cold eyes unreadable

"You're telling me that my match is...Cupid?" I grin. "Cupid? As in the little guy with wings and a bow and arrow?"

For a moment I wonder if I'm being set up for a reality TV show or something. I glance out of the glass office wall half expecting to detect a camera crew. I see only a stream of white suits and a glimpse of the stone statue beyond the archway.

Cal sighs. He delicately places the sheet of paper he has been holding down onto the desk and slowly slides it over to me.

"No," he says. "This is Cupid."

I take the glossy sheet and raise my eyebrows. An involuntary gasp escapes from my lips.

They want to match me with him?

I'm holding a black and white headshot of a male. He has fair, ruffled hair and his eyes seem to pierce through the page. I feel like he is looking right at me. I think he could be the same age as Cal, but there is something more grown-up about his features; his jawline is squarer, and the part of his shoulders I can see at the bottom of the photograph are broad.

His lips curl into a mischievous smirk though, which seems to affect his ruggedness with boyish charm.

There is no denying he is good looking - he could be a model - ripped out of some kind of menswear magazine.

As I take in the picture, a wave of familiarity washes over me.

"You're telling me this is Cupid?" I ask incredulously.

Where have I seen him before?

I flick my gaze back up to Cal who looks disappointed. He is staring at my face in a somewhat unnerving fashion.

"Your pupils dilated," he says. "You find him attractive."

I frown and shake my head hurriedly - determined to prove Cal wrong.

"I have a boyfriend," I say looking downwards. "I've already told you that."

Cal looks exasperated.

"Yes," he says "But you are not you're boyfriend's match...his match is..."

He stops himself from continuing and I glare at him - suddenly annoyed.

What does he mean my boyfriend is not my match?

"...Someone else," he continues, ignoring the dirty look I am giving him. "You have been matched with Cupid."

I look back at the headshot.

Then suddenly it clicks, where I have seen his face before.

"This is the picture I saw on the screen out there," I say. "One of the top ten Undesirables."

Cal nods.

"The top," he replies darkly. "The number one Undesirable."

I shake my head in disbelief.

What is this place?

"You don't believe me," says Cal, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "You don't believe in anything I'm saying,"

He stares at me a moment.

"But you need to. If you don't we' re all...I mean you...you are..." he corrects himself hurriedly. "in danger. He will come after you. If he finds out..."

Suddenly he reaches out to his computer monitor and switches it on with a long slender finger. He has musician's hands, I observe.

He hurriedly types something into his keyboard and after a few moments of silence, a look of satisfaction creeps onto his face.

"I have something to show you," he says. "Something that will make you believe in cupids and...well...all of this."

He grabs a scrap of paper and scribbles down a sequence of numbers. Then he abruptly stands.

"Follow me Miss Black," he says, triumph glinting in his cool eyes like shards of glass. "you're going to want to see this."