Look Both Ways (Complete)

3. The Penthouse

Tie faced an opaque glass wall. To the right was reception, a large, shiny ebony desk with a flat screen monitor perched on the corner, angled in.

Behind the desk sat a slim, fair woman, about forty, with jet black hair tied to the back in a tight bun. She peered at him above narrow reading glasses that rested on the tip of her nose, with icy blue eyes that were almost white.

She resembled a strict East European ballet instructor; one who would walk along the barre with stick, shout in a Russian, and wack legs that did not extend high enough.

She evaluated Tie like a panther watching prey.

"Quincy Finnburgher?" she purred, on the verge of growling.

Tie nodded like a puppet, then squeaked,

"Yes?" His last name sounded foreign; it had been uttered fewer times than 'Quincy' in this building.

He paused, composed himself, and cleared his throat.

He marched to the desk and extended his hand.

"Nice to meet you," he declared.

Her leer turned into a polite smile; and she reluctantly shook his fingertips.

"Please have a seat." She motioned to some plush leather chairs leaning against the wall.

She spoke again, and Tie noticed the earpiece that made her look like a KGB agent.

As he fell into the chair, she turned to him,

"He is ready to see you," and waved an arm to the entrance on her right.

He bounced out of the chair like a trampoline, and hurried through the opening, reviewing the protocols for a good first impression.

At the forefront was the firm handshake, and using their name.

Tie realized he had no clue what that name was.