3.c.viii
“That one
there,” said Business Woman. “That’s his
office.”
The four of
them were scouting the area from the relative safe zone of the water cooler.
“How can you
tell?” asked Senior Executive.
“I used to
work for him. Did you see how that woman
came storming out just now?”
“Yeah,” said
Franklin Buck. “She looked pissed.”
Business Woman
nodded. “I saw that look on more than
one person every single day I worked here.”
“Let’s pay him
a visit, shall we,” said Corporate Man, striding into the reception area. Seated behind the desk was a plump woman with
hair like steel wool. Her eyes lifted
from her work as Corporate Man approached.
“I assume you
have an appointment,” she said.
“Of course.”
“Name?”
“Uh…
Jones. Smithy Jones,” said Corporate
Man.
“Yes, he’s
expecting you,” she said.
Her voice
sounded like a duck.
“Oh,” said
Corporate Man, his posture of confidence fracturing as a bolt of panic streaked
through him. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. We let random people with really lame fake
names in to see our corporate executives all the time.”
Corporate Man
leaned forward and spoke in a softer, more humble tone. “So I take it, and let me know if I’m
mistaken, that you aren’t going to let us in to see him.”
“You can
always sit and wait for him to come out,” the receptionist said.
Corporate Man
smiled and returned to the others. They
seemed eager for information even though they had all heard the conversation.
“Did we have a
plan for getting past the receptionist?” asked Franklin Buck.
Everyone
glanced around at everyone else.
Finally,
Corporate Man’s grin widened and he said, “I think I know how to get
inside. He reached into his suit jacket
and removed his PDA.
“Let’s hope my
stocks are up,” he said.