Stalking The Angel

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I was standing on my head in the middle of my office when the door opened and the best looking woman I'd seen in three weeks walked in. She stopped in the door to stare, then remembered herself and moved aside for a grim-faced man who frowned when he saw me. A sure sign of disapproval. The woman said, "Mr. Cole, I'm Jillian Becker. This is Bradley Warren. May we speak with you?"

Jillian Becker was in her early thirties, slender in gray pants and a white ruffled shirt with a fluffy bow at the neck and a gray jacket. She held a cordovan Gucci briefcase that complemented the gray nicely, and had very blond hair and eyes that I would call amber but she would call green. Good eyes. There was an intelligent humor in them that the Serious Businesswoman look didn't diminish.

I said, "You should try this. Invigorates the scalp. Retards the aging process. Makes for embarrassing moments when prospective clients walk in." Upside down, my face was the color of beef liver.

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