Walk toward the door and pause before touching the handle. Turning, I see him staring at me with his mouth slightly open, still holding his pen and his notepad.
"Please put a health club membership in the offer," I tell him. "I hear they have racquetball courts." Opening the door, I step out and close it gently.
Stephanie is staring at me in anticipation. "You were in there for a half hour, Jill."
Sit against the edge of her desk. Look into her eyes as the buzzer on her telephone sounds. "See what you think when you go in there, Stephanie."
She stands and walks into the office. Less than a minute later, Stephanie steps out holding several pages from Peter's notepad. Lifting her eyes to mine, she says, "I asked him if you were a keeper. He just handed me his notes and asked me to type up the agreement and contract as quickly as possible."
"I'll wait in Louise's office," I tell her, and walk down the hall. Louise's door is open but she is not at her desk. Sit in the chair nearest the door, extend my legs, rest my head against the wall and close my eyes.
Okay, sign an agreement to receive thirty-k a year to produce a magazine and help executives communicate plus another ninety to divert attention from a sale. Participate actively and knowingly in hiding the truth—lying—for eighteen months. Why do I even consider signing such documents?
Hell, I hide the truth every day. I don't advertise the fact that I prefer women to men as sexual partners with few exceptions. I don't often say that I am an atheist. Few people know that I was a thief. Fewer still know that I am a serial murderer. I can count on one hand the number of people who know that I own stock and assets in excess of two hundred million dollars. Only two other people know I'm here at Doc's Place to divert Peter's attention as my corporation raids his corporation's prize Las Vegas assets.
"Sorry, Jill," says Louise, "Were you dozing?"
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