Unlike the steel and glass offices in downtown Seattle with expensive ultra-modern furnishings that she’d visited when working at Talmadge Property Management, this space reminded her of a formal living room. Since his office was in a house, that’s exactly what it must have been. Two fabric-covered couches sat at right angles to each other, in front of the corner windows. An occasional chair was angled in the direction of the couches near a tall floor lamp. A table sat nearby, with recently-published popular magazines stacked neatly in its center. A small gas flame flickered in the fireplace on the far wall. The receptionist’s desk sat in the far corner nearest the front entry. Gillian willed her heart to stop thumping so rapidly, a rhythm in counterpoint to her nervous foot-tapping. She glanced at the receptionist. The woman wore a blue suit that complemented her silver hair, cut short enough to show the silver studs in her earlobes. Her voice was nicely modulated as she answered the phone and quietly chuckled at a caller’s remarks.
