A bookcase dominated one wall. Two long couches with dark pine side tables adorning the ends of both made up a sitting area. The large six-paneled door was ajar, and it took everything I had not to go nosing around before I was invited. The receptionist wasn’t at her desk. I could just leave the envelope on her desk and take off. That would be the safest method. But it wouldn’t guarantee that the letter would be read. I heard voices on the other side of the door and stiffened. A woman’s voice laughed as she pushed open the door. She was beautiful, dressed in black pants and a deep, green cashmere sweater. Her red hair was in a loose bun, and her brown eyes were pleasant as she looked over at me. “Something I can help you with?” she asked. “I wanted to drop this off for Mr. Sanders,” I said, walking over to her desk. “Is it business or personal?” she asked, narrowing her eyes on me.
