proverbial sore thumb; a dandelion among peonies.
Jack led the way inside with me tromping along behind him. The place was giving me the willies, and I wasn't in the mood to hide it. My booted feet thunk ed angrily on the concrete steps leading up to the front doors.
"Chill," Jack hissed at me.
A nine-hundred-year-old warrior and former Templar knight telling me to chill? That made me giggle. But I took his suggestion onboard and stopped the tromping. Instead, I gave my purple corduroy jacket a tug and smoothed down my black skirt. That's right: skirt. I'd swapped my usual leather jacket and jeans for something more professional. I refused to give up the boots, though. A girl's got to have standards.
We passed through the glass double doors and into the interior of the building. The original living room had been turned into a front office, the carpet replaced with ugly vinyl tiles in white and gray, the kind you find in public bathrooms the world over. The walls were painted the same dull gray as the outside, and the counter that had been added was made of cheap pine and gray-speckled white Formica. They must have salvaged that from the kitchen or something.
The only spot of color and interest was the original brick fireplace. The opening had been boarded up, but the rest had been left as is. Somebody had placed a vase of pink and blue silk flowers on the mantle, no doubt thinking it would brighten up the place. Unfortunately, they just looked cheap and tacky.
Above the mantle hung a picture in a garish, gold frame. A pudgy man stared down upon us through thick-lensed glasses, a benevolent smile on his lips. A small brass plaque on the bottom of the frame no doubt identified the man, but I didn't need to read it to guess this was the facility's medical director, the man we'd come to see.
The woman behind the front desk was plainly bored out of her skull. In fact, I'd bet just about anything that, despite her appearance of business-like efficiency, she was actually playing Tetris. Couldn't say I blamed her.
Jack cleared his throat. She ignored him. Sort of. I could see her giving him the once-over out of the corner of her eye. Couldn't blame her for that, either. He'd also dressed for the occasion in a dark suit that emphasized his narrow waist and broad shoulders, and a blue button-down shirt that brought out the color of his eyes. He was, admittedly, extremely tasty in that get up.
"Excuse me, Miss," he said.
Miss? Despite the bleached-blond hair and frosted pink lipstick, the woman wasn't a day under sixty. The red plastic nametag pinned to her ample chest read "Doris."
"How may I help you?" Doris finally glanced up from her computer screen, carefully patting her hair into place with a pudgy hand and adjusting the hot pink sweater draped over her shoulders. If the expression in her eyes was anything to go by, Jack was in serious danger of losing his suit.
"Dr. Jackson Keel. This is my assistant, Ms. Bailey. We have an appointment with Dr. Mickleson."
"Oh, yes, you called yesterday."
I swear to the gods, she fluttered her eyelashes at Jack.
"Let me show you to Dr. Mickleson's office." Doris started to get up, but Jack waved her back down.
"Thank you, Doris,"—he put just the right purr into her name—"but I don’t want to take up your valuable time. Just point the way." He gave her a smile oozing with sex appeal. I barely refrained from making a gagging motion.
Doris beamed at him. "Down the hall, third door on the left. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?"
"No, thank you. Doris." Jack gave her another one of his blinding smiles that sent the poor woman's ample bosom heaving. She actually picked up a patient chart and started fanning herself with it.
I managed to repress my smirk long enough to make our way past the front desk and down the hall. "She wanted to eat you alive." I couldn't help a small giggle.
Jack scowled. "Shut up."
That made me laugh even harder.
We were in part of the original
Jack led the way inside with me tromping along behind him. The place was giving me the willies, and I wasn't in the mood to hide it. My booted feet thunk ed angrily on the concrete steps leading up to the front doors.
"Chill," Jack hissed at me.
A nine-hundred-year-old warrior and former Templar knight telling me to chill? That made me giggle. But I took his suggestion onboard and stopped the tromping. Instead, I gave my purple corduroy jacket a tug and smoothed down my black skirt. That's right: skirt. I'd swapped my usual leather jacket and jeans for something more professional. I refused to give up the boots, though. A girl's got to have standards.
We passed through the glass double doors and into the interior of the building. The original living room had been turned into a front office, the carpet replaced with ugly vinyl tiles in white and gray, the kind you find in public bathrooms the world over. The walls were painted the same dull gray as the outside, and the counter that had been added was made of cheap pine and gray-speckled white Formica. They must have salvaged that from the kitchen or something.
The only spot of color and interest was the original brick fireplace. The opening had been boarded up, but the rest had been left as is. Somebody had placed a vase of pink and blue silk flowers on the mantle, no doubt thinking it would brighten up the place. Unfortunately, they just looked cheap and tacky.
Above the mantle hung a picture in a garish, gold frame. A pudgy man stared down upon us through thick-lensed glasses, a benevolent smile on his lips. A small brass plaque on the bottom of the frame no doubt identified the man, but I didn't need to read it to guess this was the facility's medical director, the man we'd come to see.
The woman behind the front desk was plainly bored out of her skull. In fact, I'd bet just about anything that, despite her appearance of business-like efficiency, she was actually playing Tetris. Couldn't say I blamed her.
Jack cleared his throat. She ignored him. Sort of. I could see her giving him the once-over out of the corner of her eye. Couldn't blame her for that, either. He'd also dressed for the occasion in a dark suit that emphasized his narrow waist and broad shoulders, and a blue button-down shirt that brought out the color of his eyes. He was, admittedly, extremely tasty in that get up.
"Excuse me, Miss," he said.
Miss? Despite the bleached-blond hair and frosted pink lipstick, the woman wasn't a day under sixty. The red plastic nametag pinned to her ample chest read "Doris."
"How may I help you?" Doris finally glanced up from her computer screen, carefully patting her hair into place with a pudgy hand and adjusting the hot pink sweater draped over her shoulders. If the expression in her eyes was anything to go by, Jack was in serious danger of losing his suit.
"Dr. Jackson Keel. This is my assistant, Ms. Bailey. We have an appointment with Dr. Mickleson."
"Oh, yes, you called yesterday."
I swear to the gods, she fluttered her eyelashes at Jack.
"Let me show you to Dr. Mickleson's office." Doris started to get up, but Jack waved her back down.
"Thank you, Doris,"—he put just the right purr into her name—"but I don’t want to take up your valuable time. Just point the way." He gave her a smile oozing with sex appeal. I barely refrained from making a gagging motion.
Doris beamed at him. "Down the hall, third door on the left. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?"
"No, thank you. Doris." Jack gave her another one of his blinding smiles that sent the poor woman's ample bosom heaving. She actually picked up a patient chart and started fanning herself with it.
I managed to repress my smirk long enough to make our way past the front desk and down the hall. "She wanted to eat you alive." I couldn't help a small giggle.
Jack scowled. "Shut up."
That made me laugh even harder.
We were in part of the original
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