David Cappy pov
"Damien," I said. "I am glad you are back."
He smiled at that. Not the performed smile he used in rooms full of people who needed managing. The real one, brief and unguarded, the one I had seen maybe a dozen times in twenty years and that meant more than anything he could have said.
"It is good to be back," he said.
We sat in his office a while longer and I looked around at the space, at the clean lines of it, the ordered desk, the morning light coming through the window, and thought about how long this room had been waiting for the right person to sit in it.
Then I thought about the woman downstairs.
"Who is she?" I said.
Damien looked up. "Which one?"
"The one in the expensive dress. Near the central workstation. Beautiful woman. Very well put together." I paused.
