Anderson shook his head. “Nope.”
“Good morning Mr. Anderson, Mr. Ascariot.” One of the building’s secretaries said.
“Good morning Matilda, fetching sweater.” Anderson was all charm.
“Good morning Mr. Anderson, Mr. Ascariot.” Another walked past.
Anderson tipped his hat. “Hello there Louisa, fine day!”
“Why is it that every woman addresses you first?” John hissed.
“It’s because I’m better looking than you are.”
John grumbled beneath his breath as they entered the elevator. The bellman was wearing a red jacket and a pair of black slacks. A stupid hat was atop his mop of coal-colored hair.
“Which floor?”
“Twelve,” Anderson answered.
“Same floor as it has been every other day, for the past fifteen years,” John wanted to say. But instead he bit his tongue and focused his attent
