By the time I got back to my office, my temper had not dissipated one iota. My cursing, on the other hand, had lessened to only a mumble. Still, my voice’s decreased volume did not keep the snide remarks from reaching the ears of my trusted gatekeeper, Mallory Peel, administrative assistant extraordinaire.
“Good Lord, what in the dickens are you babbling on about now?” she asked, looking up from behind the computer at her workstation and giving me one of her sunniest smiles.
“Nothing, nothing,” I muttered, storming past her and into my office. “Do me a favor, will you, Mal?”
“What’s that?” she asked, already standing in my office doorway with a pen and notepad in hand.
“Check my calendar for this afternoon and see if I have any time to meet with the magnificent Ford Trionni.”
She hurr
