FRED
We stood outside the door for some minutes, trying to come up with ways to step into her office without making it seem like we were looking for her, and we found it. The director must have been tipped off by the nose-bleeding lady, since we saw him running towards us, with an apologetic smile on his face. He was sweating buckets and his shirt clung to his body.
“Imelda informed me she has concluded the tour. Was it to your liking?” He grinned, looking like he was just moments from sweeping the floor, to please us, should we give the word.
“Imelda?” I tilted my head to the side. “Who is she?”
He looked shocked by the question, but concealed the expression so fast, it made it seem like I had imagined the look. He smiled,
“Pardon me, sir. Imelda was the one who took you on a tour.
