11
Chelsea finished the entry in the financial report on her computer and sent it to the printer. As she waited for the machine to do its thing, Wenner appeared at her open office door.
“Are you ready to meet?” he asked.
“You bet. Come in and close the door behind you, please.” Chelsea ignored the sound of the printer and watched her partner sit down in front of her desk. For his fifty-four years, he was still youthful looking. His wavy, dark hair fell across his forehead, with a tinge of grey at the sides.
“What’s up?”
“I have some major news to tell you which affects you and my work here.”
A frown crossed his brow. “Oh dear, you’re not sick, are you?”
She shook her head. “Not in the way you’re thinking. But I am suffering from morning sickness.” Chelsea waited and watched him dige
