8
Pretty Coyotes and Guilty Clients
“Becky Taylor.” She extended her hand without hesitation. That was new.
I found myself hesitant to shake her hand. Maybe I was finally assimilating. I shook off the thought and grasped her fingers. “Mallory Andrews. I was in your orientation this morning.”
She was a girly hand shaker, more fingers and less palm-to-palm contact, but she still had a quick, firm grasp. I tried not to let the finger shake set my first impression of her.
“That’s right. You had a call…an emergency, perhaps?” The inquiry was polite, but her eyes held a sharpness that was definitely criticism.
Honey-blonde hair in a sleek updo, a feminine, well-tailored suit that cost more than the contents of my recently acquired and much more casual wardrobe, and a professionally bland y
