“I want to talk to you!” He grabbed Bancroft by his tie and dragged him into a supply closet.
“Well, damn.” It looked as if the fun was over, but then, “Hey, look! Someone brought a karaoke machine.”
Arianne DiNois, my secretary, was holding the microphone and crooning into it. “Santa Baby…”
There was a round of applause when she finished, complete with raucous wolf whistles. She handed me the mic. “Mr. Matheson. Isn’t that punch delic—delect—yummy? I think I’ll have another.” She smiled vaguely and started to wander off.
“I’ll see she doesn’t get into trouble, Mr. Matheson. Here.” Ms. Parker, Mr. Vincent’s secretary, took the cup of coffee I held and handed me a plate piled with potato salad, cole slaw, salad, buffalo wings, and a wedge of the Italian hero. “This might do you more goo
