44At eleven-thirty on Friday morning, I planted my professionally-clad ass in a burgundy leather captain’s chair with nailhead trim. Identical chairs flanked me on each side.
I leaned forward and admired my shoes. Dark tan leather lady-brogues with a small heel and punch detailing.
The color wasn’t an ideal style choice for July.
But I’d had no time to search for my beige kitten-heeled pumps. At least the brogues went well with my reddish-brown cotton trousers and white silk T-shirt.
I was glad I’d stopped in Chantilly to change.
Levi’s and a clean T-shirt wouldn’t have got me past the blonde in her early twenties positioned at the desk facing the front door.
She wore a white button-down long-sleeve shirt tucked into a black linen skirt. The narrow black belt circling her waist had a
