8 THE BOSS
Phillip Lyerson had an office four times the size of Peter’s. Peter pushed open his boss’s glass-paneled door to view a six-foot oak desk, matching bookcases, and a conference table with six beige-cushioned chairs. The furniture did not crowd the space, even with the hanging and potted plants.
Big frog, big swamp, Peter thought.
Lyerson had a pale, round face with slightly protuberant eyes and tended to smile a lot. As usual, his nails were manicured and his red hair coiffed. Peter sat at the conference table, and The Frog plopped down across from him and folded his puffy white hands over the customary yellow pad before him. He leaned back in what Peter read as feigned relaxation, something he’d picked up at a management course that taught behavioral modification. He se
