TWENTY-TWO
A SECOND LATER, ONE of the golden elevator doors opened, revealing a tall European man in his thirties, dressed in a fine navy suit, pink pocket square, pink shirt. Dark hair swept back and held in place with styling gel.
The man beside us seemed relieved to have another person in our space. He took in an audible breath at the other’s arrival, who flashed us a large, well-practiced smile. His eyes lingered on Debbie a second longer than his professional exterior would have suggested. In the reflection behind the newcomer I saw Debbie also notice the approving look she got from him.
The man held his hand to a button on the inside of the door, keeping the doors open for us.
“Good afternoon. Please.” He stepped aside, motioning for us to join him inside. We all got in, Al Walee
