4
Three months later
Agathe jolted at the high-pitched wail of her cell phone ringing; an air-raid siren probably wasn’t the best choice for a ringtone, even though the God-awful sound did mean she never missed a call.
She scavenged through her brown leather work satchel and ignored the sea of angry glares from the black-clad professionals crammed onto her city-bound tram. Their dark office attire was typical for the Melbourne corporate scene and not all that dissimilar to her own clothes. Then again, her current doom and gloom color palette hadn’t always been her style.
She pressed the phone to her ear, a little breathless from her fright and subsequent rummaging. “Hello?”
“Are you at the client’s building yet?” Sue Hatchman’s clear-cut tone sliced through the receiver.
Agathe brush
