Every weekday morning as the chimes rang the hour, Mr. Withy took the long walk past reception to his inner office. Some employees forced smiles but most kept their eyes averted. They shuffled papers, logged onto computers, or arranged supplies in their desk drawers.
Everyone except Marcie. Such a sweet disposition. New at the firm, five or six months now and great with technology. Beautiful blue eyes, short, blond hair. And smart. She’d almost caught Mr. Withy one morning while he sat at his desk admiring a pair of leather gloves. She came up so fast behind him he thought she should really wear a bell. “My niece visited last week.” He held up the gloves. “I really must return them.” Marcie flashed him an odd look, but he knew she’d bought it. Good thing she wasn’t his type.