By Jasmine Dayne
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My hands were shaking as I stood in the parlor. Not wanting the woman to see how nervous I was, I turned away and looked out the window. Through the glass I could see the perfectly manicured front lawn and the driveway. The man who'd driven me out here from the office was polishing something on the back of the black car. For a moment I thought about running outside. But I knew it was pointless, so I stood there, trying to control my nerves.
I'd been so preoccupied with my own thoughts I hadn't heard anything, but as I turned back to look at her, the woman was staring at me as if she'd been calling my name for quite a long time. "Yes?"
"He's ready to see you now. Go on in." She pointed at a door to her left. I took a deep breath and tried to move, but my feet wouldn't obey me. I straightened my shirt, trying to make sure I looked well put-together, and stalling. The woman's eyes were cold, I wondered why. She was impeccably dressed in a pale blue sweater and black pencil skirt that showed her slim form well. As she crossed her legs in the antique-looking chair I noticed the tell-tale red on the bottom of her shoes. How could a personal assistant afford such expensive clothing? Obviously some of the staff members were paid a lot better than those of us who toiled away in the senator's office. I could barely scrape together enough money to take a cab home when it rained, let alone buy fancy shoes.