T. M. Hunter
Copyright 2011 by T. M. Hunter
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art Copyright 2011 by Tomomi Ink
Discover more short stories and novels from T. M. Hunter at AstonWest.com
Sweltering heat followed Mila as she entered. Second-guessing her morning wardrobe decision, at least her dark suit jacket covered up her sweating skin.
A reception desk sat off to her left. Mila didn’t recognize the cheerful young woman behind it, which set her hackles up. The baby-faced redhead sat with a nail file, grinding like a mad woman as she chomped just as hard on chewing gum. Bouncing curls atop her head flowed down to her breasts which burst forth from her low-cut black top. She looked up at Mila and flashed a brilliant smile.
“Can I help you?”
“Where’s Barbara?” The regular receptionist would have taken Mila right away to where her family waited. She’d been through this same process daily, step-for-step over the last three seasons, coming up on ten months now. Every lunch break, like clockwork. No one knew outside of this building. Not the people she worked with, not even her relatives. Nothing good could come from too many people being aware of her activities.