Ms. Walsh

We went to the front door, and Rachel rang the bell. A muscular looking man in a black suit with a white shirt and black tie answered the door.

"Hi, Jack," said Rachel, "some papers for Ms. Walsh."

"Who's that?" asked Jack looking me up and down.

"Oh, he works with me. He needs to come with me. It's all OK."

"Fine then," said the man still eying me suspicially.

Jack led us down a long hall past a huge dining room on one side and a huge living room on the other. At the end of the hall, were two oaken double doors. Jack knocked, and after hearing "Enter!" he opened the doors.

"Rachel's here...with a friend," he said into the office.

"Wasn't expecting her," said a brassy, yet feminine voice. "Send them in."

We entered.

Ms. Walsh was in her mid-forties, but could pass for mid to late 30s. She had thick brown hair that fell to her shoulders and was parted on her left stiffly held in place over her right eye. She had blue eyes, tan skin, and a few crows feet around her eyes. She had some botox down as her forehead was as smooth as glass, and she had no smile lines around her mouth. She was wearing a white blouse that showed a hint of cleavage. A blue blazer hung on the chair she was sitting on. She looked up. "I don't remember needing anything from you...and who is that, and why is he here? Is that the janitor?"

I stopped time.