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The Signs

"Moulton Enterprises, please hold." The redhead at the front desk pressed a bright orange nail to the lighted button, and turned to Risa, who stood sweating in the doorway.

"I’ve got a delivery for Alistair Pritchett," said Risa, pulling a bright red envelope from her pack. "Says here I’m supposed to make sure he signs for it personally."

"I’m sorry, but Mr. Pritchett’s in a meeting," said the redhead. She flashed a smile and darted her eyes to the side. Risa read the signals clear as day.

"I’ll wait," she said, ducking her head to catch the receptionist’s eyes. She leaned against the polished granite of the reception counter. "What’s your name?"

"Molly," said the redhead, and blushed. She raked a delicate hand through her shoulder-length hair, and Risa noted with approval the tight curve of the woman’s breasts against her silk blouse.

"I’m Risa," she said, extending her hand. "Bay State Courier."

She left ten minutes later with a tip, a phone number, and a smile.

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