There was a spring in Charles’s step when he walked into Marti’s room the following morning. As usual she sat in front of her monitors tapping away on the keyboard.
“And the top of the morning to you, Ms. Foster,” Charles said cheerfully.
Marti looked up and raised her eyebrows. “You’re awfully perky this morning.”
“Am I? It must be the weather.”
Marti stared at him incredulously.
“Charles, it’s raining outside.”
“So it is; I hadn’t noticed.”
“Okay, what’s the deal?”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is you’re prancing around and grinning like a Cheshire cat and tell me it’s because of the weather. I ain’t buying it. What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing in particular.”
“Come on, Charles. You’ve got a girlfriend, don’t you?
Marti’s comment left him speechless.
She continued, “I knew it, I just knew it. I recognize the look. Guys are so transparent. Okay, fess up. Who is she?”
“Okay, Miss know-it-all. I don’t have a girlfriend; she’s just a friend.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“No, that’s what she is. Her name is Andrea Dunhurst. She’s my literary agent and was Myra’s partner at the agency. I’m escorting her to a cocktail party in a couple of weeks. That’s it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, you can believe me or not, but it’s the truth.”
“Okay, okay. Whatever you say, boss. If you can wipe that starry-eyed look off your face and concentrate for a few minutes I have interesting news.”
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