The female voice behind me makes me jump. I spin aroundand find the executive assistant from the front desk standing inthe doorway. Today, she has on a tight white dress with a thighslit more suited for a club night out with the girls than a day inthe office. Her hair falls over her shoulders in glossy blackwaves, the kind that say I woke up extra early just to makemyself look perfect.
“You scared me,” I laugh nervously.
She does not return my smile. “Did you say something?”
“No,” I say. “Well, yes, but I was… I was talking to myself.It’s nothing.”
Her perfect eyebrow arches. I feel like a bug under amicroscope. “Right. Well, Mr. Zhukova wants to see you.”
“Me?” I feel stupid as soon as I say it. Of course, she meansme. “Why?”
“Be
