Sam marched into the boardroom dressed for battle: pressed suit, starched collar, and muted tie. He dropped a folder on the conference table, sinking into his usual chair. Members dribbled in.
Chairs scraped, water glasses clinked, papers shushed when shuffled.
A leggy brunette in a pinstripe suit and red heels materialized. The men rubbernecked as one.
“Coffee wagon?” Sam growled. “We need to get started.”
She stopped dead and crossed her arms. “Do I look like a waitress?”
“On your way dearie.”
“The name is Morgan Walkerton, your new C.E.O. I called this meeting.”
~ * ~