“Guess you put out last night?” Indie spun herself around in my ergonomically correct swivel chair. I dropped my bags on the floor and glanced at the beautiful arrangement of flowers sitting in the middle of my desk.
“Where did those come from?”
She lifted the small florist’s card in her hand. “Cityscape Florists. Delivered them just before you walked in.”
“I need to run to the ladies’ room. Why don’t you make yourself at home? Oh, wait. You already have.” I stashed my purse in a drawer, tossed my cell on the desk and eyed the brown paper bag that I assumed contained the breakfast Indie had brought us. “I hope it’s something greasy . . . I need it this morning.”
When I returned to my office, Indie was talking on my cell phone. “Here she comes now. The flowers are beautiful, by the way.
