The waiting room was filled with the sound of muzak—sleepy synths and yawning saxophones. The pastel walls were covered with generic abstract paintings—all splashes, dots, and sharp lines—that were probably worth a fortune. The view from the window was terrific, despite the sky being granite grey. The Manhattan skyline was everything it was supposed to be.
Toni Solitaire checked her reflection in the mirror that hung on the back of the door, knowing that you didn’t get a second chance to make a first impression. Especially with big shot clients like the one she was about to meet. She was pleased with what she saw. She looked as sharp as a razor. Dressed all in black with thick, black-framed glasses and her head recently shaven she thought he looked more like a successful New York psychiat
