“Good morning, Mr. Poole.” Nola Shields stood in the living room of her employer’s downtown penthouse, her black suit neatly pressed, her shoes shined.
“Good morning, Ms. Shields.” Roy Poole examined the clothes she had laid out for him. “Red tie today? Government work?”
“Yes, sir. You have an appointment with the senator for brunch, after a meeting with the board.”
Poole dressed while Ms. Shields apprised him of his schedule for the day, then briefed him on pertinent news and financial indicators. By the time she finished knotting his tie, he was ready to work.
“How are your ribs feeling, by the way?” he asked. “And your eye? I don’t see a bruise.”
“Makeup, Mr. Poole. I’m a little sore but the painkillers manage that.”
He put a hand on her shoulder and felt her muscles stiffen. “You sure you’re in fighting form? If more of Delgado’s thugs come after me—”
“I’ll kill them, too,” she replied coolly. “Sir.”
With a laugh, Poole patted her arm. “You’re a hard woman, Ms. Shields. Keep it up.”