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The Meeting
Mila
When the clock struck six o’clock in the evening I was half afraid that the sky would open up and God himself would peer down at me to lend me some best of luck. But nothing like that happened, neither did the floor split apart to swallow me up as I prayed.
What really happened was the phone on my desk ringing, making me jump in my chair and when I picked it up, his cold authoritative, filled with irritation voice snapped into my ear. “Its already four minutes past six, Miss Clinton, why aren’t you downstairs already.”
“Downstairs?” I questioned.
“In the parking lot. I don’t entertain stupid questio
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