The guard, weary from a million self-important folks trying to bully him day in and day out, faced her stonily. “ID please.”
She smiled and held out her own as well as the screen of Talbot’s phone for the text with the shot, front and back, of his ID that Marcia had sent at her request. The guard took both. “Stand in front of the camera please.”
He snapped her picture and handed both the phone and ID back along with one entrance badge. “You can go ahead, Miss Anderson, but the other guy, who may or may not be Mr. Talbot, better go on back home and get himself some ID. A picture of something ’aint that something.”
Behind her, Mason observed, “That’s a pretty arbitrary distinction that’s eroding with the advance of technology. Consider Apple-Pay, for example, which is essentially a picture of cash, not the cash itself.”
If looks could kill, it wouldn’t matter that the guard wasn’t actually armed. Or she hoped he wasn’t.
“This man is just doing his job,” she said in a reproving tone.
The guard’s nod in response to her sentiment was a step in the right direction. A line formed behind them.
“It’s my first day,” she confided as she returned her ID to her wallet, laughing in what she hoped would be construed as nerves, well, actually, really were nerves. “And this is my new boss.” She leaned a little forward to the guard and added in a lower voice, “I’m sorry about this. We’ll just have to go back to the office and get his ID. He probably thinks I should have reminded him about it. You know how that is. Anyway, it’s just we have a flight after this and—”
She glanced back at the line and moved to the side, pulling Talbot with her, the solid muscle beneath the damp tweed slightly disconcerting. “But we’re holding things up.”
A man in a Burberry overcoat, five thousand dollar briefcase in hand, slapped his ID on the marble counter with an impatient huff. “I’m late for a meeting.”
The guard eyed him before turning back to Camilla. “Let me see that phone again.”
She complied and he took his time about it, staring at the screen, then at Talbot, the line getting longer and the raincoat guy’s face getting redder.
“I guess this’ll do.”
One photo of the screen and one of Talbot and they had another entrance badge.
She grinned at the guard. “I appreciate it.”
“This really your first day or you just say that to get me to help you?”
She laughed. “I would have if I had to. But no, it really is my first day.”
The guard smiled. “Good luck then.”
When they boarded the crowded elevator, everyone shaking off like wet dogs, her unorthodox boss didn’t push a button and Camilla asked, “What floor is the meeting on?”
“I have no idea.”
The elevator ascended.
“You’ve never been to your outside counsel’s?”
“I’ve been here a hundred times. I don’t pay attention.”
They stopped at sixteen to let a woman off. At seventeen somebody else.
“I’ll call Marcia,” he said.
Camilla shook her head, resolving to get a copy of the itinerary herself from now on. “I might have the firm name in my case.” She started to fumble with the latch as the elevator moved up.
“Starts with a B,” he offered. “Bingham. Bangum. Something like that.”
A guy whose elbow was unintentionally crowding her asked, “Bannum Strauss?”
Her boss nodded. “That’s it.”
“You’re in luck. You haven’t missed it. Top floor.”
The helpful guy pushed the button for them and got off to Camilla’s thanks a few floors later. For the last leg of the ascent, even though the car stopped periodically at certain floors before getting to theirs for some reason, Camilla was alone with her boss.
“Speaking of social skills,” she said, as gently as she could, “one of them is to say thanks.”
“Thanks.”
“Not to me. To the guard.”
“Why? Wasn’t that his job?”
“But he went out of his way to help us when you didn’t have the right ID.”
“Not until you smiled at him and acted all—” He stopped, as if he’d just made the connection.
“Nice? See, that’s the point. That poor guy has people complaining all day about what he has to do, and 9/11 was not his fault.”
“Someone said 9/11 was his fault?”
“No, I mean the security. Never mind. Just, you know what they say?”
“No idea.”
“A little honey, right?”
He gave her a blank look, his gaze dipping to her neck. Was there something on her collar? She glanced down to discover fingers twirling her pearls. “Nervous habit,” she said and dropped her hand to her side.