I shuddered. “Good point.”
It was now lunchtime, and the downtown sidewalks were even more crowded. Sam led us to the next address by way of alleys and side streets. When he came to rest on the awning over the building entrance, he said, “I’m not seein’ any elves around here. We may have beaten them.”
“Or it may be the wrong place,” Owen said wearily.
“Hey, chin up, kiddo!” the gargoyle said. “There’s no point in givin’ up this soon. You can’t get a strikeout with one pitch.”
This building’s lobby was more posh than utilitarian. The building was relatively new, but the décor gave the illusion of stability and tradition, with lots of carved dark wood, oil paintings in gilded frames, and upholstered furniture. Rod’s magic got us past the lobby security guards to the elevators and then to the restricted executive floor.
The executive lobby was even more posh than the main lobby had been. It looked like the sort of club where men meet to drink brandy, smoke cigars, and call each other “old chap.” The receptionist’s desk was so large that I had to wonder what the executive’s desk was like. You could probably play table tennis on it.
This receptionist wasn’t the office trophy wife type. She was the real wife type, which made me suspect that the trophy wife was at home. This was the kind of woman who served as an external brain for her boss, keeping track of all the little details of his life at the office and at home. She was middle-aged, conservatively dressed, and looked exhausted.
She greeted us with a wary smile. “May I help you?” she asked.
“We’re looking for Jonathan Martin,” Rod said, exuding his usual charm.
Either she was immune to magic or she just didn’t waste time on smooth talkers, because she didn’t melt the way women usually did when Rod hit them with the full whammy. Instead, she gave him a frosty smile and said, “Mr. Martin has gone to lunch. It’s his fiancée’s birthday, so I don’t expect him back until late.”
I thought I detected something familiar in her tone, so I signaled for the guys to let me handle this. “Sounds like his fiancée’s a piece of work,” I said sympathetically. “Let me guess, she acts like you work for her, too—and they’re not even married yet.”
She rolled her eyes. “I practically have to curtsy to Her Royal Highness while I’m picking up her dry cleaning and making appointments for her.”
“Yeah, I’ve worked for one like that. And you know Her Highness has to go somewhere really special for her birthday.”