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strange, too. Most people in elevators stare straight ahead at the doors or up at the numbers above the doors until they reach their floor, but not the crowd in the elevator she and Bridget stepped into. Peyton stared straight ahead while everyone else, including Bridget, stared at her. It was unnerving.
    The executive offices were nicely appointed, though the colors were a bit bland. Everything had been done in light and dark gray—the walls, the furniture, and the fixtures. It was as though the decorator wanted the furnishings to match the computers. They did, exactly.
    Reception was in front of a wall of glass. A stunning redhead sat behind a sleek white counter, speaking to someone in her headset. She smiled at Bridget, but when she turned her attention to Peyton, the smile stiffened and appeared to be forced. The reactions Peyton was getting were becoming comical, and she worried she’d start laughing. What was wrong with these women? Why were they so hostile toward her?
    Bridget led the way to the inner sanctum. Several cubicles separated by low four-foot walls were clustered in the middle of a large room. Beyond was Drew Albertson’s office. His name was printed on the door along with his title, Managing Editor. Directly in front of Peyton, a large open cubicle held two desks facing each other.
    An older woman with delicate features and big brown eyes walked up to greet them, and Peyton was relieved to see that, unlike the others, the woman was smiling at her with genuine warmth.
    Bridget’s sour expression lessened. “Mimi, this is the new trainee, Peyton Lockhart. Will you take over with her? You know, go through the manual and show her around? I’ve got to get back to my office.”
    Before Mimi could agree, Bridget took off.
    “Welcome, I’m Mimi Cosgrove,” the woman said, extending her hand. “Let’s put your coat away. The closet’s down the hall. Your desk is here.” She pointed to the one on the right in the large cubicle. “You have lots of space.” She nodded toward the desk on the left. “That’s where Lars Bjorkman sits. He’s an assistant editor . . . still learning the ropes,” she explained.
    “Where is your work station?” Peyton asked.
    “Right in front of Drew’s office. I’m one of his personal assistants.”
    “Have you worked here long?” she asked as she followed Mimi down a hallway.
    “Over seven years,” Mimi answered. “I used to work on five, but I was transferred to Drew’s office about eight months ago.” She added, “It’s a change.”
    Mimi didn’t volunteer any other information about her transfer, and Peyton felt it would be intrusive to ask. The woman was being very sweet to her. She didn’t want to grill her with questions right away.
    “Did you know we have a professional kitchen here?” Mimi asked. “One entire floor. Any recipe that’s printed in our magazine has to be tested several times and then voted on. Would you like to see it?”
    “Oh yes, please,” Peyton answered eagerly.
    “Come on then. We’ll take the stairs. I’ll give you the grand tour. Then I’ll show you the manual. You’ll have a lot of reading to do the next couple of days.”
    They spent the morning together going from floor to floor, meeting employees. The test kitchens with their state-of-the-art appliances and gleaming countertops were definitely the highlight for Peyton. When they returned to the eighth floor and stepped out of the elevator, Mimi turned to her right and pointed to large double doors made of highly polished mahogany.
    “That’s Randolph Swift’s domain. It’s a gorgeous office. You won’t meet our CEO right away. I was told he’s gone to visit relatives, but I don’t really know where he is. I haven’t seen him in quite some time. None of us have. Ever since his wife died, he’s become somewhat of a recluse and doesn’t come to his office much. When he was here all the time, he used to address the employees on the intercom, catching us