I'd changed into a crisp button-down…the only one I owned that didn't have a frayed collar, and spent ten minutes trying to tuck it in so it wouldn't look like a costume.
I stepped into the hallway, Phil was already there, checking his watch. He didn't look at me, just turned on his heel. "Follow me." He commanded.
I ran after him, my shoes were clicking loudly on the polished marble. "Where are we going? Is there a handbook? An orientation? I haven't even seen a map of the place yet…"
"East Wing staff hall," Phil replied, cutting me off. "They're waiting."
They?!
We turned a corner, leaving the sunlight behind for a corridor lined with heavy oil paintings.
We stopped before a set of towering double doors. From behind the wood came the sound of dozens of voices vibrating in a confined space.
Phil paused, his hand hovering over the brass handle. He cut a sideways glance at me, his icy blue eyes taking in my posture.
