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What did I expect? She should remember every drunk she’d ever rolled for easy cash. She moved in front of me, forcing me to look at her instead of the stands. ‘Let me guess. The guys in the security room told you about me?’ I grunted and concentrated on a drunken fan with his face painted haphazardly like Mel Gibson in Braveheart. ‘They like to make fun of me, I guess. It’s because I ask a lot of stupid questions.’ I shrugged, ‘Really.’ ‘I’m Marla. What’s your name?’ She stuck a hand out and flashed me a familiar smile. ‘Watts,’ I said without looking at her. I left her hand alone and she eventually dropped it. She was getting the idea. I didn’t want to talk to her. ‘You’re a regular charmer, aren’t you?’ The half-time buzzer sounded. She gave up pouting at me and looked to the scoreboard. The clock had been reset for the second half. She shrugged and walked back to the line of cheerleaders, apparently forgetting all about me once again. When she was a good ten feet away I checked. She is the receptionist.” “She is appealing,” I replied. “So you like her?” Ann asked. “She is cute,” I replied. I hadn’t really paid much attention to the receptionist. She was cute, but I didn’t remember anything that made her stand out. “Do you like what she was wearing?” Ann pressed. “I don’t remember what she was wearing,” I admitted. Ann frowned. “She is not sexy enough,” Ann remarked. “I will fix that.” ‘No, no, no,” I replied. I was trying to recall what the receptionist was wearing when I came in the front door. “No,” Ann countered, “American man must remember Kimsee. She is our first impression.” “Short skirt and black heels,” I blurted out. “Wait,” Ann remarked as she got up walked out of the conference room. “Kimsee, come,” Ann barked towards the reception desk. The young receptionist stepped into the conference room, her hands clasped, business-like, in front of her. She wore a tight beige-colored skirt, with a short hem, about six inches above her knees. She had on a.
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