Thirty-two
Jeanne waved at the Carnegie’s night guard and made her way down the long hallway.
Eight o’clock on a Thursday, and she hadn’t even logged on.
If she were going to pass biology and get a degree, she had better stop being the backstop for every weird problem her boss couldn’t field, get her ass in that chair, and start the virtual frog dissection.
She opened the door that led to the administrative wing. When she got to the office door, she stopped. A narrow strip of light was visible along the carpet.
Jeanne hadn’t left the lights on, and even if she had left them on, she knew they still should be off. To save energy, the lights worked on movement. When you turned a light on, it stayed on as long as there was movement in the room. After ten minutes of no movement, it went off.
Slowly Jeanne angled herself to look in the door’s side window.
A tall, skinny bald man stood, slightly dazed, peering at Cam’s books and rubbing his head, and the fact that he seemed to be nursing a broken nose would have been far more interesting to Jeanne if he hadn’t also been wearing puffy wool culottes and the second Adam Ant shirt she’d seen in the last three hours.
“No. Freaking. Way.”