The woman jolts and straightens up. She turns to me, holding the papers in one hand and the pen in the other.

Big brown eyes set on me with a glint of curiosity. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Do we know each other?”

“No, but you cut in front of me on the subway this morning, making me miss the train. Then you ate the last donut at Starbucks. And now you’re stealing my dream office.”

The woman in red doesn’t so much as blink. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. But I know that as of a minute ago, I’m officially leasing this space, which means you’re trespassing on private property.” She calmly replaces the cap to the pen and drops it on the table, brandishing her papers at me. “So, I suggest you show yourself out before I call the police.”

My mouth gapes open. It takes all my self-control not to utter any of the many rude retorts streaming through my mind.

The woman walks up to me and stops, adding, “If I could make a suggestion, though, screaming at strangers isn’t a super healthy way to cope with your frustrations. Maybe you should see a therapist about anger management.”

I glare at her. “I am a therapist!”

“Really?” She scoffs. “I presume you don’t help people deal with self-control, though.”

“I’m a couples’ therapist for your information.”

“Well, I hope this is not how you treat your clients.”

With one last haughty stare, she exits the office and entrusts the signed lease to Leslie, who stashes it away into the black leather folder she’s holding in her arms.

Then, to my utter surprise, they hug.

“Thank you, Lee,” the woman in red says. “This space will be perfect for my law practice.”

“Glad I could help.” Leslie smiles, and hands her evil client a set of keys. “These are officially yours.”

Sporting a smug smile, the donut thief walks back to the door and pointedly stares me down. I’m still in her office; I’ve been petrified in here ever since Medusa put her eyes on me. I let out one last, defeated scoff and storm out of her precious private property. She locks the door, gives Leslie another quick side hug, saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And then she’s gone.

The moment the elevator disappears, I ask, “You know that witch?”

“Hey,” Leslie says. “Vivian is one of my best friends.”

Vivian. So, the Gorgon has a name. “What kind of law does she practice?”

“She’s a divorce attorney.”

A Marriage Terminator, why doesn’t that surprise me?

“I’m sorry she snatched up the corner office,” Leslie continues. “But I’m sure we can find you another place.”

“Leslie, please tell me you have something decent to show me today, right now. I only have a week left to move.”