Once inside, I rest my back on the door, closing my eyes and tilting my head up toward the ceiling. I’m already sporting the first symptoms of an incoming headache. If I could go back in time, I’d agree to pay my old landlord double rent, just so I wouldn’t have had to move here. This place is causing me more stress than financial instability ever could.

The thought has barely left my brain when an incessant pounding makes the door behind me tremble.

I swear, if she’s looking for another apology…

“First off, I don’t need anyone’s charity,” Medusa declares, the moment I open the door. “Second, you’re going to tell me everything Tegan said about her father, and not just some details of your conversation she’s allowed you to share, or I’ll sue your ass faster than you can say ‘malpractice.’ And you can take this back”—she gives me a candy-coated-poison smirk and tucks my business card back into my pocket, then pats my chest—“and stick it up your… Well, use your imagination. And a nice day to you, too. Come see me whenever you are ready to discuss the matter in a civilized way.”

Medusa turns on her heel once again and sashays back to her office. I let her go. I’ve had enough of that infernal woman for one day.

The moment I close the door, I pinch my nose to prevent the headache from spreading and count to ten to calm down. When I reach seven, another knock, this time gentler, makes me jump.

What now? I was just trying to help someone, universe, why am I being punished?

I open the door. “Something you forgot?”

Medusa is standing on the other side, her expression strangely contrite. “My keys, actually. I’ve locked myself out.”

Ah.

I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the doorframe. “And? I don’t have them.”

“I was wondering if I might climb out your window and use the fire escape to get into my office.” Her face contorts in a weird grimace, which I’m sure she’s trying to pass off as an endearing smile.

“Can’t you call Leslie, or the building manager? They must have a spare key.”

“That would take too long; I have to be in court in an hour, and my briefcase with my pass and all my notes is locked inside.”

“All right,” I say. “You can come in, on one condition.”

“What?”

“Say ‘please.’”

I watch the battle between pride and necessity take place on her face, until, finally, with a theatrical roll of her eyes, she mumbles, “Please.”

I tap my ear. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear that.”

Medusa looks me straight in the eye and, gosh, if she doesn’t have the most beautiful, big, angry eyes. “I said, please.”

I move aside and gesture to my office. “Come on in.”