Seventy-one
Her eyes lift from the files on the desk, the chair clatters to the ground as she rushes to engulf me in a hug like we are old friends reuniting after a decade. I stiffen in her arms, my hands glue to my sides as she squeezes me in an embrace. Letting go with an arm still wrapped around my wrist, she pouts and I cringe at her overly bright smile.
What is she doing here?
The bouncy curls I associated with her have been straightened to give her a professional look. Her purple button-up shirt tucked into a black pencil skirt which fits snugly on her slender frame, showing the curve of her wide hips and tiny waist. The stilettoes on her feet elevate her to my height or an inch more, I yank my hand from her grip and frown.