dishearteningly corporate with a huge desk manned by a perky receptionist.
Taking another deep breath, I stepped up to her, glad that she had noticed my approach and was already smiling at me winningly. As much as I would have hated running away seconds after entering, facing Rachel’s mirth would have been easier than being ignored.
“Welcome to the Embassy, how can I help you?”
She pronounced the name of the institution in such a way that the capital letter rang true, making me feel just a little more ridiculous.
Swallowing, I tried to appear as if I wasn’t trembling with nerves.
“Hi, my name is Celia Dawson. I have an appointment with Ms. Taylor?”
Without even checking the agenda on the screen next to her, she nodded, still smiling.
“Of course. Ms. Taylor is still talking to another client—if you will please follow me to the waiting area?”
I wasn’t sure if she caught my nod as she was already getting up and coming around the desk. She led me to an en suite room furnished in mahogany, with lush, cream-colored sofas everywhere. Halfway there, Rachel suddenly appeared at my other side, falling silently into step with me.
“Please take a seat,” the receptionist offered needlessly, her sweeping gesture taking in the entire room. “Can I get you some refreshments? Water, coffee, wine?”
“A glass of water would be nice, thank you,” I answered, just as Rachel, blunt as ever, replied, “Don’t you have anything stronger?”
Mortified, I sent her an appalled look that she of course ignored. The receptionists’s smile never faltered, but took on a fake tint.
“Are you here for a consultation, Miss…?”
“Bloom. And God, no, I’m just here to talk her out of doing something really stupid that she will soon come to regret.”
“Rachel!” I hissed, but both women ignored me as they kept staring at each other.
“There’s a bar in the next room, but we discourage potential clients from going to their consultations intoxicated.”
“Just the consultations? So you’re not against filling unwitting girls up before you throw them to the wolves? Or bats, I guess I should say?”
I felt like either hitting my friend or hiding my face in my hands so no one would see my embarrassment, but, if anything, the receptionist only found what must have amounted to the world’s worst pun amusing. She probably got that a lot.
“We feel that our adult, consenting clients are free to decide for themselves what they want to engage in, and that includes the use of alcohol and other recreational drugs, as far as they are not forbidden by federal law. If you’re interested in the rest of our rules of conduct, I can print out a copy for you?”
Rachel hesitated a moment, but then I saw the fight leave her, and I realized that the remaining steep red on her cheeks was less from anger and scorn, and more from embarrassment.
“That won’t be necessary. And nothing for me, thank you.”
The receptionist gifted her one more insincere smile before she turned to me.
“I’ll be back with your water in a moment.”
True to her word, I’d barely had time to choose a seat and glare daggers at Rachel before the receptionist returned, carrying a small tray with a glass and opened bottle of water on it, frosted with condensation. She poured for me and set it down on the small coffee table next to my sofa, then left us to our own devices, which was mostly to brood in silence. Rachel opened and closed her mouth several times, but I knew her well enough not to expect an apology from her. When she looked longingly at my half empty bottle, I pointedly ignored her as I quickly downed the contents of my glass, then poured the rest just out of spite.
“Look, I know I can come on a bit strong sometimes, but—” she eventually started, but I cut her off before she could continue antagonizing me
“But nothing! You’ve said your piece, now stop bullying me!”
That shut her up for good, and when the