“A few months.” She turns back to him.
"Well, you hold onto him. He's a keeper."
She looks down and away. Cleans my already spotless table and walks back to the counter.
What an exciting turn of events, I think, as I make notes. The last thing Finch would want is for this to get out.
Dr. Finch,as I discover, is an obstetrician and gynecologist. He's the best in the city and one of the wealthiest. He is booked up in advance, so getting an appointment with him is nearly impossible. But not for me.
"Hi, I have an appointment at twelve? I'm a complete muddle brain these days. What floor are you on?" I babble into the phone.
“Mrs. Haines, yes, the new patient.” Oh, things do work out for the righteous. I snicker.
“That’s me. Mrs. Haines.”
“We’re on the fifth floor. You can punch the number I sent to you via text to get into the elevator.”
“Thank you so much. See you then.”
I wait outside the building, watching the comings and goings. It's pretty busy, with several companies housed in the building along with the good doctor. I asked a few women if they were Mrs. Haines, and some looked at me oddly, and others politely said no. I hit the jackpot when a woman answers her phone, saying her name out loud. "Sarah Haines." I always wonder why people answer phones like that. Surely the person calling knows who it is they are calling. People baffle me sometimes.
“Mrs. Haines?” I ask.
She puts up a finger to ask me to give her a second, as she ends the call with whoever it is she was talking to.
“Hi, sorry about that.” She smiles widely, slipping her phone in her bag. “I’m from Doctor Finch’s office.” The lift is unfortunately out of order, so I was asked to escort you up the stairs.”
“Oh, thank you so much. Are you Hazel?”
“Yes, we spoke on the phone.”
“I thought you’d be Indian. You sounded that way on the phone.” She makes needless small talk.
I lead her to the stairwell. I don't have much time. There are cameras everywhere, and someone is bound to pick up something off if they spot two women in a stairwell. I walk in front of her, pull out my handkerchief, dosing it with chloroform. I spin around and place it against her nose and mouth. I catch her unaware. Her eyes narrow, and she starts to reach for me, but it's too late. This is potent stuff. Got it off, Rob. I can only imagine what he uses it for.
I'm so glad she isn't highly pregnant. Attacking her like that would be shameful. I sit here against the wall. I am grateful she is a petite little thing. Rummaging through her bag, I locate her phone and open it with her finger. I scroll through her messages and find the code to the elevator. Punching in the digits, I step in and nearly choke in relief at not being caught. It must be my lucky day. I don't know why I feel Dr. Finch has all the answers I am looking for.
The reception area is plush, chairs covered in luxurious fabrics, colorful paintings, large windows that light up the space. The receptionist is a tall, caramel-skinned beauty, with long, chestnut hair which runs in a loose plait down her back. She wears a beige suit which compliments her skin tone and has hazel eyes. She smiles at me brightly as I approach her glass desk.
"I'm Mrs. Haines," I offer.
She stands. "So lovely to meet you. Would you like something to drink?" I'd prefer a scotch but settle on water instead. She doesn't ask for identification, so I assume Sarah must have sent all of that through. "Please take a seat anywhere you'd like."
The waiting area is empty, and when she returns, I ask her about that. "It's to give each patient the privacy they deserve."
What privacy could a pregnant woman need? She’s showing for the whole damn world to see.I resist saying that.
“Will the doctor be long?” I ask her, eager to get this over and done with. The last thing I need is for the cops to come barrelling out of the elevator, guns drawn, arresting me for impersonating some high-profile person named Sarah Haines.
“Oh, he should be ready to see you in a few minutes.”
She resumes her seat at the desk, focusing on her little laptop screen. It’s one of those fancy ones with a bitten apple on it. Sin has one too, hers is bigger.
The door to what I assume is the doctor's office opens, and Etienne steps out. I almost gasp at the sight of him, but settle for staring at the images I can barely make out in the magazine. "Well, I hope you enjoy your lunch, Doctor," he says and saunters away. The receptionist casts him a sideward glance.
“Ah, Mrs. Haines. How wonderful to see you. Please come through.”
Standing, I straighten my jacket, which I am glad I decided to wear at the last minute. I follow the doctor through the frosted glass and wood door and into a large office. The large glass desk sits in front of a window. Brightly colored armchairs sit opposite a large leather one, which I assume is the doctors.
