She felt safe here. As she got out of the car, it began to rain.
At nine o'clock in the morning, Global Computer Graphics was already humming with activity.
There were eighty modular cubicles, occupied by computer whizzes, all young, busily building Web sites,
creating logos for new companies, doing artwork for record and book publishing companies and composing illustrations for magazines.
The work floor was divided into several divisions: administration, sales, marketing and technical support.
The atmosphere was casual. The employees walked around in jeans, tank tops and sweaters.
As Ashley headed toward her desk, her supervisor, Shane Miller, approached her. “Morning, Ashley.”
Shane Miller was in his early thirties, a burly, earnest man with a pleasant personality.
In the beginning, he had tried to persuade Ashley to go to bed with him, but he had finally given up, and they had become good friends.
He handed Ashley a copy of the latest Time magazine. “Seen this?”
Ashley looked at the cover. It featured a picture of a distinguished-looking man in his fifties, with silver hair.
The caption read “Dr. Steven Patterson, Father of Mini Heart Surgery.” “I've seen it.”
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