I took a seat and waited. And waited. And waited. More than half an hour went by before Bianca finally arrived.
She came into the room like a candle burning with a cold, clear flame. Her hair was a burnished shade of auburn that was too dark to cast back any ruddy highlights, but did anyway.
Her eyes were dark, clear, her complexion flawlessly smooth and elegantly graced with cosmetics. She was not a tall woman, but shapely, wearing a black dress with a plunging neckline and a slash in one side that showed off a generous portion of pale thigh.
Black gloves covered her hands to above the elbows, and her three-hundred- dollar shoes were a study in high-heeled torture devices.
She looked too good to be true.
"Mister Banks," she greeted me.
"This is an unexpected pleasure."
I rose when she entered the room.
"Madame Bianca," I replied, nodding to her.
"We meet at last. Hearsay neglected to mention how lovely you are."
