It was much different than the cold florescent lights of regular prisons, and the hallways of those didn’t have pleasant classical music piped through speakers in the walls. She never entirely understood why so many people were so free with eye contact. Phillip leaned forward, his hands pressed together as he gestured at Amber. Especially considering every other building in the immediate area was constructed in the mid-century modern design typical for this area—no doubt the vanity project of a mayor or other local politician hoping to make a name for themselves. “Everyone can always be made better.”
“Not me. She wore a blouse that plunged just enough to tease a bit of cleavage—it was her second-best asset. Amber scooped them up and slid her glasses back where they belonged; she was practically blind without them. “Gwen Bartlet here to see Phillip Castor as his defense attorney.”
The man picked up a tablet and skimmed through it.
