The telephone rang for the zillionth time that morning, and Samantha bristled. Mondays are always like this, she thought. Everybody and their dog, and their dog's fleas, calling here.
"Paul Berman Insurance, this is Samantha speaking, how may I direct your call?" She leaned back in her flimsy build-it-yourself task chair, certain that one of these days the back was going to snap and send her to the floor.
Samantha could hear Paul on the phone in his office behind her. "I'm sorry, Mr. Berman is on the phone right now, would you like me to put you through to his voice mail?" She tapped her pen on her desk. "All right, please hold." With a little more force than she meant to, she pressed a button on the phone and hung up.
She loathed this job. She hated the cheap plastic plants strewn about the reception area, the pea-green drapes from the 1950's, and the way Paul insisted she answer the phone. There were only two agents in the office for heaven's sake. She felt idiotic every time she said, 'How may I direct your call?'
The phone rang again, and she gritted her teeth. She wondered if anyone would notice if the line became unplugged for a while. Surprisingly, she heard Courtney's high-pitched voice coming through the receiver.
"Samantha, you're not gonna believe this. Lana's husband called her from the station today. They got a phone call from Emily Grant. She said she's gonna come turn herself in!"