Reese Guyton was the last person I wanted to see first thing this morning, so of course he was holding the elevator door.
“Morning,” I offered strictly as an observation.
“You look a little pooped, my friend,” he said turning on his sincerely salacious smile. “What’s her name?”
As tempting as it was to mess with the office’s premier peckerwood, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Her name’s the Rocky Mountain Meat Packing Company, Guy, and I was up half the night. In case you are unaware, we have a pitch to make in less than an hour.”