The Inside Ring
Chapter One
1
The receptionist-Boston-bred, fiftysomething, hard and bright as stainless steel-arched a disapproving eyebrow at DeMarco as he entered Mahoney's offices.
"You're late," she said. "And he's in a mood today."
"So since I'm late I guess that means I can go right in," DeMarco said.
The receptionist was married to a successful accountant, a very nice man, very slim and neat and considerate. On those rare occasions they made love she fantasized about burly Italian construction workers. She used to fantasize about black men with washboard abs and shaved heads but the last few months it had been men who looked like DeMarco: dark hair, blue eyes, a Travolta dimple in his chin-and arms and shoulders made for wife-beater undershirts. However, fantasy man or not, she didn't approve of tardiness-or flippancy.
"No, you can take a seat," the ... read full excerpt from The Inside Ring ebook
