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BOOK 5

He didn’t like her. One look told Lynne Castle that her hope for this company’s sponsorship during her articling year was about to be shot right out of the sky because Cliff Foreman, the junior partner, had taken an instant dislike to her.

He stood there, tall, with an olive complexion, dark curly hair, and eyes a shade of brown verging on black, and glared at her from behind his affable partner, Grant Simpkins. Mr Simpkins, somewhere in his fifties, with a round, cherubic face and a few strands of ginger hair combed carefully across his © bald spot, smiled warmly at her.

“Take a seat, Miss Castle,’ he said, waving her to a chair then sinking back into his own, which creaked. His partner remained standing, leaning against the wall, arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other, body language saying, Keep away from me. ‘Cliff here and I have both read your résumé, and are impressed with the grades you’ve maintained. We did notice, though, that it took you nearly six years to attain y
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