"Is Miss McCarty your secretary?"
"I answered it," Derrence said, and found it hard to smile. "I said she wasn't."
"No, Der," Tzadi said, right hand rising, index finger lifting scholastically. "You said, and I quote, 'Not exactly.' That indicated semi-secretarial status."
Derrence was immediately frightened. He fought it by telling himself he was jumping to conclusions. There was no reason in the world to assume that the man was a company spy, especially since Chester Chemical never had been known to employ such methods.
He laughed. It was a rich, hearty, booming, self-confident laugh, developed by means of long practice with a tape recorder. Hearing it, he was able to form an answer. "Actually, Ed, Miss McCarty is the floor manager. She assigns new offices ... as she did this one to you, right?"
"No. Mr. Chester said to choose any empty office that pleased me."
Mr. Chester! The Founder himself!
Derrence opened the door and waved his arm and chuckled and nodded and exuded good will, and said, "See you, Ed."
"Der," Mr. Tzadi said, rising. He was extremely short; not more than five feet, if that. "If Miss McCarty is floor manager, what are you?"