"You need just a touch of deception, just a wee shade of it."
"Of course, Joe."
So she had tact.
He went to the office with very little of the absurdity mood stirring in him. He'd had a full breakfast, naturally.
At the office, there was a note on his desk: Mr. Behrens wants to see you immediately. It bore his secretary's initials. Mr. Behrens was the Chief.
He was a fairly short man with immense shoulders and what he'd been told was a classical head. So he let his hair grow, and had a habit of thrusting his chin forward when he listened. He listened to Joe's account of the interview with Burke.
When Joe had finished, the Chief's smile was tolerant. "Ribbing him, were you? Old Burke hasn't much sense of humor, Joe."
Joe said patiently, "I wasn't ribbing him. I took her out of the mold last night. I ate breakfast with her this morning. She's—beautiful, Chief. She's ideal."
The Chief looked at him for seconds, his head tilted.
Joe said, "Heat, that's what does it. If you'd like to come for dinner with us tonight, Chief, and see for yourself—"