Mitch Durant took Frank’s hand, asking, “And you are?”
“Anna’s father. She’s in a bad mood today, so please don’t hold that against her. The reality is beginning to sink in and she’s not dealing with it too well.”
“The reality is that people don’t even have the courtesy to talk about me behind my back. They think that because I can’t walk, I can’t hear, so they talk about me right in front of me.” Anna wheeled into the hallway and looked straight into the smiling face of the man in the doorway. It was a crooked, friendly smile that broadened when he strolled past Frank and extended his hand to Anna.
“I’m Mitch Durant,” he said, his voice as pure and rich as milk chocolate. “And I’m not into self-pity, so cut the crap or I’m out of here.” That with the smile still plastered to his face.
Ignoring his extended hand, Anna raised her head, leveling a cool, contemptuous stare at Mitch. Her eyes were glacial as she retorted, “You know where the door is.”