When Phil Urich followed the address that Joy Mercado had given him
at his interview at the Bugle earlier that day, he would find himself at a classy lounge called The Excelsior.
It was a quirky little decision of Joy's to have him meet her there, and one that she'd amused herself with. She waited outside for him in the cool, crisp air. Just as she'd promised, Joy was dressed in a white off-the-shoulder pointelle sweater that was long enough and tight enough for her to wear as a dress, paired with a pair of black tights, and ankle-length, spike-heeled black boots. The white set off her tanned skin and artfully bleached and toned blonde locks beautifully.
Joy looked hot and she knew it.
Held loosely in one hand was a small black clutch, beaded with clear, white, and silver beads, which contained some money, her id, a credit card, her press pass, lipstick, her digital tape recorder, a small canister of Mace, and a couple of other little unmentionables in case the night took a more...personal...turn of events.
She idly checked the watch on her hand.
There was a few minutes left before it was time for Phil to put in an appearance...