You look at the business card in your hand. Yes, this is the correct address and office suite. You ring the doorbell. A tall woman in a tight charcoal business suit answers the door, sees you, looks you up and down as if you were a piece of not-so-prime beef, and sighs.

"Is this what the temp service sends me these days?"

"Uh, Mrs. Trent? I'm here for--that is, I applied for the personal assistant position listing."

She shakes her head, clenching her fists.

"No, no, no. Not personal assistant--bodyguard."

She stabs your chest with a finger.

"Body. Guard. Well, you're here now, you might as well come in."

She turns, then looks over her shoulder and gestures with a finger.

"Enter."