I come out to the reception area a little apprehensive, as the receptionist wouldn't say why the security guard from our building would want to see me, except to say it was "personal" (this followed by a giggle that, under the circumstances, managed to sound sinister rather than girlish and silly as she probably intended).
He's out there in the vestibule by the elevators waiting for me, and when he sees the concern on my face, he rolls his eyes and shakes a mocking fist at the receptionist. "Ah, I hate her," he growls, laughing.
"No, listen though, who is this?" he says, handing me his phone where there's a picture of him with his arm around some very attractive blonde woman who's obviously some kind of celebrity or other, but with me still imagining some dire "personal" matter (a debt collector chasing me after all these years? some law enforcement officer come to arrest me for something that happened years ago that I can't remember?) that he wouldn't want to embarrass me by revealing, it takes me a second to place her.