Hearing the rattle of the doorknob, she approached and through the glass verified the two men out in the hall, the one in front in prison garb and one behind in uniform.  Then she opened the door and stepped back to let him in.  Calvin had no restraints as he was not considered dangerous, unlike the shackled and cuffed large menacing and eerily softspoken Latino sex offender of her earlier morning appointment.  Gabriel Anjel deJesus was in no way an angel.  Neither was Calvin Sweet but his fair countenance could have passed for a lion, a lamb or a wolf.  He had the perfect looks to be the most infamous con-man in a generation.  When her eyes met his, she almost blushed, and with a nod to the guard she let the door shut leaving just the two of them.<br/><br/>The room was small and drab and bleakly lit with fluorescent tubes, but compared to the lockup it was - no it wasn't luxury but - welcoming and civilized.  The floor was actual laminate tiles, not just concrete.  A second exit was in the rear wall and both doors had a small window of thick safety glass, unbarred.  The cinderblock walls, the most prison-like feature, were bare and whitewashed with thick paint. In the center was a simple table for two with a laptop and a low-backed swivel chair with padded armrests on either side.<br/><br/>"Mr Sweet," she greeted him, her hand gesturing to the chair facing the back of her computer as she strode around to the opposite side.  It was against policy to address inmates so formally but she felt no reason why she should adhere to that.  Perhaps it was because she had only been working in corrections for three months but she just didn't see the point in perpetuating such dehumanizing culture.  "I'm not allowed to shake your hand of course," she said with a subtle hint of both Tennessee drawl - and apology, "but please have a seat."<br/><br/>The doctor stood a little on the tall side with a well-proportioned bigger-boned frame.  Her honey blonde streaked hair was pulled back and clipped, leaving her tuft of bangs resting on the subtle arches of her brow and exposing the darker roots near her temples.  Black classic frames sat perched upon the bridge of her nose and gracing the high cheek bones that left a certain hollowness to her narrowing jaw and naturally pouty lips.  Her complexion was rather golden with a faint ruddiness on relief points as if she tanned easily without trying, and her caramel eyes were flecked with amber with lashes in black and accented subtly with a wisp of peach.  She wore simple pearl stud earrings.  The cowl of her knit copper sweater hung loose and comfortable while thin beige bands ringed her midriff.  The creases in her tan corduroy blazer showed how often she had worn it.  It fit her well yet kept her figure discreet, as did her slacks in brown with a subtle micro-plaid, and swishy cuffs over her earthy suede chelseas (open-toed shoes were not permitted).  On the tips of her long plain and ringless fingers, her trimmed nails were unpainted.  She presented herself professionally, conservatively, and not to entice, but despite this, there was no hiding the flare of her hips.<br/><br/>"Dr Terrilee Wells," she introduced herself with a warm smile.  "I'll just let you know that there are two exits in this room should anything happen and there are guards in the hall behind both."  She took her own seat.  "I'll also tell you that there are two cameras in this room and we are being recorded, although due to confidentiality rules the microphones are indeed deactivated," she informed as she indicated to the two little glass domes mounted in opposite corners of the ceiling.  "Now that the legal is out of the way," she said as she folded her arms to rest on the edge of the table leaning forward.  "How are you doing today?"