SLOANE
By the time Lisa and I got back from lunch, the office had that late-day heaviness to it.
The kind that settled into your shoulders and made everything feel slower.
The overhead lights looked harsher. The air felt colder. Even the sound of keyboards seemed tired.
People were still working, but nobody looked happy about it.
I pushed the glass door open with my hip and stepped inside, balancing my coffee and a folder under my arm. My feet already hurt, and it wasn’t even evening yet.
Lisa walked beside me, still chewing gum, still full of energy like she ran on batteries instead of sleep.
“I swear,” she muttered, “if one more client cries in my face today, I’m quitting and opening a bakery.”
I snorted. “You can’t bake.”
“Details,” she said, waving her hand.
Before we could e
