David
Monday mornings were supposed to be the worst, but for me, it was the one day I could drown in work and temporarily escape the chaos in my head. Or at least, that was the plan.
I was halfway through delegating case files when Cindy barged into my office, her signature latte in one hand and what looked like murder in her eyes.
“Good morning to you too,” I said dryly, shuffling a stack of papers. “Listen, I’ve got a few tasks for you.”
Her glare intensified, but I soldiered on, unfazed.
“First, reorganize the assignments for the Simpson case. Jacobs needs more pressure; he’s too soft on negotiations. Second, schedule a meeting with the partners for Thursday, not Friday. I don’t care if Friday works better for them—I’m busy. Third, get me the updates on the new acquisition case; I
