SABRINA MORALES
I tried to hear Suzie over the phone.
I moved away from the speakers, clutching the phone to my ears.
“You can handle the design and custom of the models, yes?” Suzie asked me, screaming louder than she would have preferred to.
I felt bad that she had to shout over the music.
But it wasn't my fault that she chose to call me during my non-work hours.
For Christ’s sakes, it was ten pm, on Christmas Eve. Didn't she have somewhere to be, something to do?
“I have a team for that,” I told Suzie in a flat tone.
The music had faded away to a considerable level so the shouting could stop now.
“And are they good?” Suzie asked.
I straightened, slightly irritated. “You’ve liked all of them, right? That's why you're here.”
“No,” Suzie corrected me and pointed out. “I’m here
