Bruce
Gabriella smacked at her keyboard again, this time close to me, on the dining table. Esmeralda sat swinging her legs back and forth, most likely watching Gabriella with wide eyes, while my mother sat beside me at the other end of the table, clicking her tongue disapprovingly.
"The table is for us to eat, not bring work," my mother said.
Gabriella shrugged. "Yes, Penelope, but I work where I eat. Plus, work is my life; it’s not going anywhere." She winked at Mom and then my daughter, who let out a small giggle and went back to stuffing food into her mouth.
"It should have affected him by now," Gabriella said, drawing my attention back to her. "Williams, I mean." She smiled.
"I should go ahead—let’s talk about this during work hours."
She shrugged. "Work hours are every hour,"
