There are only a few things I’ve learned about surviving the Glasgows, and none of them prepared me for the sound of cork popping before noon, followed by the worst click-clack of high heels I’ve ever heard in my life, echoing through the marbled hallway like it was a red carpet. The whole floor went silent like a movie had paused. Phones dropped. Keyboards stilled. Even the AC sounded like it held its breath. I was just sipping my coffee... not even the office kind, I had brewed it at home with oat milk and one sad prayer... when it happened. The doors blew open. Literally. Blew. Open.
Maeve Glasgow had arrived.
In sunglasses. Indoors. With a champagne bottle in one hand and a fur coat thrown over one shoulder like we were in a 1920s Parisian winter. She looked like she hadn’t slept in
