I didn’t know what I expected from Beatrice Harrigan’s office, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t clean lines and bulletproof glass, a desk that looked like it was cut from a glacier, and a woman who blinked exactly once every two minutes. It wasn’t a temperature that made my n*****s try to sue me for attempted frostbite. It wasn’t silence so thick even the thoughts in my head had to whisper. It was sterile. It was soulless. It was the place ambition came to wear heels and kill people politely.
"Sit," she said without looking up from her tablet. She had a voice like titanium dipped in contempt.
I sat.
I was still slightly vibrating from the last two hours of hell. Trending all over the internet. Jynelle having a spiritual experience over FaceTime like it was the Met Gala and I was the scanda
