KISAREL.
I checked the time for the two hundred and sixth time in one hour.
I dragged the back of my hand across my temple and forehead, wiping off the sweat that kept returning no matter how many times I cleared it, and pushed my bangs out of my face in frustration, but they fell right back. They always did. Right now, I wanted to cut them off with the letter opener sitting on the edge of my desk.
It was already eight minutes past nine, and thankfully, Mr. Stark hadn't arrived yet. He would have added to my anxiety if he were here.
My desk looked like a small explosion had happened on top of it.
My hands were shaking as I ticked the last item on the rough list I made of Mr. Stark's schedule for the next two weeks - appointments, meetings, etc.
I updated it on my system and forwarded
