Mitch paced back and forth in front of his desk, glancing out the open window every few minutes. Reaching up, he adjusted his collar for the hundredth time that morning. It felt too tight, like he was suffocating, but he knew it wasn’t. He didn’t even have the top two buttons done up. No, he just couldn’t shake the feeling of Robinson’s hand closed around his throat, cutting off his air supply.
Stalking over to the window, he pushed the curtains aside and gazed out across the parking lot in the directions of Kelly’s house. Were they still there? And if they were, were they fighting over him? He hoped that Robinson wouldn’t take his anger out on Kelly. He didn’t think he would, but Mitch couldn’t be sure. Swallowing nervously, he debated heading back over around lunch to explain himself.
