The next morning at the office is a rough one. The back of my head houses a dull and persistent ache, compliment of my severe lack of sleep from the night before. Every time I pass a reflective surface, I wince at the sight of the grey circles underneath my eyes. I look sunken and exhausted.
And I look empty.
But at least I’ve had two weeks of uneventful stagnation. Because after Grace approaches me with my new assignment, I’d give anything for some good old deep dissatisfaction instead of what I have on my plate now.
“I’m really sorry,” she tells me, “but the receptionist at the Press had her baby, like, weeks early. And her replacement isn’t ready to take over yet.”
“Oh,” I mutter, my brain rapidly spinning ideas that might get me out of having to go work in Professor Harlan’s office
