This stupid little hourglass had wreaked havoc on my life for months, and my fake off day wasn’t long enough to make me forget any of it…
I glared at its smooth glass body, rolling it back and forth between my hands.
Then I lifted it above my head and dropped it.
The crash echoed too loudly in the sterile room.
Sand spilled across the floor, useless now—time finally broken instead of breaking me.
Adrenaline surged through me, and I felt the need to ruin more.
I grabbed the metal holder and hurled it across the room. It slammed into the wall, leaving a dent in the pristine paint.
This feels too damn good…
I swept everything off his desk—files fanning through the air, pens clattering against marble, framed magazine covers shattering against the wall.
I grabbed his umbrella, flipped it over, and brought it down hard against the hourglass.
Again.
And again.
“Good evening, Miss Stone.” Mr. Cross’s deep voice froze me in place.
I was too stunned to move, so I mentally weighed my options. Run like hell. Pretend nothing happened. Stand perfectly still.
The last option won by default.
He stepped into the room, his face expressionless as he navigated around the wreckage. He bent, picked up the hourglass, brushed it off calmly, and placed it back on the desk—exactly where it belonged.
Then he looked at the rest of the damage.
Then at me.
“We need to talk,” he said. “I was planning to hold off on this until tomorrow, but let’s handle it now. Shall we?”
He led me into the conference room and took a seat at the table.
“Sit.”
I obliged, and he stared at me, his expression unreadable.
Then he leaned forward, tapping his fingers against the wood.
“Do you still hate your job?” he asked.
“Immensely.”
“Even with the raise?”
“The pay doesn’t change the pain…”
“Well, in that case, I’d like to offer you a new one,” he said. “One that I think you might love.”
“There’s a position called Being Free?”
“No.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “I’m talking about making you CFO.”
