“If you are going to do this work well, you need rest. Mario may give you impossible deadlines, but he does not actually benefit from you collapsing in this office.”
“That would be inconvenient for everyone.”
“Very. Paperwork, ambulances, emotional distress.”
I give him a look.
He smiles mildly.
“And if I collapse,” I say, “will your mother also blame you for failing to feed me properly?”
“She would have,” he says, and I notice the past tense use for the first time.
I’m sitting here making jokes about his dead mother.
Get a damn grip, Victoria.
“Then I’ll finish the sandwich,” I say.
“A wise legal strategy.”
By the time I shut down my laptop, the office is quiet in a way that feels almost like an accusation.
This isn’t the hushed quiet of the Conti Headquarters, either. It’s almost accusatory. Like I’ve been here way longer than I should’ve been.
The city beyond the windows has gone dark, the river reflecting broken lines of light from the buildings around it. My reflection hovers faintly in the glass, pale and tired and not at all the composed legal professional I have spent the last couple of weeks pretending to be.
I look terrible. Not disastrous, I suppose.
I am too vain and too disciplined to let myself reach ‘disastrous’ while working in this building.
But terrible, yes.
My makeup is starting to feel like a mask. My hair is still pinned back, but not as neatly as it was this morning. My blouse feels wrinkled under my jacket. My feet hurt. My head hurts. My entire body feels like it has been left out in the cold.
I’ve been staring at numbers for so long that closing my eyes burns almost as much as having them open.
But my progress is undeniable.
I stack the final set of notes into one pile, label it with a sticky note, and slide it into my briefcase.
The access audit is not done, but it is close.
Close enough that I can leave before I start making stupid mistakes.
Close enough that tomorrow morning, after sleep and food and possibly an exorcism, I can finish the last comparison reports and send Benjamin and Ainsley their assignments for next week.
Sleep. Food.
They’re both important, but I am too tired to decide which matters more at the moment.
I glance at my watch.
Then blink.
Nearly 7:00.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
