Miss Brown, Keep It Down
Her heels clicked like declarations of war.
“Morning, sunshines!” she sang, spinning once by the elevators.
Cara visibly recoiled. “Oh no. You’ve had three shots again.”
“Four,” Katherine corrected. “One was emotional support.”
At her desk, she slapped down a stack of sticky notes, opened a G****e Doc titled "Genius Ideas That Might Get Me Fired," and started typing like her keyboard owed her money.
Marketing was alive. Electric. Slightly scared.
And across the room, inside his glass fortress of solitude, Sebastian Mason blinked once, then twice, watching her as if trying to determine whether she was a fever dream or an actual employee on payroll.
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