My coworker...
...sits far too close and drools all over me.
The last three months have been a year, haven't they? I'm loving the game going around the socials to refer to your kids/pets/random creaks from the ghost upstairs as your new coworker. I've been annoying Mr. Lane with this for the last year, but now he's getting it everywhere he turns. Sucker!
But man, sure would be nice if this virus just disappeared tomorrow.
I know everyone is feeling stretched too thin. I'm feeling it, too. Take care of yourselves, lovelies. Read that book. Get groovy with your favorite tunes. Eat that extra piece of chocolate. Do whatever is needed to keep yourself sane.
Take my coworkers, for example. They took turns getting stoned out of their gourds with a brand new catnip toy.
BOOK NEWS: Not much, really. Just trying to stay focused. And here's a quick snippet from Savage Chase!
***
Fuck.
The word rang through Colette Ashford’s head, growing louder and louder until there was little room for any other thoughts. It drowned out the buzz of the fluorescent lights above her, the snoring of her cellmate, and most of the conversations on the other side of the thick, metal door.
Better that than picking over all the details of the night. At least the SEA agents hadn’t cuffed her. The silver-plated bars were enough to keep her locked inside the holding cell. Tranquilizer guns were probably within reach if she decided to get rowdy.
Colette shifted on the cold bench with a grimace. No worries, there. The less movement the better.
Fuck.
Such an expressive word. A hard, quick explosion fired off in anger. A softer whisper, followed by a harsh sigh for thinly veiled disbelief. Said with a grimace over the buckshot still embedded under her skin.
“She took out the best of my herd! She should rot in there until they find her guilty!”
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