She bumped her head back on the door three times. Dyed hair. Colored contacts. Tangled tongue. Paradigm’s pricey hired guns would quake in their collective boots when she stumbled in. Not.
Her eyes settled on her desk. Five untidy stacks of papers cluttered the surface screaming for attention. The sight depressed her. She continued past the desk to her west-facing windows, which she kept ajar a couple inches at night. Contrary to office policy, which stated that all staff must close and latch windows when leaving for the day. But then, Shannon had never been one to sweat over office policy.
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