Chris’s voice bit out from the entrance to his office at the front of our building. He took that one, even though it was smaller than some of the offices at the back because it meant he could snoop. He faced his L-shaped desk with one side towards the parking lot and street so he could see everyone who might enter, and the other side towards the rest of the office so he knew what his employees were up to at all times.

I fought the groan that wanted to surface. No matter how much coffee and Tylenol I guzzled, my headache wouldn’t go away. And the cab driver’s incessant chatter that I’d had to endure on the ride to work this morning because I’d been without a car hadn’t helped. “It’s eight-thirty, Chris. We don’t open for another thirty minutes.” Only one other person besides the two of us was even in yet.

He straightened, clearing his throat. “I just meant that you’re usually here a lot earlier. Is everything okay?”

Chris Woodward wouldn’t care if I had accidentally lit myself on fire, he was simply trying to exert his dominance in the office. He hadn’t taken it too well when a few of his clients had asked to move from him to me, and he did his best to make me pay for it every time he could. That faint dream of opening my firm flitted across my mind, but I pushed it out. Like always.

“I’m fine. Just had a few things I needed to attend to this morning.” Like trying to cure the hangover from hell.

Chris gave a nod. “All right. Well, get to it.”

I said nothing, simply headed for my office at the back of the building. It was quiet there, and away from prying eyes. It allowed me to lose myself in my work. And it was also why I usually arrived when no one else was here. I often got more done in those two hours before we opened than the entire rest of the day.

I stowed my purse in my filing cabinet and hung my blazer on the hanger on its side, all while sending up a mental plea that this hangover didn’t give me brain fog that swallowed my day whole. My morning went by in fits and starts, spreadsheets and paperwork taking more time than they should’ve. Lunch gave me a little pep, probably because I caved and begged Bell to bring me something greasy from The Catch. But by the time five o’clock rolled around, I was done. I wanted a hot bath and my bed. I didn’t even care about dinner, I only wanted to sleep for a year.

Chris arched a brow as I passed his office, silent judgment for leaving on time instead of an hour after close. I hoped he stepped on an extra-prickly sea urchin.