Grace ran her fingers through her brittle hair, wincing as another handful of broken strands fell into her palm. She rubbed her hands together and let them drift to the floor, forcing a smile and hoping that no one noticed. Her cheeks burned with a sudden flush; was it hot in this meeting room, or was it just the overwhelming sense of dread?
Victoria had commanded everyone to sacrifice their lunchbreak to attend this meeting. Grace was expected to “rally the troops”, but these troops didn’t look like they wanted to be rallied. A dozen dour faces sat in front of her, arms folded, eyes on the floor, as if they’d been summoned to watch their parents doing it. A mental image she could have done without.
Grace cleared her throat, cringing at the loud, phlegmy sound. “Hey,” she said, but it came out squeaky, like a pre-pubescent boy rather than the empowered assistant manager she was supposed to be. She died a little inside; what a great fucking start this was.
She strained to maintain her wide smile, hoping she didn’t look like a Batman villain. “So,” she said, holding up both thumbs. “How is everyone doing?”
Total. Fucking. Silence. If a termite had farted, she’d have heard it.
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