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... t on my desk. Maps. Charts. Reports. Pages upon pages of data that needed to be sorted, categorized, and compiled into something presentable.
My hands were still shaking. Had been shaking since she’d walked away. Since she’d dropped this bomb in my lap and left me to deal with the fallout.
Stop it, I told myself. Stop panicking. This is just work. Just paperwork. Nothing dangerous about paperwork.
Right?
I checked the clock again.
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5:15 PM.
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