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were slightly unearthly— at least people liked to tell her that ever since she

was a kid— it often worked. Charles swallowed hard, finally getting the

hint that there would never be a lunch that she’d attend with him. This side

or that side of ever. As in, absolutely fucking never.

“Alright then. See you around.”

After Charles left, Christina got up and shut her door. The office had

solid walls, with all the windows facing the outside of the building. She was

on the first floor and had a view of

a dusty, busy street, and the entrance of

an older, high rise building on the other side of it.

The door didn’t have a lock on it, but hopefully it would deter any more

unwanted drop ins. Not only did she not appreciate them, but she likely was

also going to have to work through lunch to get through the applications.

She’d already decided that she wasn’t going to take her lunch break, even

before April and Charles.

One she vowed to be nicer to. April, obviously. The other she debated

telling to go fuck himself the next time he looked in her direction, but he’d

probably just take that as some sick kind of encouragement and do just that.

Christina swallowed down the distaste lingering at the back of her

throat. She rolled her slender shoulders back to dispel her annoyance. She

once again looked down at the open folder, but the neatly typed numbers

and letters swam in front of her eyes. All she could see was her dad’s face

there.

Stern, but classy. That’s how people would probably describe her

father. He was in his late sixties, but still dominated in his own sphere of

business. He seemed to know what all the right moves were far before

anyone else did. He could outwit and outthink the best of them. It was one

of the reasons his corporation, which sold ridiculously overpriced

swimming pools— and that meant everything from start to finish— to

people who had far too much money, stayed on top.