Free Loose Changeling: A Changeling Wars Novel by A.G. Stewart Page B

She leaned forward in her chair.
    “I’m sorry I did. Leaving everyone else to do my work is not something I pride myself on.” Anne seemed to deflate before my eyes. “I hope you weren't put upon by my absence.”
    “No, not at all,” Anne said. She let out a little huff of breath and turned back to her computer. I looked up and saw the door to my boss's office, slightly open. Well, let's just hope he didn't hear that .
    “I caught my sleeve in the car door on my way in,” I told her. She nodded despondently.
    Our conversation apparently over, I headed to my cubicle. As I did, I passed the small and vacant office for head salesperson. I couldn't help myself; I turned my head to look at it, as I did every time I came to work. The desk and chair lay empty, dust gathering on their surfaces. Behind it, a floor-to-ceiling window exposed a view of the neighboring building's wall. Not the best view, but a view nonetheless.
    “Still eyeing that? I hear you stop every time on your way to your cubicle,” said one of my coworkers. I peered over the partition and saw Brent hunched over his keyboard, his back turned to me, thinning black hair gelled back. “Landon will never fill the position, you know. He likes to micromanage.”
    “Is that so?”
    “Yes, it is so, Miss Perfect Prissy Pants.”
    “Well that's kind of rude, don't you think?”
    He shrugged. “I guess so.” His hands kept tapping at the keyboard.
    I slipped past him and found my cubicle. Brent, our accountant, had his good days and his bad days. Clearly I'd walked in on one of his bad days.
    I wanted to sigh in relief as soon as I entered my workspace. Everything on my desk had its place. Pens and pencils point-down in the mug next to my monitor. My own Frank Gibbons planner sat on the other side, next to the stapler, white out, and my bin of paperclips. I’d pinned a large calendar against one wall of my cubicle, my business trips written in green sharpie.
    I sat and powered up my computer. Just as my background popped up—a grassy field at noon—Anne's voice whispered from behind me.
    “Nicole, sorry to bother you so soon, but Landon wants to talk to you in his office. Right away.”
    So far, this was not turning out to be the relaxing venture I'd thought it would be. “Thank you, Anne,” I told her, though I felt no gratitude to speak of. I rose from my chair, moved my stapler a little to the right, just to have something to do, and brushed past her. Her footsteps sounded behind me. No doubt she would sit quietly at her computer trying to overhear what Landon had to say. She'd once had the impertinence to hush me mid-conversation when my boss had called in another of my coworkers. I suppressed my irritation. He probably wanted to talk about my absence and scold me for leaving those contracts undone. I straightened my shoulders before walking into his office. Well, I'd faced down hobgoblins earlier in the day. My boss couldn't be much more difficult.
    Landon sat behind his desk, one hand on his mouse, his monitor reflected in his black-framed glasses. Gray hair curled around his ears, giving him the vague look of a Roman statue, but with saggy jowls and a bit of a pudge instead of a firmly defined jaw and an even firmer body. “Come in, Nicole. Shut the door behind you, please.”
    I did as he asked, taking my place in one of the two chairs opposite his desk. He clicked his mouse a few more times, typed something, and clicked again. A tiny giggle reached my ears.
    I cleared my throat. "Did you say something?"
    Landon glanced at me. "Just a moment." As he turned back to his computer, the screen flickered and then cut to black. "Damn it!" He leaned down and picked up a plug. "Must have kicked it this time," he muttered.
    I cleared my throat again and Landon finally faced me. He plugged the computer back in, pushed his glasses up, then clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. “Sorry about that. Now you know you’re one of my best workers. I