Shop Chairs
Nina was sitting at her station, her fingers hovering over her keyboard. When she saw me step out of the elevator, she stood up so fast her chair tipped over backward with a sharp clatter.
I held up a hand, smiling gently. “Leave it, Nina. Gravity will sort it out.”
She hurried over, her eyes shining with a mixture of terror and fierce, unadulterated triumph. “Clara. The legal department is downstairs. The bank representatives are waiting in Conference Room B. They brought the red leather signature folders.”
“I know,” I said, walking slowly across the carpet. I stopped by my old desk. The cardboard box was gone—someone had nervously hidden it in the supply closet. In its place was my silver pen, resting neatly on a clean sheet of heavy-stock paper.
Shop Chairs
“Are you going to evict us?” Nina asked, her voice barely a squeak. “The warehouses… are we shutting down?”
