A knock disrupted Gianna's work.
She was standing before the board in her office, adding sketches to an already-sketched work—not entirely completed though—her head cocked contemplatively to the side, wondering if she was producing well the image that had flashed through her mind when she thought of new designs and old.
The disruptive knock wasn't the first, but the fourth, and when it did come, she hissed softly, not pleased with the unwanted shakings it did to the image in her mind.
She turned to the door, glaring at it hard, wondering who it could be. It couldn't be Grace, because she had told the latter that she would be engaged in intense work for four hours.
Or was there an emergency?
Her eyes caught the time on the clock then and she cussed beneath her breath, darting away from the board as if it was a leper, dropping her pencils on the table.
She should have been with the deputy director forty minutes ago!
