Gianna flexed her numb fingers, reclining deeper in her chair, the leather sighing faintly beneath her weight.
Her eyes were tired too, aching in that dull, persistent way that came from staring too long at fine lines and details, just as her brain felt sluggish and overworked.
Worse? It was compounded with the beginning throb of a headache pressing behind her temples.
But that was to be expected, considering she had been working nonstop for the past five hours.
Make that six. She mused absently, lifting her wrist to check the time, blinking when the numbers confirmed it. Her lips pressed together in something close to resignation.
"Vance, go for lunch," she said to her partner in hard work, her voice firm but not unkind.
She could see him from across the room, hunched slightly over the table, straining himself to continue working—or rather, touching their designs with hands that had long since lost their precision.
