⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆✼♡✽⋆∘∙⊱⋅•
Mr. Fairchild's look was like a physical blow, sharp and icy enough to chill the room despite the warmth from our earlier tussle. He laid the wrinkled napkin down with purpose, as if that simple action could bring back order to the chaos I'd stirred up.
"Let's cut the games, Theodore," he said, each word coming out in that low, controlled tone he used when he was struggling not to lose his temper. "I mean it. Just stop."
I let out a bright, playful laugh that echoed off the dark windows and empty cubicles beyond the glass door.
"What games are you talking about, sir?" I asked, widening my eyes to put on my best innocent act while tilting my head just right. "I'm literally just here asking to wash your shirt. How is that a game? I'm just being helpful, really."
