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She paused before her lips curved into a frown. “Well, sir, that may range from anything to invading phone privacy, being judgmental and being dismissive.”
The double meaning wasn't lost on me. “I said two.”
“Had to do my homework well.”
“Insubordination, talkative, and addicted to social media.” I clenched my jaws.
She folded her arms beneath her chest. “There's no such thing as a social media addict…”
“…There isn't a universally recognized clinical diagnosis for social media addiction in major diagnostic manuals. I would also say it's not a real addiction because it doesn't meet the established criteria for the substance or behavioral addiction.”
Her tone had a sharp click.
“So what is the term for a distracted employee on a work trip?”
“I don't know, sir. What's the term for a sleeping boss on a work trip?”
Fair point.
There was a beat of silence before she spoke again. “I— I apologize for that, sir.”
For what? Using social media or arguing?
Her head was now bowed. Phone tucked away, and the air suddenly thick.
Leaning my head against the headrest, I shut my eyes again. Unlike other times, I wasn't irritated or angry. In fact, I found it quite amusing.
After some minutes, we pulled into Mitchell Field in Nassau County. I took in the familiar tree-lined street with a well-manicured lawn. We exited the highway and, after a few minutes, pulled up to Thorne Industries.
Metal exterior and large bay doors filled my vision. I exited the car and entered the facility. It was a vast expanse of space with industrial robots and people assuming different tasks.
There was a constant hum as robots moved around. And people assembled parts.
“Mr. Thorne, welcome, sir.” The familiar short brunette in an engineer’s overall and goggles approached me. The manufacturing manager. “This way for the new shipment.”
He led us past the workstations until we reached the storage room. The room overflowed with spare parts. It looked like everything was in order. I was sure the other departments were, too.
It usually was like this— neat and following a structured pattern.
“Miss Norman,” I turned my eyes to the tall stack of wooden crates secured with metal straps. “I want you to cross-check what we have here against the list.”
“Yes, sir.”
twelve
Evie
Three Years Ago
The sun sank low in the sky, and the stars started to show. It was time for the frat party my boyfriend Stephen wanted to go to. I did my make-up and curled my hair in loose waves. Nude lipstick and subtle make-up were my vibe. I looked pretty, as always.
Soon, I heard the loud honk of his car. I put on my Vans sneakers and met him outside. He was seated inside his Toyota Yaris.
I opened the door and entered the passenger seat.
“Hi.” I smiled at him. His brown hair was messy. Brown orbs were as sharp as ever. He was in casual jeans and a T-shirt.
“Hey.” He leaned over to give me a quick peck. My heart fluttered.
