yelled at Finch, "Is this some kind of sick joke... Who are you trying to fool?" Danielle looked across at the flurry of papers in front of him, a pang of worry rifling through her.
Danielle continued with a defensive, "We'd just reorg'd and surged profits up after the recession." She pushed back from the table, "You know our latest research and reports suggests we're on target to increase last year's profits by a remarkable--"
Before she'd even mentioned the startling figures, she'd looked straight at Finch calculating... as her nails serrated the mahogany in pace with her rising heartbeat.
Finch's defiant expression was duly noted to her memory, as he sat in silent answer to her statement. Danielle daggered her eyes to his languid profile, his sigh wafted, long and theatrical, across the distance between them. But, when she glanced behind her, she saw enough to cause her to realize he was serious. The uniforms weren't going anywhere--with a job to do.
She'd silently swore that she'd keep her cool and control regardless of the situation boiling her insides to a heat beyond volcanic uprising. No, she couldn't blow her top, not now. In her mind she was still that consummate professional that would have no man get the best of her.
Then suddenly, she'd leapt from her seat and bolted for the door, as her pencil tip dug spikes into the carpet with fierceness. The sudden squall burst a flurry of papers behind her, as the soldiered men followed. One by one, every sheet floated in mid-air like a rhythmic dance. Layers of papers scattered the floor in a wave of directions, as silence deepened the moment the last paper drizzled a small mountain.
Nearing the small militia, a whirlwind made the atmosphere clearer. Danielle was aware that the craziness wasn't yet over, as Finch drew his attention to the chaos underfoot, he still didn't look up at her.
After salvaging the papers with his viscous palms yielding sweat like a faucet, Finch swabbed the tabletop less what had already been saturated by the spilled coffee. What was left of his files became a succulent sponge, and sticky smeared reports.
Finch took a sharp breath as he swiveled idly in his chair. His focus darted toward the bare wall simply draped with a modestly framed sunflower meadow oil painting that anchored the opposite end of the table. As he'd rolled back in his chair she'd already rounded the double doors shouldering past a row of staunchly bureaucrats hovering the entry.
Four inches of pencil tip wobbled in fury, as she paced the corridor soldiered by security.
Frustration with embarrassment and for being made a fool only quickened her motivation to uncover the slew of secrets and ruthless cover-up plaguing her world.
Her focus narrowly quickened the pace of her step, searing the financial haven of what was her career. A career she risked everything meaningful in her life for--and her livelihood that had suddenly become a disaster.
Silence set ablaze the ethereal calm unfamiliar to the office. Danielle continued to march confidently even as the two security men escorted her down the maze of corridor to her office. Roman gave Finch an ethereal stare as he bolted down the hall after her.
The slender clean-shaven man shadowed in front of her, as his husky counterpart rocked her nerves in pursuit. The latter trailed his commando arrogance, along with the scent of menthol and eucalyptus doused in nicotine. Danielle bottled her breath as its pungency snaked around her hair to her throat.
Roman shadowed them through the hallway as he sprung toward her a few seconds later.
"This is ridiculous," Roman muttered, as their shoulders fused the narrow corridor together.
As he straddled her side, their silent screams and whispers bottled their insides as they pounded each step toward the end of her journey--to a career in meltdown.
The two men pointed at her office door as they flanked soldiering positions, followed by a quick nod. As Danielle pushed open the door,
Danielle continued with a defensive, "We'd just reorg'd and surged profits up after the recession." She pushed back from the table, "You know our latest research and reports suggests we're on target to increase last year's profits by a remarkable--"
Before she'd even mentioned the startling figures, she'd looked straight at Finch calculating... as her nails serrated the mahogany in pace with her rising heartbeat.
Finch's defiant expression was duly noted to her memory, as he sat in silent answer to her statement. Danielle daggered her eyes to his languid profile, his sigh wafted, long and theatrical, across the distance between them. But, when she glanced behind her, she saw enough to cause her to realize he was serious. The uniforms weren't going anywhere--with a job to do.
She'd silently swore that she'd keep her cool and control regardless of the situation boiling her insides to a heat beyond volcanic uprising. No, she couldn't blow her top, not now. In her mind she was still that consummate professional that would have no man get the best of her.
Then suddenly, she'd leapt from her seat and bolted for the door, as her pencil tip dug spikes into the carpet with fierceness. The sudden squall burst a flurry of papers behind her, as the soldiered men followed. One by one, every sheet floated in mid-air like a rhythmic dance. Layers of papers scattered the floor in a wave of directions, as silence deepened the moment the last paper drizzled a small mountain.
Nearing the small militia, a whirlwind made the atmosphere clearer. Danielle was aware that the craziness wasn't yet over, as Finch drew his attention to the chaos underfoot, he still didn't look up at her.
After salvaging the papers with his viscous palms yielding sweat like a faucet, Finch swabbed the tabletop less what had already been saturated by the spilled coffee. What was left of his files became a succulent sponge, and sticky smeared reports.
Finch took a sharp breath as he swiveled idly in his chair. His focus darted toward the bare wall simply draped with a modestly framed sunflower meadow oil painting that anchored the opposite end of the table. As he'd rolled back in his chair she'd already rounded the double doors shouldering past a row of staunchly bureaucrats hovering the entry.
Four inches of pencil tip wobbled in fury, as she paced the corridor soldiered by security.
Frustration with embarrassment and for being made a fool only quickened her motivation to uncover the slew of secrets and ruthless cover-up plaguing her world.
Her focus narrowly quickened the pace of her step, searing the financial haven of what was her career. A career she risked everything meaningful in her life for--and her livelihood that had suddenly become a disaster.
Silence set ablaze the ethereal calm unfamiliar to the office. Danielle continued to march confidently even as the two security men escorted her down the maze of corridor to her office. Roman gave Finch an ethereal stare as he bolted down the hall after her.
The slender clean-shaven man shadowed in front of her, as his husky counterpart rocked her nerves in pursuit. The latter trailed his commando arrogance, along with the scent of menthol and eucalyptus doused in nicotine. Danielle bottled her breath as its pungency snaked around her hair to her throat.
Roman shadowed them through the hallway as he sprung toward her a few seconds later.
"This is ridiculous," Roman muttered, as their shoulders fused the narrow corridor together.
As he straddled her side, their silent screams and whispers bottled their insides as they pounded each step toward the end of her journey--to a career in meltdown.
The two men pointed at her office door as they flanked soldiering positions, followed by a quick nod. As Danielle pushed open the door,
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