18
Greta was in a foul, foul mood. Not that she hadn’t deserved it when Cutter walked out on her. She had turned into a volatile shrew. Gah! Grouchy and teary-eyed, she dragged herself out of bed, stumbled her way through her morning routine, and managed to get to the office on time. Which was a near miracle since she drove like a tweaking meth addict. After refilling her coffee twice, her brain chose to cooperate, and she made it through the workday somewhat productively.
At home, she beached herself on the couch where they’d argued and grabbed the closest book. Gender Disparity in the Workplace. That’ll work. Until it didn’t. Twitching her lips, she flipped the pages of the hardcover book, then flung it away. She cringed at the crunching sound when it dented the wall. Digging around in
