"Are you having trouble, Miss Miller?"
His voice, suddenly cutting through the grind and my internal screaming, which startled me.
He'd taken out the AirPod and swiveled his chair, watching me with that same unnervingly calm expression.
"Just… getting into the rhythm, Mr. Walton," I managed, forcing a tight smile that probably looked more like a grimace. I held up the manual sharpener, pretending it was a fascinating artifact. "Quite the… vintage model."
He raised an eyebrow, a tiny flicker of amusement in his eyes that made me want to ram the sharpener through his monitor. "Some find the manual touch more… authentic."
Authentic misery, maybe.
He watched me for a moment longer, then turned back to his screen. "Don't let the dust get on the carpets," he added idly.
I was this close to stabbing him with a pencil.
The only thing that saved Mr. Walton from being impaled with freshly-sharpened pencil was a phone call he received.
