Charlotte's office at Quantum Tech was quiet.
The comfort of it also came from having Amanda Wells—former runaway bride turned executive assistant—handling the day-to-day chaos with the efficiency of someone who'd survived her own personal apocalypse and decided organization was her new religion.
Amanda sat at the smaller desk positioned perpendicular to Charlotte's, tablet in one hand, phone in the other, hair pulled back in a professional bun that somehow made her look both competent and dangerous.
Like she could schedule your meeting or bury your career with equal efficiency.
Charlotte was reviewing quarterly projections on the transparent giant screens floating in her office—numbers so large they'd lost meaning somewhere around the hundred-billion mark—when Amanda's phone rang.
"Amanda Wells," she answered, voice crisp and professional. A pause. "Yes, this is Ms. Thompson's office. How can I help you?"
