C34 Panic

In exasperation, Ms. Stubbs ran her fingers through her black hair, which was now sticking out in all directions. One of the brass buttons on her vest popped off and clattered to the floor. “Mr. Dyson, sometimes I swear you do this on purpose.”

“I really don’t,” Gerald defended as he stood at his desk. “In fact, I’d prefer to keep a lower profile, truth be told