chicating

Still, it might work out for her today. She did feel a minor flicker of guilt as she added the Big Boss’ info into the section of code that her team, and those fucking kids, hadn’t fixed yet—it was bigger than she might have expected—Kat was fast, too, which put the bitter tinge back in her smile of satisfaction. She did what she could do, and when she hit enter, she did feel a cold pit in her stomach. It was soon replaced by the memory of her aching eyes, pounding head, canceled plans, all to be cast aside. If she could have boiled his virtual rabbit—she might have. But, of course, that would bring suspicion down on her. She hadn’t thought of herself as the gloating type and it wasn’t the kind of expanded possibility that essays about jobsearching touted