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The rest of Wednesday felt like a weird blur after Mr. Fairchild bolted from his office as if I'd set his pants on fire. I didn't catch sight of him again, not in the hallway, not at the coffee station, and certainly not hanging out in the glass-walled conference room like he sometimes did when he thought no one noticed.
By the time five o'clock rolled around, I was starting to think I'd finally pushed the guy too far. Maybe my popsicle stunt had crossed a line; maybe he'd decided that his poor, uptight alpha heart couldn't handle any more of my carefully orchestrated chaos. That thought twisted my stomach in a strange way, but I chose not to dig into it too much.
