Date Shark
“That had become Leila’s mantra about five minute after waking up Monday morning. Now with her work day not even halfway over, she swore at him under her breath every time she was forced to stand up. He’d promised running would work out her sore muscles. He promised her body would get used to the torture. He had been dead wrong. Her legs, her abs, her ankles, they all hurt. The next time she saw him, Leila planned on stomping on his toes really hard—if she could lift her leg high enough to even manage it.
“Hey, Leila,” Ana said as she breezed into Leila’s office. “I just saw the window banners you designed. They look fabulous. I thought the Buxton font was the way to go, but you were absolutely right about the one you designed. Writing out the new line in a font that looks like dozens of little beads looks a million times better. A customer just came in and told me how great she thought it was.”
“Glad you liked it.” Leila’s cell phone started ringing.
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