Valerie should have gone home.
That was her first coherent thought as she stood frozen in front of the towering black-glass reception desk of Hawthorn Global Headquarters.
The building itself looked less like a corporate office and more like the headquarters of some futuristic government agency. Steel and smoked glass stretched upward into impossible heights, every polished surface gleaming beneath cool white lighting. The lobby was cavernous, lined with marble floors so spotless she could practically see her reflection in them.
Everyone around her looked intimidatingly polished.
Men in tailored suits strode briskly across the vast floor with tablets in hand, their expressions sharp and focused. Women in fitted pencil skirts and sleek blazers moved with quiet authority, speaking into earpieces or exchanging clipped professional conversations.
And then there was Valerie.
