The best-laid schemes o' Mice an' Men, Gang aft agley. And leave us naught but grief and pain, For promised joy! (To A Mouse) by Robert Burns.
~•~
AMANDA
The grim expression on Robert's face when I walked into his office was unsurprising.
He stood in front of his desk, one hand on it and the other against the edge, drumming impatiently.
I could tell he wasn't thrilled about my visit by the tenseness in his muscles and the way his jaw ticked. But I didn't mind.
“Amanda—” He greeted me coldly as I approached the desk.
I took a seat, placing my small clutch purse on the cool wooden surface and flipping my hair sideways.
“Robert…” I replied smugly, and he raised an eyebrow at me.
“What do you want?”
His tone held an undertone of irritation, as if he didn't appreciate my presence
