Victor straightens his tie and clears his throat. God damnit, he thinks, pay attention, Victor. For the life of him, he can’t seem to keep his mind on the subject at hand.
For some reason –
Well, God damnit, I know the reason, he thinks, gritting his teeth –
He just can’t seem to focus on the conversation at hand, his ears instead filled with the sound of rustling grasses.
“Victor,” Annabeth Prath says, leaning forward to look him in the eye. “Are you all right? Do you need a minute?”
“No, thank you,” Victor says, clearing his throat again. “I apologize. I’ve got…a lot on my plate.”
“You surely do,” says James Willard, leaning back in his chair and surveying Victor with a smirk. “You sure you can handle it all, m’boy?”
Victor narrows his eyes at Willard for that one, putting his
