• Margaret Daily dropped her pen on the table, picked it up, and dropped it again. Her light brown eyes appraised John Sherman's knuckles as he sat across from her, hands clenched one on top of the other over the manilla folder in front of him. Margaret picked up her pen and dropped it again.

    "Now, come on Margaret, you have to decide," Griffin Doyle said, leaning forward in his high backed rolling chair, elbows planted on the table in front of him. Faded green eyes pleaded with her from under his white caterpillar brows that always caught Margaret's gaze during presentations and conferences. She itched to take a pair of scissors and trim them down to a not so offensive size.

    John cracked his knuckles as Margaret stared at them. White bloomed around the joints then faded back to a light beige as he released each finger. She lifted her gaze up past his blue cotton button down, bridled by a brown tie almost equally as offensive as Griffin's eyebrows.

    "How about we go to lunch," Margaret said, eyes locked on the brown noose below John's Adam's apple. "I need some crackers or something. My blood sugar's low and my head's swimming a little."

    "No, Margaret," Griffin responded, "You have to choose now. We all cast our votes, now it's your turn."

    Margaret ran her hands through her hair, pulling her bangs back over her forehead. All of the cases had been read and reread a dozen or two dozen times. John didn't work well with others. Margaret had raised the issue that the statement sounded like a kindergarten teacher's comment to a parent on a report card and that there must be something more significant as character flaws went. Griffin really didn't see how that was a relevant issue.

    Griffin tended to talk too loud when taking calls in his office. Everyone on the floor were privy to unwanted details about his marriage and his spying on the pool on the roof of the hotel outside his office window. Conferences with clients always tended to take a turn for the uncomfortable when Griffin called his assistant on speakerphone about the women tanning topless poolside.

    Margaret had several indeterminate health problems that needed to be managed by a mixture of pills, shots, and transfusions and often caused her to miss several days of work in a row. She had already burned through her sick days, but she made up for her missing time in the office by working through the night at home. Working instead of resting seemed to work against what little improvements the medical treatments provided, and most days she made it into the office were proceeded by uncontrolled fits of vomiting. This vomiting problem caused her to change at least three times before making it into work and four times during the work day.

    "Paula," Margaret said quickly, dropping her pen on the table. "I choose Paula."

    Griffin and John stared at Margaret. Griffin sat back in his chair, pushing himself away from the table. John rubbed his temples with his fingertips. Margaret turned her gaze from John's collar to the waif-like woman next to her. Paula looked back at Margaret from behind coke-bottle glasses, the shock in her gray eyes magnified tenfold. Margaret looked down at the manilla folder on the conference table in front of Paula. The file was the real reason she had picked her friend, not because of her coke-bottle glasses, or blond hair pulled so tightly into a bun that her skin stretched away uncomfortably from her bones, or the cheetah print heels that clicked through the hallways on the way to lunch.

    Paula Mitchell was a perpetual Junior Vice President. On her reviews, John was constantly forced to mark her down points for lack of leaderships qualities and time management. Paula also had a daughter in high school and a great life insurance policy, plus a well stocked investment portfolio and had finished paying off her mortgage three months prior to the vote. Margaret, John, and Griffin couldn't say the same about their financial stability.

    Griffin stood and opened the window behind him.

    "Paula, come on, stand up," he said, motioning to her as he held the window open with his other hand. "John and Margaret voted for you. You have to do it."

    "No," Paula shook her head, smoothing her pulled back hair. "We should go over the files again. They weren't thoroughly explained, in my opinion. John was barely investigated. There could be some other financial report we're missing."

    Margaret and John came to either side of Paula and lifted her up. She stiffened and then relaxed as they maneuvered her to the window. Griffin rested a hand on her shoulder and squeezed for a moment as if trying to reassure her, then pulled her forward through the frame into the open air.