They always loomed up before their time, like some quiet, inescapable, energy-sucking demon. It wasn’t because I didn’t love my job or minded getting up early. They just seemed to signify the end. The end of another wasted weekend. I finished my last-minute preparations to the sounds of Manic Monday by the Bangles. It was a cliché, but it was the song my younger sister Stevie blared every Monday morning. I hastily tied my combat boots and adjusted the cuffs of my khaki pants as I thanked the gods for the hundredth time that I worked for a casual company. I was about ready to leave when my cell phone buzzed in my hip pocket. I did a stunned eye roll seeing Kathy Carver’s name light up on the display. She was the executive assistant to David Henley, the owner of our company. I answered the phone hesitantly, wondering why she was calling when I wasn’t even late…yet. “Hello,” I said, trying to coax fake cheeriness in my voice. “Hi, Marley. It’s Kathy Carver,” she replied, as if I didn’t know.
