Penned Con is a week away, which means I have seven days and six nights to flip my sleep schedule on its groggy head so that I’m awake during the days (shudder) and can do normal day-things with my fellow humans. And let me tell you, I am already counting the days until the Con is over and I can go back to staying up all night and sleeping all day, because this sucks. I mean, yah, you CAN eventually train a night-owl to function during the days, kind of like how you can train a left-handed person to use their right hand: It will never feel natural or look pretty, but no one cares if you’re happy as long as you conform.

I have been nocturnal as long as I can remember. Longer, even. My mother used to tell me that when she’d wake up in the middle of the night, she’d often find me quietly watching TV or flipping through a picture book when I was three or four. It got to the point that she’d just say goodnight and go back to bed. I clearly had no trouble getting in and out of my crib, and it pretty much guaranteed I’d go down for a nap in the afternoon when she wanted one, too. She was a morning person, like my dad, so I have no idea where I got it from. I was just comfortably nocturnal right up until I started school, when I became uncomfortably nocturnal and stayed that way for the next 13 years. Then I started working and…well, let’s just say the best part of being a writer is setting your own hours.

Anyway, I’m exhausted, so I’m going to upload early tonight, take some Zzzquil and go to bed at the ridiculous hour of 10 o’clock. Sheesh. On a normal day, I should be thinking about what to make for lunch right about now. But it is not a normal day and won’t be until October 2nd at the earliest, which is when I get home from Penned Con, so please head on over to ff.net or a03.org to enjoy the newest chapter of Everything Is All Right, Part Three: Children of Mammon and wish me a pleasant trip and pleasant dreams!

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The morning meeting was already underway when Ana opened the door to Shelton Contractors and all heads turned when she walked in. To judge from appearances, Shelly had just finished telling them half of them were about to be downgraded to part-time labor, but he had obviously not gotten around to announcing her triumphant return. After a moment of silence in which the stares ran the gamut from incuriously surprised to slack-jawed horror (that was Wyborn, uncharacteristically sitting alone in his usual spot. Slater, who should have been slouched beside him, was nowhere to be seen), Big Paulie slammed his coffee cup down on the reception desk and swung on Shelly with a bellowing, “What in the blue blazes is she doing back here?”

“Office,” Shelly said coldly. “Now.”

Big Paulie bulled his way through a roomful of staring men and into the boss’s back room with Shelly right behind him. The door slammed, but the room was far from soundproofed. Everyone got a good earful, from the I-won’t-work-with-that-whore-dropped-piece-of-trash to the I-don’t-like-it-either-but-I-got-a-business-to-run to the I-gave-you-thirty-years-of-my-life to the I-paid-for-them-too-so-don’t-pull-that-crap-on-me-now.

Ana poured herself the last of the coffee and started a new pot brewing, waiting for the fireworks to fizzle out. She kept one eye on Wyborn as she drank it; he kept both eyes on her.

After a little more yelling back and forth, Big Paulie banged his way back out of the boss’s office and straight out the door, making sure to shoulder-check Ana on the way. Hot coffee sloshed onto her shirt, not only scalding her tits, but then sort of exposing them through the wet t-shirt. The urge to dash the rest of the coffee over Big Paulie’s bald head and then hit him with the empty mug was strong, much stronger than it would have been if she’d only had some sleep, but he was already gone.

“You all right?” Shelly asked as Ana dabbed at herself with a handful of paper towels.

She nodded, jaws clenched.

“Get yourself one of the company shirts in back. The rest of you, listen up. Hageman, think you can fill Paulie’s shoes for the day down at town hall?”

Ana left them to reconfigure the chain of command and went into the supply room to find a shirt close to her size and change. When she reappeared, once more all heads turned. Ana tossed her wadded-up shirt in the trash—her Mordor fun-run shirt, one of her favorites—and picked up her coffee. She drank it, defiantly.

“And that brings us to outdoors maintenance,” Shelly said after a moment, turning to Morehead. “As of today, Stark here will be in charge of that department. I trust you to show her how it’s done. The two of you will also be responsible for general upkeep around here. Wyborn, Bisano, on Wednesdays and Fridays, you two will be helping out under Stark’s supervision. Questions?”

Bisano tossed off a shrug that said he’d be looking for another job anyway, Morehead seemed relieved more than anything, and Wyborn looked like Shelly had reached out and given his nuts a twist.

Ana said, “I could use Wyborn today too, if you don’t mind.”

“Peep,” said Wyborn, probably not deliberately.