Morris's POV
My head felt like it was being split open with an ax. I despised hangovers with a passion, which is precisely why I rarely indulged in heavy drinking. Last night was an exception – the guys and I had our reasons to drown our sorrows. Now I was paying the price with a skull-crushing headache that made death seem like a welcome alternative.
Paula half-dragged Darren into my office and deposited him on the couch beside me. We must have looked pathetic. Dorothy, our office maid, followed them in carrying a tray, her eyes twinkling with barely contained amusement.
"Look at you two big shots now," she chuckled. "Hangovers hit differently when you're not college boys anymore, don't they? Miss Paula, I'll fetch some waste baskets – these gentlemen might need them soon."
Paula didn't bother hiding her laughter. Darren and I exchanged miserable glances, acknowledging our sorry state.
