Come Monday morning, I'm literally dragging an unwilling Maya into my office.

"Wait here," I tell her irritably.

"Fine," she retorts, arms folded.

She sits herself down in one of the comfortable arm chairs and gives me a death glare. Sometimes, she really reminds me of a petulant child.

I walk out of my office and knock on Clara's door. Every day last week, Clara arrived earlier than me. Trust today to be the exception. I turn to the cubicles in the middle of the ...