Bonita slammed a thick stack of documents onto Fara's marble coffee table, the sound cutting sharply through the soft hum of the penthouse's background music. She crossed her arms, leveling a pointed glare at Fara, who was curled up on the plush sectional in her silk pajamas, clutching a half-empty mug of tea.
"Care to explain why you're still holed up in here when your vacation days are long over?" Bonita demanded, her tone laced with equal parts frustration and disbelief. "Work is piling up, Fara. The board's asking questions, and guess who gets to fend them off while you're hiding out?"
Fara blinked at her, trying to suppress the wave of guilt washing over her. She adjusted her mug, stalling for time. "I—I'm just... not feeling great after my trip," she mumbled, her voice unconvincing even to her own ears.
