Penelope's POV
Monday morning found me at the office fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, but Felicity had beaten me there as usual. She sat behind her desk with steam curling from her coffee mug, surrounded by scattered documents like a general planning battle strategy. When I stepped through the door, she lifted her gaze and fixed me with that penetrating stare I knew meant trouble.
"Well, well, princess," she drawled, wrapping her fingers around her mug. "Tell me about your weekend adventure through London's finest establishments."
"Nothing extraordinary," I replied, keeping my tone deliberately neutral as I draped my coat over my chair and powered up my computer. "Found a Beatles album for my father," I added, moving toward my workstation without elaborating further.
