Penny's POV
Sleep abandoned me two hours before my alarm was set to sound.
One hundred and twenty minutes of staring at the ceiling in my South Sterling flat, running through every conceivable outcome for today's meeting. Most scenarios concluded with me being reassigned to filing duties in the basement archives.
At five in the morning, I abandoned any pretense of rest and headed straight for the shower, praying the scalding water might dissolve the knot of dread that had taken residence in my chest since yesterday. It refused to budge.
Then came the wardrobe crisis: what does one wear to meet their superior—the same superior they'd been intimate with in an aircraft lavatory?
Surely no etiquette manual covered this particular catastrophe.
