Connor
"Sir," she says as she walks into my office, carrying a file.
I ignore her greeting, keeping up my pretense of typing on my laptop while I figure out how to repay her for this morning.
"Sir," she gets to my desk and drops the file. "This is the summary of the protocols currently under simulation for the sensor systems."
I count to five Mississippi, and then I close my laptop screen, staring at her with implied boredom and disinterest on my face.
"I see. I'll go through them. Thank you."
There is no trace of the earlier cheekiness on her face, and if anyone were to walk in, they'd think, with her power suit, well-styled hair, and high heels, that she's an excellent employee.
That Evelyn Lockhart isn't an undercover menace.
She nods. "Okay."
I wait for her to get to the door,
