Fannie Robinson paused in her typing to peer at her screen. The monitor glowed in her glacier-blue eyes, and her lips twitched slightly as she read the values in five columns against each other. She glanced at the stapled booklet beside her keyboard, turned to the last page, then back at the screen.
After a minute she took a long breath and stretched her neck. “Fucking finally.” She rolled her shoulders, saved the spreadsheet and shared it with Amy-Leigh, with a note that it had been completed “and let me know if there’s anything else you need from me.” Before the creative director could possibly reply, she kicked her office chair back, snatched up her fitted waist leather jacket, and rounded the front desk to head down the hall and disappear into the staircase.