An annoying boss, a bikini, and a fake illness

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Cyndi rasped into the phone.  “I woke up with this and I can barely get out of bed.”

“Are you sure?” her boss whined from the other line.  “I could send you the reports over email or something like that.  Maybe an audio file of the meeting?  Something over Skype?”

As he prattled on, Cyndi gazed at the tiny turquoise bikini hanging on the chair.  Drawing on it for inspiration, she let out something between a moan and a death rattle.  This finally seemed to shut the man up.

“Right then.  I’ll see you in five days.”