"Bed rest doesn't mean 'work from bed,'" Alek said, eyeing the laptop, three tablets, and stacks of reports surrounding Emma like a paper fortress.
"It absolutely does," Emma countered, not looking up from her screen. "Dr. Winters said physical rest, not brain death."
Two weeks after discovering her pregnancy, Emma had experienced light spotting—nothing serious, according to her doctor, but enough to warrant precautionary bed rest. What was supposed to be a two-day restriction had stretched to two weeks as her blood pressure remained stubbornly elevated.
"The team has survived without direct Mitchell oversight before," Alek reminded her, setting a glass of water on her nightstand. "It can manage a few weeks."
"Easy for you to say," Emma grumbled. "You get to leave the house."
Alek's expression softened. "I know this is difficult—"
"It's infuriating," Emma corrected. "I'm not sick. I'm pregnant. Women have been doing this since the beginning of time without being treated like invalids.
