Yeah. That would be me.
I whirled back to the audience and zoomed in on Toby, whose phone was still trained in my direction.
My jaw clenched.That little shit.
Just last week, I'd given him an earful over that typo – and then, against every policy and instinct, I'd let it go. I'd fixed the slide and kept it just between us.
He'd thanked me like I'd done him a huge favor. The next day, he'd even brought me a latte – chocolate almond, my favorite.
But then, just yesterday, he'd gone on a strange little rant about karma, saying that mean people always got what they deserved.
Like a total idiot, I hadn't even realized the meanie was me.
But I was realizing it now, because Toby was the one who'd loaded my presentation onto the conference room computer.
And remember that hint of smugness I'd spotted earlier?Under my panicked gaze, it morphed into a full-blown smirk.
Asshole.It took everything I had not to lunge across the room and toss him out on his bony ass. Right from the start, I'd suspected he was trouble – the kind who'd smile to your face and knife you in the back.
But a total sap, I'dstillgone easy on him.
And for what?
Five years.That was how long I'd spent clawing my way toward that corner office.But it felt like ten.I'd given up weekends, friends, and anything resembling a normal life.
Even today, my bags were already packed for a month in Miami – not for beaches or cocktails, but for market research.I hadn't even packed a swimsuit, because why bother? My weekends would be filled with work.
As I stood there, stunned, the last five years collapsed into a single, brutal question.What had it all been for?
Hell, I'd even put up with Evan Carver, who'd gone from disarming to dangerous over the course of several weeks.
I'd been too proud to admit it, but he scared the crap out of me. And this wasbeforethe start of the presentation, when he'd leaned in and whispered something so disturbing, I'd nearly lost my lunch.
But like a total trouper, I'd carried on anyway, making the pitch I'd been practicing for days.
Of course, none of those practice sessions had involved a slide of me in the before-times, when I had friends, a social life, and an actual sense of humor.
Crazy, I know.
And yes, the photohadbeen a joke – just like Evan had asked.
Except this wasn't really his question, was it? What hereallywanted to know was why that picture had appeared now, during a marketing pitch that would've solidified a multi-million-dollar account.
Instead, the photo would surely be Evan's excuse to drop us like a hot potato – and more to the point, get rid ofme.
As I fumbled for a reply, his voice thundered across the room. "Don't make me ask again."
Nobody was laughing anymore.
The room had gone so silent that I could hear myself breathing – too fast, too loud, and too shallow to get the air I needed.
All my life, I'd been good under pressure. But now, as Evan's mouth twisted into a sneer, a slow burn ignited in my chest. It wasn'tmyfault that his company's reputation was in thedumpster – or that he'd needed to hire a company like Thatcher-Hale at all.
Our specialty was image and branding, butsomethings were beyond fixing, like all of the medical screw-ups tied to the Carver name.
I mean sure, Thatcher-Hale could give the turd a good polishing, but the stink was already drawing flies.
Carver Health was doomed.
