His grin widens as he leans uncomfortably close. “This time, the W is as good as ours. Good luck.” A scornful laugh trails behind him as he saunters away, and my hands curl into fists.
Releasing the tension from my fingers one by one, I redirect my focus to what truly matters. My team needs me sharp, not distracted by Tim’s taunts.
While I’m double-checking our slides and equipment settings, a wave of floral perfume washes over me, strong and invasive of my personal space.
“Hey, Jake.” Amanda’s voice is sweet behind me, but if what I suspect is true, it’s as fake as her nails. Tim isn’t smart enough to fool Judy. Amanda had a hand in it.
When I turn, she’s standing close enough that I can count her eyelashes, her hand brushing my arm like we’re something more than colleagues. “You look tense. Need a little help relaxing?” Her lips curve upward as her eyes shine with unmistakable intent, a look I’ve been strategically avoiding since I got hired. She just refuses to take the hint.
I reply with a heavy sigh. “I’m fine, Amanda.”
Undeterred, she steps even closer, her fingertips lingering on my sleeve as I try to shake her off. “You know,” she says quietly, “you’re wasting time thinking about the past. You could have something better—right here, right now.” Her gaze drifts to my mouth, and before I can create distance between us, she leans in and whispers, “I know something you don’t. I can help you win this competition.”
She makes me uncomfortable—every damned time trying a pass at me. But what is it that she knows? Her cryptic words sound in my head like warning bells, raising questions about what game she’s playing and what information she thinks gives her leverage.
As her lips draw nearer, I recognize this moment as the inevitable conclusion to months of advances I’ve tried to ignore,hoping she’d eventually lose interest. I’ve been unfair in my avoidance, and she deserves nothing short of honesty. Sarah taught me that.
With gentle firmness, I remove her hand from my arm to stop her approach, then put my hands on her shoulders and say, “Amanda...you’re wasting your time. There’s only one woman in this world I’ve ever truly loved—still love—and I let her slip away. And I will never love another the same way.”
That’s right. This lonely bachelor existence is exactly what I’ve earned—along with an empty bed and nothing but memories for company.
Her glossed lips twist into a sour pucker while her eyes roll back so far into the back of her head, I’m afraid they might get stuck there. Face tightening into a mask of cold fury, Amanda leans close enough that I start feeling uncomfortable again.
“You’ll regret this,” she hisses. I don’t think pouring out my true feelings warrants such overreaction, but she’d already proven to be capable of anything, and I’m done pretending otherwise. No one in this world could change my feelings on the matter of my bachelorhood. Well…except maybe one person.
My conscience pricks at me like a persistent thorn. When it comes to uncomfortable workplace situations, I’ve been an absolute coward, letting this one fester for years instead of shutting it down properly.
Watching her storm away on those impossibly high heels, relief washes through me like a cool wave on a scorching day.
I turn back to my team. They all look rather nervous. Not that I’m feeling any different, but since I’m the team leader it falls on me to say something. I launch into the pep talk I’ve been mentally rehearsing since dawn. We’ve poured everything into this campaign—our creativity, our weekends, our collective sanity—and the stakes couldn’t possibly be higher. I remindthem of how far we’ve come, squeezing conviction into every word even as doubt gnaws at my insides.
As the lights dim with theatrical slowness, my pulse quickens—the pre-presentation adrenaline kicks in like a drug sooner than expected.
After we take our seats, Tim struts to the front of the stage. He turns to face the room with a cocky smile, then throws me a wink. Irritated doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel about his antics today. It’s been so nice not having to see his mug every day. I force myself to lean back in my chair, feigning a relaxation I don’t even remotely feel. My attention locks onto the projection screen, waiting for whatever mediocre concepts he’s cobbled together.
When the first slides appear on the screen, my stomach plummets like an elevator with cut cables, and suddenly I’m caught in the cold grip of dread. I bolt upright, blinking hard as though my eyes are playing some cruel trick. A carbon copy of our work, the campaign we’ve labored over for weeks stares back at me in high-definition. With trembling fingers, I rub my eyes, hoping for a different reality when I look again. But the evidence remains, irrefutable and damning—he’s stolen everything from us.
Every detail—our visuals, our messaging, our entire concept—stands displayed before the room as Tim’s creation.
Tim and Amanda exchange arrogant glances that confirm Sarah’s suspicions. Is this her way of getting back at me? Amanda catches my eye and delivers a devastating glare, triumph written all over her face.
My knuckles whiten beneath the table as I clench my fists hard enough to make them quiver. I’d like nothing more than to come up there and slug him in the face. If he thinks I’ll just listen to him claiming credit for ideas that were never his to begin with—
I glance all around me. While Beatrice Castellano nods appreciatively at what she’s seeing, my team sits frozen in collective horror, their expressions cycling through shock, disbelief, and outrage. Helpless in the face of this brazen theft, I struggle to come up with some kind of plan.
The sick realization that we’ll appear to be copycats if we present our original work twists in my gut like undercooked meat. My reputation, my team’s credibility, our chance at this account—all vanish like smoke through my desperate fingers. All I can think about is my team, their trusting faces only intensifying the guilt crashing over me in suffocating waves. I press my palm against my forehead, as if I could physically hold my thoughts together. All our late nights, the passionate debates over strategy, the meticulous attention to every pixel and word choice—it can’t be for nothing.
My mind races through possible solutions, each more desperate than the last. We could try to pivot on the spot, restructuring our presentation into something—anything—different. But nothing comes to mind, so I consider a more direct approach: exposing their theft right here, turning their triumph into a public flogging.
The bitter truth Sarah tried to warn me about coats my tongue—I dismissed her concerns, and now we’re paying the price.
Every muscle in my body screams for action, for justice, for some kind of retribution against this blatant betrayal. My restraint hangs by the thinnest of threads, fraying with each smug word that leaves his mouth. I can’t lose control—not here, not now, not with everything on the line.
I glance at my team again. What would they think of me? What do they think of me now?
Their horror-stricken eyes and slumped postures are a living monument to how spectacularly I’ve let them down.
Chapter 25
