Ibarrel downstairs and into the kitchen like a woman possessed, finding my mom standing over the stove with a wooden spoon poised at her lips, taking a taste of the tomato soup that I like so much. But I have no appetite.
“Have you decided?” she asks, eyes locked on my frazzled state.
Once I give her a resolute nod and tell her I need to go downtown immediately, Mom springs into action with a decisiveness I’ve always admired.
The stove clicks off beneath her fingers, her apron sails onto the counter, and the car keys jingle in her grip before I can even finish a proper explanation. “When do we leave?”
“Now,” I say from the foyer, already jamming my feet into shoes.
Normally, I’d hesitate to ask Mom for a ride considering her relationship with traffic laws is tenuous at best.
Her driving style falls somewhere between NASCAR champion and getaway driver—definitely not the safest chauffeur in the family, but speed is exactly what I need right now.
We’re flying down the highway, every muscle in my body locked as Mom weaves through traffic like a pro, when my phone buzzes with Wendy’s text:Where are you?
My fingers tap out a quick reply that I’m en route, and her response makes my stomach churn with nausea.
Tim’s presentation is apparently in full swing, and according to Wendy’s play-by-play, they’ve hijacked every single concept from our campaign without even bothering to change the fonts.
That backstabbing, bottom-feeding weasel with his smug face and empty brain!
Amanda’s sudden interest in joining our team after Judy announced the presentation order was well thought out. Her real intention was to funnel everything to Tim like a corporate double agent.
Yet it’s not the betrayal alone that makes my heart pound within my chest. It’s what Wendy reports about Jake that sends electricity shooting through every nerve ending in my body.
He’s apparently red-faced, white-knuckled, and looking ready to vault across the conference table at any moment.
We need to hurry before he does something stupid that ruins his career faster than you can say assault and battery.
“Step on it, Mom.” I’ll just keep my eyes closed for the remainder of the ride. I’m already feeling queasy—watching mom’s stunt work would just make me barf.
When we finally screech into the hotel parking lot with smoking tires, I practically tumble from the car and run toward the entrance.
Making my way to the banquet hall, I hear applause filtering through the ornate double doors.
I slip inside and press myself against the back wall while my eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting.
On the stage, Tim wraps up his presentation, his voice dripping with unearned confidence.
Every slide confirms my worst fears—every tagline, every image, every concept is ours, down to the exact color schemes we painstakingly selected during those late-night brainstorming sessions.
Beatrice Castellano rises from her seat with an impressed smile, her enthusiastic applause directed at the most despicable man I’ve ever met.
Tim bows his head in false humility, soaking in praise that should rightfully belong to Jake’s team—to our work.
I desperately scan the room for Jake, needing to intercept him before he can take the stage and inadvertently look like the plagiarist.
As I edge closer to the front, hushed voices drift from behind a decorative column to the side of the stage.
I inch closer, letting the fiddle-leaf fig next to the column hide my presence.
“Our plan worked like a charm,” Amanda’s voice floats through the air. She’s so proud of herself, it makes me sick.
Tim’s self-satisfied chuckle makes me want to lunge out and slap him across the face. He’s got no shame. Bastard.
“I told you,” he whispers, unaware that I’m catching every incriminating syllable, “Jake never stood a chance. We’ve got this in the bag.”
“Sarah’s transfer to your team worried me at first,” Amanda says, “but it worked out to our advantage. We can just accuse her of spying on us.”
