A soft chime goes off in my pocket as I reach for my phone. A new notification for the upcoming meeting appears.
Lena Davis’s name has been added to the list. One of our most senior strategists at the firm. A small smile flickers across my face.
She’s my only friend at the firm. “Friend” is a generous word, as we rarely talk outside of work. But she’s kind—and kindness is a rare commodity around here.
I roll my chair back and glide past on my way to her cubicle.
Lena’s head is buried in her laptop, fingers flying. With a hefty client roster and the clout to do whatever she wants, Lena is a workaholic who somehow always looks calm and collected.
Two a.m. calls from clients panicking over unsavory photos online barely faze her, neither do the seven-figure brand dealsshe pulls together with finesse. Watching from afar, it feels like witnessing someone wield magic.
Chris probably wouldn’t bat an eye if she got a DUI or tangled herself up in a romantic affair with a client. A power like that at BP was lethal. Hell, it was a powerful status to have anywhere.
I tap her on the shoulder, sparking a frantic jump.
Masking a smile, I whisper, “So, what’s going on?” She doesn’t respond, but she continues to type.
After that meeting with Holden yesterday and the dreams, I’ve felt like I’ve been regressing—unraveling quietly in my own mind. With Aidan’s focus on this new gaming company, I don’t know what to do with myself.
Lena’s the only person I trust to be honest with me. The kind of person who tells you that you have lettuce between your teeth or toilet paper on your shoe before anyone notices…
At this point, a coworker who’s been kind a few times feels like a lifeline. I clear my throat to try again. Louder this time.
“Whatcha doing?”
She is still typing when her eyes furrow slightly.
“Huh?”
She is locked into whatever she is typing. The only logical thing to do is close her laptop and signal her quietly so nobody notices.
“What was that for?” she whines.
I don’t answer verbally, only tilting my head toward the exit, playing a clumsy game of charades, signaling her to the bathroom down the main hall. You never know who is listening.
When I’m on the verge of a panic attack, every precaution is necessary. After the third attempt to get her out of her chair, we walk to the bathroom.
Lena and I squeeze into the largest stall. The stall that is supposed to be for families or wheelchairs, but now is apparently for breakdowns. I wait for a few moments until all I can hear is a pin drop.
“Look,” she says teasingly, “I’ve tried it. It’s not my thing.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “What?”
My eyes notice her hand on my shoulder. She is body-checking me.
“I don’t swing that way.”
I blink rapidly, carefully lifting her hand off my shoulder. “Oh my god—no. That’s not what this is about. At all.”
She laughs. “So what’s this about then?”
“It’s Chris. He texted me earlier, and…”
I turn my phone toward her and she recites it back to me word for word: “Study Holden. Watch the most recent media outlets. Your ideas are MINE. If you do well, this could mean big things for you. Like we have always discussed.”
Lena remains stoic. Unreadable as always. I ramble forward, unloading the recap of yesterday’s meeting.
There are no breaths in between.
