Isabella’s POV
By the time I settled into my chair and calmed my racing heart, I’d already convinced myself the morning had been a vivid hallucination triggered by some stress-induced brain worm.
None of it happened.
Then Linda strolled into my office with the confidence of a woman who hadn’t just threatened to rearrange a Botoxed socialite’s face and flirted shamelessly with my n****e nemesis.
When I first started working here, Linda and I were not friends.
In fact, she hated me on sight.
She used to call me “the spineless curly girl”—loud enough for people in the break room to hear, too. Said I looked like I cried when I ran out of almond milk and probably kept crystals in my bra. Every time I tried to talk to her after meetings or even said hi, she rolled her eyes so hard I worrie
