NOT YOUR GIRL

The espresso machine spits hot water on my wrist. I jerk back with a sharp breath and set the cup on the counter before it can tip. A red mark is visible near my thumb. Nothing serious. Just enough to sting every time I move my hand. “Careful, Eva,” Marco says from behind the bar. He keeps his eyes on the milk pitcher. “That machine’s got it out for you.” “It has it out for everyone.” “Yeah, but you keep coming back.” I grab a paper towel and press it to my skin. The lobby outside the staff kitchen is already filling with people in pressed suits, carrying laptops and folders, all headed for the elevators. The Wolfe Global offices wake up early. I’ve learned to get here before them. Damien always has his espresso at seven thirty. Not seven twenty-nine. Not seven thirty-one. He’s never said it like an order, but somehow his preferences turn into rules without anyone having to write them down. I check the cup. One shot, no sugar. I put the lid on, then pick up the meeting notes from the printer. The first set is for Damien. The second is for Mr. Hargrove in finance. They’re both marked urgent, though everything in this building is urgent until someone important gets what they want. “Is your hand okay?” Marco asks. “It’s fine.” I brush it off. He gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me, but the line at the counter is growing. I tuck the paper towel into the bin and balance the espresso and folders in my hands. The elevator opens with a soft chime. Inside, a man in a gray suit checks his watch. “Going up?” “Forty-two,” I say. He taps the button, though it’s already lit. The doors slide shut. I keep the cup level as the elevator climbs. At forty-two, I step into the executive offices. The reception area is quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the clicking of Nora’s keyboard. She looks up from her desk. “Morning, Eva.” She smiles brightly. The kind of smile that warms you from the inside. “Good morning. Is Damien in?” “He got here a few minutes ago. He’s on a call.” I glance through the glass wall. Damien stands by the windows with one hand in his pocket, the phone at his ear. He wears a dark blue suit that probably costs more than my rent. I place the meeting notes on the table outside his office and wait. Nora follows my gaze. “You can leave the coffee.” “He asked for it fresh.” “He always asks for it fresh.” “That’s why I’m here.” She grins. I don’t. Not because I’m offended, exactly. I’ve just learned that jokes about my job can land in a sore spot, even when people don’t mean them to. Damien ends his call and turns toward us. “Eva.” I pick up the cup. “Your espresso.” He reaches for it without looking at me. “And the notes?” “On the table. I’ve separated the board packet from the lending summary.” “Good.” I place the cup beside his laptop. A drop of espresso slides over the rim and lands on the desk. Before I can grab a napkin, Damien slides a folder away from it. “Did you print the updated figures?” “I printed what finance sent last night.” He glances at the stack, a frown appearing on his face. “These numbers are wrong.” I look at the page he’s holding. The top line lists the expected revenue for the Westbridge contract. It’s almost two million dollars higher than the figure I saw in the revised forecast. “Mr. Hargrove sent this version at six fifty,” I say. “Then he sent the wrong one.” Damien hands the page back. “Fix it before the meeting.” His tone is flat. No anger. No question. Just a command he expects to be followed. He turns toward the window again and takes a sip of coffee. I look down at the report and back at him. “The meeting starts in twelve minutes.” “Then don’t waste any.” I take the page and move to the printer station. The forecast in the shared drive is still marked draft. I open the file and scan the notes. There it is, buried in a comment beside the Westbridge line: revised scope, client has removed second phase. The revenue should be lower. I pull the original contract from the digital records. The second phase is still listed in the signed copy, but there’s an amendment dated three weeks ago. I remember filing it myself after Hargrove asked me to make sure the right people received it. The right people, apparently, did not include Damien. I print a clean copy and compare it with the notes. The numbers match. I cross-check the other line items, then check the totals. There’s another problem. The Westbridge change affects the quarterly projection, which means the figure on the summary page is wrong too. I recalculate it. A chair scrapes behind me. Mr. Hargrove strides into the office carrying his phone and a leather folder. “Damien, I’m ready.” “Eva’s correcting the report,” Damien says. Hargrove looks over at me. “The report is correct.” I turn around, holding up the amendment. “The second phase was removed three weeks ago. This is the signed copy.” He frowns. “That was a small adjustment.” “It changes the revenue by almost two million.” “It changes the timing,” he says. “We can still count the full contract.” “Not in this quarter.” He glances at Damien as if waiting for him to settle it. Damien walks over and reads the amendment. The room gets still. “Why wasn’t I told?” he asks. Hargrove shifts the folder under his arm. “I thought the revised numbers were being handled.” “They weren’t,” Damien says. I hand him the corrected summary. “I updated the quarterly projection too. The total on page four needs to change, or the report won’t match the forecast.” Damien checks the figures. Hargrove reaches for the paper, but Damien keeps hold of it. “How long did this take?” Damien asks me. “About eight minutes.” “Did you verify the other contracts?” “Yes. The rest match the current forecast.” He looks at the pages again. For a moment, I think he might ask how I found the amendment. Instead, he slides the report into his folder. “Have these printed for everyone in the meeting.” I return to the printer. The machine takes its time, warming up while the conference room fills. People drift through the doorway with phones in their hands and coffee cups tucked beneath their elbows. I print enough copies for each chair, then place one at Damien’s seat. The board members settle in. I stand by the wall while Damien opens the meeting. His voice carries through the room, calm and easy. He thanks Hargrove for the revised report. He never says who caught the error. I didn’t expect him to. Still, I find my fingers tightening around the empty folder and my blood boiling. I quietly take a deep breath and let it all out. The discussion moves to costs, staffing, and the lender’s review next month. I take notes from the back of the room. Hargrove answers a question about the Westbridge contract and says the new figures were prepared overnight. My pen stops. Damien glances at me from the head of the table. His expression doesn’t change. He turns back to the board and asks for the next item. When the meeting ends, I collect the unused packets. Hargrove leaves first. The others follow, speaking in low voices about a lunch reservation and a flight to Chicago. I’m stacking the last few papers when Damien comes out of his office. “Eva.” I set the pages down. “Yes?” “Bring me the Westbridge amendment and the original forecast.” “I can send them to you.” “Bring them now.” He turns away before I can answer. I return to my desk and pull up both files. Then I pause. The amendment is on the company drive, but the revised forecast came from Hargrove’s private folder. I have access because he asked me to organize his reports last month. I open the file history to check the dates. A new version was saved at 6:42 this morning. I click it. The figure has been changed back to the old amount. My stomach tightens. I check the version before that. The accurate number is there, along with a comment from Hargrove saying, “Use old total for board until renewal is signed.” I stare at the words. Then the office phone rings. My eyes never leaving the report, I pick it up. “Damien Wolfe’s office,” I say. “Put him on,” a woman says. Her voice is thin and quick, strained by distance or nerves. “This is Elena Reyes. It’s about Eva’s great-aunt. The lawyer needs to speak with her today.” My eyes finally leave the screen and I’m pulled back to the present. I glance toward Damien’s closed door. “May I ask what this is regarding?” “The will,” Elena says. “Eva’s name is on it. And she needs to hear this before Charles does.”