Twenty minutes.
Exactly how long it took me to upload the meeting notes, organize the projections, format the agreement terms, cross-check the investor profiles, print everything twice because, God forbid, a staple goes in the wrong place, and I convince myself that all was totally fine.
I even triple-checked the final report, like maybe professional perfection could numb the humiliation I received during the meeting. Or at least distract me from the fact that Rachel had just hijacked an entire investor meeting like it was open mic night for ex-wives.
With the report finally done, I made my way toward Martin’s office. The folder felt heavier than it should have, but maybe that was just my pride. His door was closed but unlocked, like always. I knocked once out of habit and pushed it op
