The day passed in a blur of paperwork, system logins, and the quiet hum of the executive floor. Victoria stopped by to show me where the breakroom was. Daniel popped his head in to ask if I’d survived “the Sinclair stare.”
“He does that to everyone,” he said, grinning. “Don’t take it personally.”
I didn’t. Much.
By the time five o’clock rolled around, my head was swimming with benefit packages and nondisclosure agreements. But underneath the exhaustion, there was something else—something that felt a lot like pride.
I made it. I actually made it.
I grabbed my bag and headed for the elevator, already pulling out my phone to call Abel. The call rang once, twice, three times. Voicemail.
I tried again. Voicemail.
I frowned at the screen. He’d known about the interview. I’d texted him thi
