Next Morning
The office was quieter than usual when I walked in, my heels echoing sharply against the tile. Heads turned, but the whispers were fewer, the stares less bold. Maybe it was the determined set of my jaw. Maybe it was the storm in my eyes. Or maybe word had gotten around that I wasn’t going anywhere.
I headed straight to the conference room, dropping my bag beside the whiteboard as I pulled out the printed materials for the Denver pitch. I'd been up until three in the morning preparing, fueled by coffee, rage, and something fiercer—resolve.
Maya appeared a few minutes later with two cups in hand. “One triple shot espresso for the woman about to burn this place to the ground,” she said, placing it in front of me.
I smiled, the first real one in days. “You’re a goddess.”
“Don
