The elevator was a steel coffin, and I was losing my mind. I was hauling a stack of files for the Henderson project, the sharp edges of the folders biting into my palms, my mood hovering somewhere between homicidal and catatonic.
As the elevator glided up, I let out a sharp, jagged sigh that echoed off the polished chrome. "Unbelievable," I muttered to the empty air, my voice dripping with the kind of disdain usually reserved for high-stakes betrayals. "If this company ran on efficiency instead of bottom-tier ego, we would have closed the Henderson deal three days ago. It’s a joke. A pathetic, middle-management disaster."
The elevator jolted to a stop. The doors slid open, and I stepped out, not bothering to check my periphery, my eyes fixed on the path to my desk.
I collided with a
