The digital clock on the breakroom monitor flipped to 4:59 PM. Sixty seconds until the weekend.
"Pop the cork, David," Grant ordered, his voice cutting through the forced chatter of fifty employees.
A loud pop echoed off the acoustic ceiling tiles. Champagne sprayed outward.
Priya stood directly in front of me, holding a crystal flute. She turned sharply, her arm swinging wide. The pale liquid sloshed over the rim of her glass, splashing directly onto the lapel of my beige trench coat.
"Oops," Priya said, her glossed lips curving upward. "My hand slipped."
I stared down at the foaming bubbles sinking into the old fabric.
"Grab a napkin from the pantry for her, would you, David?" Priya asked, not taking her eyes off me.
"Keep the champagne," I told her, my voice deadpan. "You will need the liquid courage when Vanguard realizes you don't know the difference between a merger and an acquisition."
"Watch your mouth, Elena," Grant warned, stepping up beside Priya. He wrapped his arm firmly around her waist, pulling her against his tailored suit. He didn't even glance at my wet coat.
"Are we celebrating the weekend or the Vanguard deal?" David asked, holding the half-empty green bottle awkwardly.
"We are celebrating Priya," Grant announced to the room. He raised his own glass. "She stepped up today to secure the future of Holloway."
"To Priya," a few junior reps mumbled, raising plastic cups.
I adjusted my grip on the cardboard box in my arms. The sharp edges dug into my palms.
"Have a good weekend, Elena," Priya called out over the clinking glasses. "Don't forget to study the customer service manual before Monday."
I didn't answer. I turned my back on them and walked straight toward the exit.
The heavy glass doors of the sales floor shut behind me, cutting off the sound of their laughter. The elevator ride down to the lobby passed in total silence.
I stepped out onto the marble floor. The reception area was completely empty except for the security guard, Stan, sitting behind the curved glass desk.
"Hey, Ms. Marsh," Stan said, sitting up straight. "You need a rolling cart for that box?"
"I can manage," I replied, stopping in front of his station.
"Grant called down five minutes ago," Stan muttered, glancing nervously at his computer screen. "He said I need to collect your badge."
"Did he?"
"Yeah. Said you were reassigned to a different floor and needed new credentials."
"I am not reassigned." I reached up and grabbed the blue lanyard hanging around my neck. I pulled it over my head, the plastic ID card swinging from the metal clip.
Five years of early mornings. Five years of missed holidays. Five years of building a portfolio that Grant just handed to his mistress.
I slapped the badge onto the thick glass of the reception desk. The sharp crack echoed loudly in the cavernous lobby.
Stan jumped in his chair. "Whoa. You're quitting?"
"Tell Grant to mail my final check to my home address."
"He also said I need to search your box," Stan added, his voice dropping to an apologetic whisper. "Company policy for exiting employees."
I shoved the cardboard box across the glass counter. It bumped against his keyboard.
"Search it," I commanded.
Stan peered inside. "Just a broken mug, some chargers, and a dog picture."
"Did Grant think I stole the company stapler?"
"He said you might have physical client files."
"The files are in my head, Stan. Tell him to search that."
I grabbed the box and turned away.
"He is going to be furious when he finds out you walked," Stan called after me.
"That makes two of us."
I shoved my shoulder against the heavy metal frame of the revolving door and pushed.
The cold air hit my face instantly. The sky had broken open, dumping freezing rain onto the downtown pavement. I stepped onto the concrete curb, pulling my wet collar up against my neck.
A matte-black Maybach cut through the downpour, its engine a low, powerful purr. The massive vehicle glided to a halt. Its front tire stopped exactly three inches from a deep, muddy puddle at the edge of my loafers.
The tinted rear window lowered smoothly, disappearing into the door panel.
Alexander Sterling stared out at me.
His sharp jawline caught the amber glow of the streetlamp overhead. He wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my annual salary. His dark eyes tracked the rain soaking into my shoulders.
"Alexander Sterling," I said, wiping wet hair from my eyes. "Are you stalking me?"
"I am evaluating an investment," he corrected, his voice cutting clearly through the sound of the storm.
"I just lost my job."
"You just shed dead weight."
"Three times, Alexander," I reminded him, raising my voice over a crack of thunder. "I beat your proposals three times this year alone. You lost the Vanguard, Apex, and Meridian bids to me."
"You cost me forty million dollars in projected revenue," Alexander stated flatly.
"Forty-two," I corrected him. "You forgot the Meridian expansion clause."
A faint smirk touched the corner of his mouth. "Exactly. Forty-two million."
"So did you come here to gloat?"
"I came to collect," he replied. "The woman who beat me out of forty-two million dollars does not belong in a customer support cubicle."
"I quit."
"I know. I timed my arrival for exactly five-fifteen."
"You have been waiting out here in the rain?"
"I don't wait, Elena. I anticipate." He reached over and pressed a silver button on the armrest.
The heavy car door popped open automatically, swinging outward to shield me from the worst of the wind.
"Get in the car," he ordered.
"I don't accept rides from rivals."
"We aren't rivals anymore." Alexander picked up a thick document from the empty seat beside him.
He extended his arm, thrusting the heavy stack of paper out into the rain.
I dropped my cardboard box onto the wet concrete. The ceramic pieces of my coffee mug rattled inside. I grabbed the pages from his hand before the water could ruin them.
Fifty pages. Bound in heavy black cardstock.
I wiped a raindrop off the cover page with my thumb.
Joint Venture Agreement. Initial Capitalization: $10,000,000.
I stared at the bold zeros printed across the top.
"What is this?" I asked, looking up at him.
"Your new firm," Alexander said. "You bring the thirteen accounts you just hijacked through your encrypted messaging app. I bring the infrastructure."
"You monitored my private messages?"
"I own the encryption company."
I gripped the wet edge of the contract. The paper felt heavy, anchoring me in the storm.
"What is the catch?" I asked.
"You destroy Grant Holloway."
"I was planning to do that anyway."
"Now you have the capital to do it properly."
Alexander leaned back in the leather seat. "Ready to bankrupt him?"
