I stuff my duffle bag out of sight under my desk and turn on my laptop.

Will HR call me? Or will it be my new boss? This is the first time I’ve been promoted to a different department, so I’m not sure if the procedure is similar to same-department promotions. In the past, my current boss always delivered the news, but since I’ll no longer work for her…

My landline trills, jolting me out of my thoughts.

I inhale, exhale, and then answer. “Blair Walker, Évoque Magazine.”

“Miss Walker, this is Emilia Peterson from Human Resources. Please come up to my office right away.”

“Absolutely, I’ll be there in two minutes.”

Emilia is our Talent Manager Coordinator—and she wants to see me. With a cheek-aching smile on my face, I rush to the elevators.

One floor up, I knock on Emilia’s door, my stomach knotting in anticipation.

A muffled voice comes from behind the panel wall. “Come in.”

If voices could be described as lipstick shades, Emilia’s would be a Chanel Rouge. Suave. Confident.

I step into the office. Emilia—tall, platinum blonde, and lethally thin—lifts her icy gaze from some papers and says, “Ah, Blair. Please close the door and sit down.” She gestures at the white chair in front of her white desk. Cold blue eyes settle on me. “Would you like some water?”

More some champagne. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

“Very well, let’s get straight to it.” She folds her hands and sighs. “As you know, the position of Junior Fashion Editor was extremely coveted…”

Was? Is it mine now? I can’t wait for her to say it, but I politely let her continue with her perfunctory speech. I can wait a few more minutes before I ask about the pay rise and extra benefits.

“…the race was tight, and you were an honorable runner-up…”

I nod my approval before my thoughts screech to a halt. Wait, what? Isn’t this the part where she congratulates me and assigns me a new corporate phone? I was really hoping to get the new iPhone.

“What do you mean runner-up?”

“I mean you were an outstanding candidate.”

“But not the winner?” My voice isn’t nearly as steady as I’d like it to be—it projects a 99cents lip balm at best, regardless of the actual shade I’m wearing.

“Unfortunately, no. You didn’t get the position,” Emilia confirms, never taking her eyes off me.

“Who?”

“It doesn’t really matter—”

“It does matter. Annabelle herself said sales figures would count toward the final decision. My numbers are better than everybody else’s!”

“Your numbers are good, but not the best.”

“No other sales manager signed as many contracts as I did this past year. I’ve put in more overtime and weekends to make sure of that. No one beats my numbers.”

“Someone did,” Emilia insists, her tone severe.

“Who?” I ask again.

For the first time, the corporate witch lowers her gaze, a shadow of guilt crossing her face. “Aurora.”

“Aurora?” I repeat. “But her figures are awful!”