Despite everyone being able to see what was going on in the office, once that door closed, the cube was soundproof. It was pretty cool. I glanced around. Patrick’s desk sat near the bank of windows that looked down over East Washington Street downtown.

Boxes containing my boss’s belongings filled the space.

I’d worked for Patrick for ten years. He was a good enough boss. Thanked me for my work. Seemed to appreciate me. However, we’d had our differences over the years, mostly because he’d never championed me the three times an editor job opened up at the magazine.

Now he was retiring, and as I was his loyal, long-standing editorial assistant, everyone at the magazine predicted that I would get his job.

“You’ve packed up really early,” I observed. “The job is still yours for six weeks.”

Patrick nodded distractedly. “Evie, take a seat.”

Not liking his tone, I slowly lowered onto the seat in front of his desk. “Is everything okay?”

Come to think of it, when was the last time Patrick beat me into work? I usually arrived at least fifteen minutes earlier than him every day.

“Evie . . . you know I think you’re a great assistant. And you’ll make a damn good editor one day . . . but the higher-ups have decided to hire an experienced editor. Young guy, twenty-five, certified as an editor, been working at a small press for two years. He’s coming in next Monday so I can show him the ropes.”

It was like the floor fell out from beneath my feet. “Wait . . . what?”

My boss frowned. “Gary Slater. He’s going to be your new boss.”

Was the room spinning?

Or was that just the anger building inside me so much that my body couldn’t handle it? “More experience? Certified?” I stood up on shaking legs. Not only had I been editing here for seven years, Patrick knew I was a freelance editor too. Experienced? “I’m certified. You know I am.” Although I’d come into the job with an English degree, I’d gotten into the editing program at the Graham School at the University of Chicago and worked my ass off after hours to get certified. “This guy is twenty-five. I’ve been doing this job for ten years, and they want to make this barely-out-of-college kid my boss?”

“Evie, lower your voice,” Patrick scolded.

I struggled to calm down. “Is this a joke?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“And you.” I curled my lip in utter disappointment. “Did you even fight for me on this?”

Patrick sighed. “Of course I did. I told them you had enough experience, but they want someone who’s been editing.”