“Who else is on the list?” I ask, voice quiet and urgent. The plastic of the telephone groans under my grip.

“Barbara! Get in here.” James’s voice booms in the background.

“I’m sure James will fill you in. I-I’d better go.”

“Right.” I shake my head. “Sorry, yeah. Thanks so much for the heads-up. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, honey. I’m pulling for you.” Click.

I only realize I haven’t hung up when an insistent buzzing sounds in my ear. Shaking myself, I stuff the receiver back in the cradle and run my fingers through my hair, pulling slightly.

Okay. This is happening.

And I’m not the only one up for the job. Who else could they be considering for this? Eyeing the occupants of the cubicles across the way, I quickly flip through the possibilities—no, no, nope, unlikely, hells to the no. Not to toot my own horn, but Christina was right. There’s really no one else on the marketing team who’s in the same league.

If they’re looking at an outside candidate, someone who doesn’t work for Seaquest Adventures, then I have no idea who that could be. I shrug. All I can focus on right now is myself. Once I find out who the other short listers are, then I can strategize.

After taking the morning to address some urgent emails and coordinate with the art department on next quarter’s Central America mailing, I spend the afternoon preparing for my meeting with James.

I polish my British Columbia proposal, send my updated résumé to HR, and draft talking points for why I’m the strongest choice for the director role. I’m so engrossed in what I’m doing that I barely register when my computer thrums. I glance at the screen, and choke on my iced tea. It splatters down the front of my shirt.

“Shit, shit, double shit,” I grate. It’s four o’clock. I snag a notepad, my résumé, phone, and a printed copy of my proposal and launch out of my seat. James is all about punctuality. If you’re on time, you’re late. Christina raises her eyebrows at me as I jog past her desk, but I don’t stop. I scurry down the hall, coughing to clear my stinging throat, and try not to drop anything.

Barbara is sitting at the desk outside James’s office. I can hear his trumpeting voice on the other side of the closed door. When she sees me coming, she touches her shoulders in the sign of the cross.

I pause by her desk. “That bad?”

“He just got off the phone with his ex-wife.”

I wince.

“And he wrote a tuition check to UCLA for Toby today.”

I groan. A conversation with his hated ex-wife and dropping serious money on his kid’s college tuition? He’s going to be in A Mood. Great.