“Christina, I need a favor. If I send you a file, can you print it out and put it in a binder for me? Like, right now?”

“Of course, but what’s going on?”

I give her the bullet-pointed version. A string of expletives follows.

“I’ll have it ready when you get here.”

“Thanks a million.”

My phone dings as I hang up—an email from Graeme.

“The mock Facebook post I put together. In case you need extra ammunition,” he says.

Leaning over, I brush my lips against his cheekbone in a quick kiss. “Thanks.”

I forward Christina my roughly scaled-up proposal so at least I have something for Marlen to look at. Stowing my phone, I smooth my coat over my blouse. “Okay. It’s okay. I’m doing this.” My breathing accelerates along with the car. Panic claws at the edges of my mind.

What if Marlen doesn’t like my idea? What if I blow it? What if he doesn’t believe me about James and I come across looking like a vindictive employee with an ax to grind and…

Graeme’s hand lands on my thigh, warm and reassuring. “Take a deep breath,” he says.

“I’m not ready.” Diving into my bag, I pull out my notepad and begin flipping through pages. “I don’t have my presentation finished or the details ironed out or—”

A biting pain explodes in my side. “Ow! Hey!” I jerk around to glare at Walsh. “Why’d you pinch me?”

“Snap out of it!”

I blink at her.

“This is what you’ve been preparing for your whole freaking life. Right here, your chance to take your ideas to the big boss and shine. You might not have the perfect report lined up or the perfect talking points or whatever, but damn it, you’re Henley Fucking Evans. And this is your moment.”

“She’s right,” says Graeme. “You don’t need a fancy presentation or a script. You’re smart, successful, and passionate, and knowing you, you’ve already mulled over every angle of this idea. You’ll sell him on it. I know it.”

I loop my arms through Walsh’s and Graeme’s and hug them tight. “You have no idea how much I needed that.”

The car lurches to a stop. “We’re here,” says the Uber driver.

I check the time: 12:41. Less than twenty minutes until the executive board meets and my career at Seaquest gets permanently neutered.

My chest tightens. “We need to hurry.”

I rush into the building, moving as quickly as my legs, constricted as they are in my pencil skirt, will carry me. Skidding to a stop at the elevator, I jam the up button half a dozen times. The elevator indicator flashes 4… then 5…

“Damn it,” I spit. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Stairs?” offers Graeme, looking around.