James leans forward to talk directly into the speakerphone. “Graeme, thanks for your time. Be sure to call our reservations department to arrange your cruise, today if possible. We’ll talk soon.” Before Graeme can say goodbye, James lifts and lowers the receiver, effectively ending the call. Settling into his chair, he rests his elbows on the desk and steeples his fingers against his chin. “Now, about your British Columbia idea…”

I stumble back to my desk at five, dump my pile of papers next to my keyboard, and collapse into my squeaky chair. The office is quiet, and Christina’s not at her desk.

What was supposed to be my big chance, my time to shine, turned out to be a Henley Humiliation Fest followed by half an hour of nitpicking my direct-call idea for British Columbia. To cap it off? As I walked out of his office, James openly perused my tea-splattered boobs and suggested that I might want to start using a straw.

At least he ultimately approved my British Columbia idea—except of course he did, because it’s freaking brilliant.

I scrub both palms over my eyes and flop my head against the top of my chair so I’m staring at the exposed ductwork on the ceiling. Sure, I may technically be up for this promotion, but James might as well pat me on the head and hand me a participation ribbon right now. It’s obvious Graeme is his favorite.

Graeme. That snake. Listening to our entire conversation and not having the decency to announce himself. How is he even qualified for this promotion? A social media manager making a leap to director of digital marketing? Ridiculous.

Rolling my hands into fists on top of my armrests, I sit up.

I’ll show him. I’ll show them all. I’ll simply have to knock my proposal so far out of the park that they’ll need to drive to Canada to find the ball. And Graeme? He can stay in Michigan and rot.

A light on my desk phone catches my eye and my fury recedes a fraction. I have a voice mail. I punch in my code and shove the phone tightly against my ear.

“Henley, it’s Graeme.”

My lungs inflate like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon.

“I just wanted to say, ah, congratulations.” He blows out a breath and mumbles something unintelligible. “I know this is awkward, being up for the same job. And I hope it doesn’t get in the way of us working together. I posted your British Columbia content this morning. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you. I”—he clears his throat—“I’m looking forward to meeting you in person finally. And… and that’s it.”

Just as I think the message is over it keeps going.