I’m still searching for my letter opener when Denise strides into my office without knocking. I look up, and the expression on her face unsettles me. It’s not like Denise doesn’t always seem a little pissed off at me, but right now, she’s got a pink circle on each of her cheekbones and there are veins standing out on her neck.

“Abigail,” she says as a vein pulses in her neck. I hope she doesn’t burst an aneurysm right in front of me.

Well, I mostly hope that.

“Yes, hi,” I say. “What’s up, Denise?”

She glowers at me. “I was hoping you could explain the meaning of this email to me.”

She holds out her phone in my direction and I take it from her. I immediately recognize an email I thought I had sent to Shelley, asking her opinion on the latest copy I had written for Cuddles. Except it turns out I accidentally cc’d the message to Denise Holt.

Also, I prefaced the message by writing: Let me know what you think. Of course, no matter what, Denise will probably be a bitch again and make me redo everything.

“Uh…,” I say.

This is fantastic. I called my boss a bitch in an email, then accidentally cc’d the email to her. Of all the stupid things I’ve done recently, this has got to take the cake.

Denise yanks her phone out of my hand. She places her fists on her hips and stares at me, waiting for an explanation. Her face is noticeably pink under her concealer. I wonder how old Denise is. Shelley and I have debated it countless times and we can’t figure it out. She looks mid-forties, but she looked mid-forties when we started working here ten years ago. So… mid-fifties? Sixty? Seventy? Who can tell?

“I’m really sorry about that,” I say, trying to sound as genuine as I possibly can, considering I very much meant what I wrote to Shelley. “I was just blowing off some steam and… well, obviously, I didn’t intend for you to see it.”

“So you didn’t intend to send me an email calling me a bitch?” she snaps at me.

I lower my eyes. Is she going to fire me? Oh God, I can’t be fired right now. Or ever. No time is a good time to be fired.

And then just when it seems like this situation can’t get any worse, Sonia Watson from Human Resources taps on the door to my office. At first, I’m certain Denise called her here to deliver my pink slip, but it quickly becomes obvious Denise had no idea Sonia was coming.

“Hi, Abby,” Sonia says, her hands clutched in front of her. “Denise. I’m glad you’re both here. Would it be possible to speak in the conference room?”