I swallow, stare blankly at the budget spreadsheet on my monitor, and realize I haven’t absorbed a single number in the last ten minutes.
A knock on my door jolts me.
My boss, Greg, leans in. “Just wanted to pop in and say hi.”
“Well…hi.”
“You good?” he asks. “You look… I don’t know. Like someone told you brunch was canceled.”
I force a smile.
“Yep. Just fine. Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”
He nods slowly, like he’s mentally flagging me as a flight risk.
“Well,” he says carefully, “just wanted to say, you’re killing it this week. If you keep this rhythm, that promotion conversation is happening sooner rather than later.”
I perk up. “Really?”
“Really. You’re on fire.”
Then he squints. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Great,” I repeat tightly. “Amazing. Couldn’t be better.”
He lifts his hands in surrender. “Alright, killer. Carry on.”
He leaves, and something inside me snaps back into place with an audibleclick.
If Colt wants to be “workouts only,” then I can be something else—something Iamgood at.
A leader.
A boss.
A woman who does not melt just because a younger man sends a “friends only” text.
I stand up, stride into the hallway, and clap my hands once in the rows.
“Team meeting,” I announce.
Two analysts scramble to attention.
“Riley,” I say, “the Q4 deck is sloppy. Fix the charts, add three bullet points to slide fourteen, and eliminate the Comic Sans someone—” I glare at both of them “—thought was appropriate for a client-facing presentation.”
He gulps. “Yes, Elena.”
“Ava,” I continue, “the vendor report needs to go out today. Reformat the tables and send it to me by two. If I have to realign one more cell myself, I’m going to start flipping desks.”
She nods vigorously. “On it.”
“And please,” I add, glancing at the stack of half-empty coffee cups on the credenza, “everyone drink water. Hydration is not a myth.”
A couple people laugh nervously.
I return to my office, shut the door, and, once no one can see me, slump into my chair.
“Friends only,” I mutter.
