Chapter 1 I will be late.

I glanced at my phone and nearly choked on my coffee. 8:42 AM. Great. Just great.

"Shit, shit, shit," I muttered, shoving the last bite of toast into my mouth while simultaneously trying to zip up my pencil skirt. The zipper caught on the fabric, because of course it did. I tugged harder, hearing a small rip. I'd deal with that later.

My apartment was a disaster zone – clothes strewn across my unmade bed, makeup scattered on the bathroom counter, and dishes from last night's sad microwave dinner still in the sink. Standard Monday chaos for me, junior marketing executive extraordinaire. Or at least, junior marketing executive who was about to be extraordinarily late.

I grabbed my laptop bag, nearly knocking over the dying plant on my windowsill. Poor thing. I'd meant to water it yesterday, but then Ashley called about her latest Tinder disaster and three hours disappeared. I made a mental promise to the withering leaves – tonight, definitely tonight.

My phone buzzed with a text from my boss, Margaret.

Don't forget the Henderson presentation is at 9:15. Client already here.

My stomach dropped. The Henderson presentation. Today. I'd completely forgotten it was moved up from Wednesday. The presentation I'd stayed up until 2 AM polishing last night was actually due... right now.

"Double shit," I hissed, racing out the door.

The elevator in my building was perpetually slow, so I took the stairs two at a time, Outside, the September air had a crisp bite that whispered autumn was coming, but the sun shone bright enough that I was already sweating by the time I reached the corner.

"Morning, Diana!" called Jerry, the barista at my daily coffee stop. He was already extending a cup toward me. "The usual!"

Jerry was a blessing in my chaotic life – after two years of the same order every weekday, he now started making my drink the moment he spotted me power-walking down the block.

"You're a lifesaver," I said, fumbling for my wallet.

"Rough morning?" Jerry asked, his eyebrows rising with amusement.

"Is it that obvious?" I handed over a five-dollar bill. "Henderson presentation. Completely forgot it was moved up. Margaret's going to kill me."

Jerry chuckled, passing me my change. "You say that at least once a week, and yet here you are, still breathing."

"Barely," I replied, but I smiled despite myself. "See you tomorrow!"

I carefully wedged the coffee cup in my bag's side pocket and checked my watch – 8:50. If I sprinted, I might just make it.

I dodged pedestrians as I raced down the crowded sidewalk, mentally rehearsing the key points of my presentation. Something felt off about the third slide, but I couldn't quite place what... Margaret had mentioned something last week that I'd meant to incorporate, but what was it?

The familiar weight of inadequacy settled in my chest. Three years at Apex Marketing, and I still felt like I was barely keeping my head above water. My colleagues seemed to navigate the corporate world effortlessly, while I was constantly scrambling, constantly one step behind.

My phone buzzed again. Margaret.

Where are you?

I didn't bother responding. What would I say? Sorry, overslept because I stayed up too late working on the presentation I now realize has flaws I can't fix in the next ten minutes?

The office building loomed ahead.I rushed through the revolving doors, nodding breathlessly at the security guard. The elevator bank was mercifully empty, and I jabbed the "up" button repeatedly as if that would somehow make it arrive faster.

Inside the elevator, I tried to collect myself, using the mirrored wall to check my appearance. My dark hair was falling out of its hasty ponytail, mascara smudged beneath my right eye, and was that a toothpaste stain on my blouse? I licked my thumb and rubbed at the white spot, which naturally only made it more noticeable.

"Perfect," I muttered.

The elevator doors opened on the 14th floor, and I stepped into the familiar open-plan office . The space was sleek and modern, all glass partitions and minimalist furniture, designed to impress clients with how cutting-edge we were. In reality, the glass walls just meant everyone could see when you were scrolling through Instagram instead of working on that urgent report.

Margaret stood by the conference room, arms crossed, lips pursed into that thin line that meant I was in trouble. Her perfectly styled blonde bob didn't move an inch as she turned her head to glare at me.

"You've got four minutes," she said as I approached. "They're finishing up the coffee and small talk."

"I am so sorry," I began. "I just—"

"Save it," Margaret interrupted. "Just tell me you're ready and the presentation is flawless."

The presentation. Right. The feeling of unease returned, stronger now.

"About that," I said hesitantly. "I think there might be an issue with the competitive analysis section. Didn't you mention something about Henderson's new product line that might conflict with the strategy we're proposing?"

Margaret's expression shifted from irritation to alarm. "The paper straw initiative? Diana, that's the entire reason they moved this meeting up! They need our marketing strategy before they announce the launch next week."