"Then let's go," I said, hoisting my suitcase. We stepped into the hallway together, our movements in sync. We looked like a power couple ready to take on the world.
I caught her glance as she adjusted the strap of her bag.
*****
I flipped through emails and correspondences, pretending to care about a supplier's late shipment. Every tick of the clock on my desk was a jab to my patience. The urge to pick up the phone, call Nita, and demand an update was nearly unbearable. My father had insisted on handling it personally, saying he didn't want my involvement to taint the decision—or worse, open us up to whispers of favoritism. I told myself he was right. The woman I loved was right upstairs.
The door swung open and Sam strolled in. He always did that—his confidence arriving three seconds before he did. "So, your wife's upstairs interviewing for Head of Accounting," he announced, dragging out the title.
"Yeah," I muttered, trying to sound indifferent.
