Chapter 2 - CHAPTER TWO: A MAN’S WORLD

Mornings are for people with hope. I don't fall into that category.Still, I drag myself out of bed, toes curling against the cold wooden floor, and head for the kitchen. The kettle hums, steam curling upward like it's mocking me.Coffee. Always black. Always bitter.I flick on the TV as I sip, the morning news chattering in the background. A politician's scandal, a celebrity breakup, stock market woes. I'm not listening to any of it. My eyes scan the ticker at the bottom of the screen, looking for a name.William Coker.Nothing.The anchors move on to the weather. Sunshine, they say, like it's a gift. I click the TV off.I stood up to get ready for work. No one knows how much I hate my job, but it's a necessary cover-up.By the time I get to the office, the glass doors glint with that fake corporate shine. The lobby smells like money and desperation. Colleagues bustle around, plastered smiles masking their quiet rivalries. I've been here long enough to know: everyone is out for themselves.I'm halfway to my desk when a voice drips into my ear like spoiled honey."Morning, Grace."Richard Hartman.. My boss. Mid-forties, suit sharp enough to cut glass, eyes full of himself. He leans on the edge of my desk, too close, always too close."You look… tense today," he says, scanning me like I'm part of his inventory. "Maybe you need to… relax. I could help with that."I meet his eyes. "I'm fine.""That's not what I'm seeing." His smile widens. "You know, you'd be a lot more valuable around here if you learned to be… agreeable."I take a slow sip from my coffee mug, watching him over the rim. "And by agreeable, you mean… what, exactly?"He chuckles. "Come on, Grace. Don't play coy. We both know what I mean."I hold his gaze until he shifts, just slightly. "No thanks," I say, voice flat.His expression hardens. "Suit yourself." He straightens his tie like the conversation never happened and strolls toward his office.It's not even an hour later when I hear the news from Mia, the only person here with the nerve to talk to me. She leans over my desk, whispering like she's passing state secrets."Did you hear? The Stanton account. You know, the one you pulled in?"My stomach knots. "What about it?""Mr Richard's giving it to Derek."I blink. "What?"She bites her lip. "Says Derek's a better fit for the client. But… we all know you did the work. You brought them in."The Stanton account is worth six figures. It's the kind of client that makes careers in this place. And now it's being handed to Derek, a guy whose main skill is networking over whiskey."You gave the Stanton account to Derek," I say.He doesn't look up. "Client's decision.""That's not what they told me yesterday."He sighs, finally meeting my eyes. "Grace, you're good. But let's be honest. You don't exactly… inspire confidence. Derek does. He's more… approachable.""Approachable," I repeat, my voice as cold as the air between us.He smirks. "Don't take it personally. Some people are meant to be in the spotlight. Others… not so much… clients trust men with big decisions. Derek's got that whole authoritative thing going on. You? You're… nice to look at."I fold my arms. "Stanton came to us because of my pitch, my work, and my follow-up. You know that."He shrugs. "Sure, but sometimes it's not about the work. It's about knowing your place in the game. Pretty faces open doors, but men close the deals. That's how it works.""You're saying I'm not good enough.""I'm saying you should learn where you fit. You're smart, you're… attractive. That's worth something. But you're not" he gestures vaguely, "lead material.""Maybe that's why your numbers are sinking," I fire back.His jaw tightens, but the smirk stays. "Careful, Grace. You've got talent, but attitude like that? It'll get you nowhere. Or… maybe somewhere, if you're willing to play nice after hours."My hands curl into fists at my sides. "You're disgusting.""And you," he says, leaning in, "are replaceable."On my way out, my eyes fall on a photograph on his desk. A woman with tired eyes, two kids beside her, all standing in front of a beach sunset. His family.I walk back to my desk, heels clicking on the polished floor, his words echoing in my mind.Some people are meant to be in the spotlight. Others… not so much.I take my seat, open my laptop, and type an email like nothing happened. But in my head, I'm filing every word away. Every insult. Every weakness.Because one day, Richard Hartman will learn exactly where he fits.I stared at the screen, my jaw tight, the Stanton account email still open like a wound I couldn't stop poking. Derek's name was right there in bold under "Lead Contact."My fingers drummed against the desk. I had done all the work. I had built the rapport. I had practically handed that account to the company on a silver platter. And Richard that smug, greasy excuse for a boss had just handed it over to Derek like it was some kind of boys' club trophy."Psst," a voice chirped behind me.I didn't need to turn to know who it was.Mia. Office gossip. The self-appointed news anchor of everyone's business."What happened?" Mia slid into the seat beside my desk without being invited. "I saw you in Richard's office earlier. You looked like you were about to bite his head off. Spill."My eyes are still on my screen. "Go away, Mia.""Ooh, that bad? Was it about the Stanton account? Oh my God, did he give it to Derek?"My shoulders stiffened."I mean, no offense," Mia continued, lowering her voice like they were in some covert spy exchange, "but you're way better than him. Everyone knows it. So what, did you..""Mia," I said sharply, finally looking at her, "do you ever shut up?"Mia blinked, taken aback. "I was just asking"But I was already on my feet, heat prickling under my skin. I spotted Derek across the room, leaning back in his chair, laughing at something on his phone.I marched over."Enjoying your little victory lap?" I said, my voice low but laced with venom.Derek looked up slowly, like I was an interruption he could barely tolerate. "Grace. If you're here to cry about the Stanton account""Cry?" I stepped closer. "I pulled that client in. I built the relationship. You just walked in at the end and shook a few hands."He smirked. "And yet Richard still thought I was the better choice. Guess charm goes further than a resting bitch face."My hand itched to slap him, but I shoved it into my pocket instead. "One day, Derek, you're going to choke on that charm.""Is that a threat?""It's a promise."I spun on my heel before I would say something that would get me fired and stalked back to my desk. My phone buzzed just as I dropped into my chair.Tye: Alcohol date. 8 pm. Don't be boring.A location pin followed.I scoffed. The last thing I needed was to sit in a noisy bar pretending to be in a good mood. I tossed the phone aside.But minutes later, another email popped up on my screen. A corporate newsletter announcing upcoming charity events. My eyes scanned lazily until they froze on one photo in the "Last Year's Highlights" section.Mrs. Williams.Same bar. Same location Tye just pinned.I felt the corner of my mouth curl into a slow, dangerous smile.I picked up my phone and typed back.See you at 8.So here I am, in the back seat of a Bolt, watching the city lights smear across the tinted glass as we snake through Victoria Island. I'm dressed for the kill. Black dress, red lips, hair slicked into a knot. Not for Tye. And not for drinking.The bar is warm when I step in low jazz humming in the background, the air thick with cologne and expensive whiskey. My eyes sweep the room before my heels even stop clicking against the floor. There she is. Mrs. Williams. In the flesh. At the far corner booth, gold hoops glinting under dim light, smiling at a woman I don't recognize. Her laugh is sharp, the kind that tries too hard to sound effortless.I pick a booth with a clear view of her table. Just a casual girl waiting for a friend. Nothing more.Tye arrives seven minutes later, bursting in like she owns the place, a whirlwind of perfume and messy curls."Babe," she grins, sliding into the seat opposite me, "you look like you just walked out of a magazine. Who are we seducing tonight?"I smirk. "Relax. It's just alcohol, remember?""Uh-huh," she says, flagging down the bartender. "Tequila. Two shots. No salt. We're skipping foreplay tonight."The bartender, a tall guy with sleepy eyes, sets the glasses down. Tye clinks hers against mine. "To terrible men and the women who outlive them."I almost laugh. Almost.As Tye dives into a story about some coworker who wears too much cologne, I keep half my attention on Mrs. Williams. She doesn't notice me. Not yet.Tye stops mid-sentence. "You're not listening. You're staring at someone."I drag my eyes back to her, force a lazy smile. "Just people-watching."She narrows her eyes but lets it go, grabbing the second round the bartender brings without being asked.Mrs. Williams stands, brushing past our table on her way to the restroom. For the briefest moment, her perfume, a clean, citrusy note wraps around me. She doesn't look my way.I down my shot and let the burn settle.Not tonight, Mrs. Williams. But soon.