Weekend passed by in a blur and the city was tangled in the usual Monday morning gridlock—horns blaring, engines idling, impatient drivers inching forward inch by inch. Zoe sat in the back of the cab, fingers tapping nervously against the window. Her phone glowed with the time: 7:51 a.m. The office hours starts at eight. On a perfect day, she'd already be settled at her desk, coffee in hand.
The cab jerked forward, then stopped abruptly as the light turned red again. Come on, she whispered, willing the streets to clear.
8:00 a.m. The cab rolled to a stop right outside the office building. Zoe barely had time to toss the driver a few bills before yanking the door open and spilling onto the sidewalk. Her heels clicked sharply as she sprinted through the glass doors and into the lobby.
She glanced up—the elevator doors slid shut just as she lunged forward, breath ragged.
"Wait! Please, wait!" she shouted, but the doors sealed with a final ding.
A curse stuck in her throat. She pressed her hand to the cold marble wall, heart hammering. Of course.
8:05 a.m.
No time to dwell. Zoe dashed down the hall, the morning crowd's murmur fading behind her.
Pushing open the office door, she froze.
Stacy sat at her desk, perfectly poised, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall—and then back to Zoe. No words. Just that razor-sharp stare that cut deeper than any reprimand: You're already behind.
Zoe swallowed hard. She hesitated, then made her way to her desk, a few steps from Stacy's.
Stacy's fingers paused on the keyboard, eyes locking onto Zoe the moment she approached.
"You're late," Stacy said flatly, her voice cold and precise.
"Just five minutes," Zoe replied, forcing her tone steady.
Stacy's gaze didn't waver.
"Five minutes is five minutes."
The words landed like a weight—no softness, no room for argument. Just the sharp edge of expectation.
Zoe's throat tightened. She nodded, swallowing hard.
"Understood."
Stacy's fingers returned to the keys without breaking focus.
"We have a lot to do today. Don't waste any more time."
Without another word, Stacy stood up, her chair scraping quietly against the floor as she walked away, leaving Zoe alone with the weight of the day pressing down on her.
Zoe sat down, heart still pounding, the pressure settling like a heavy cloak. Noah and Jenny glanced at each other, then spoke up.
"That was intense, Zoe," Noah said, shaking his head.
Zoe sighed, rubbing her temples, then opened her laptop and started to work.
A little later, after scanning a handful of emails, Zoe headed to the coffee machine.
The steady hum of the office wrapped around her as the machine hissed to life.
She tore open a sugar packet, muttering under her breath—just loud enough for the cabinets to hear, and maybe herself.
"It was just five minutes. Five minutes isn't a big deal. She acts like I committed treason."
Dropping the sugar in, she stirred the spoon with unnecessary force.
"If she weren't so damn gorgeous, I swear I'd have torn her apart by now. She should thank her jawline for keeping me employed."
A voice, smooth and cool as marble, slid in from behind her.
"That jawline serves me better than you'd guess."
Zoe froze. Her heart misfired.
Slowly, she turned—stomach knotting—to find Stacy leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, a faint glint in her eyes: somewhere between amusement and something sharper.
Zoe's smirk faltered. Her cheeks flared hot. She stammered, fumbling for words. "I... I didn't realize you were there Ms. Holloway," she added, voice betraying her embarrassment.
"Clearly," Stacy replied, pushing off the frame and crossing to the counter with that same deliberate, unhurried grace that always made Zoe feel like she was sprinting through molasses.
She reached for the second mug.
"Still dwelling on being late?" Stacy said, pouring her coffee.
"But I suppose I should be grateful you only considered violence."
Zoe flushed.
"It was a joke."
Stacy took a slow sip.
"Was it?"
Zoe searched her face—looking for a smirk, a twitch, a curve of a grin—but found nothing. Just that maddeningly calm expression and a perfectly arched brow as Stacy stirred her coffee.
Then Stacy turned to leave, pausing at the doorway just long enough to let the silence stretch and sharpen.
"Be at the war room in ten. And next time you're late..." Her eyes flicked to Zoe, glinting. "Try not to announce your homicidal tendencies by the coffee machine."
With that, she disappeared down the hallway, heels clicking with quiet authority.
Zoe let her head drop forward slightly, groaning into her cup.
"I'm going to die in this job."
But despite herself, she grinned.
**DEADLINE PRESSURE**
Zoe had barely slept. The fallout from yesterday still clung to her like smoke. Now, the design floor buzzed with low conversation and the soft tapping of keyboards. Zoe sat at her desk, headphones halfway on, eyes locked on the Market Research Report she'd been piecing together for the past four hours. The demographic data was tight. Trend analyses were clear. She was this close to wrapping up the final sections.
Then—
SLAM.
The glass door to the department flung open with sharp force.
Stacy Holloway strode in like a controlled detonation—eyes locked, blazer sharp, folder in hand. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. A junior designer actually flinched.
"Rivera."
Zoe's head jerked up. The entire floor went still.
Stacy crossed the room in clipped, unforgiving strides and slammed the folder down on Zoe's desk.
"Where is the updated Market Research Report I asked for?"
Zoe stood, steadying her voice. "I've been working through the client's latest feedback. The final pass is almost ready—"
"Almost," Stacy echoed, voice slicing through the air. "I have back-to-back meetings with stakeholders who expect clear, actionable insights—not an almost. This is the third time I've had to chase you. Are you waiting for a formal invitation to do your job?"
Zoe flushed, jaw tightening. "The client only sent updated data at six last night. I've been analyzing it since then—"
"I don't want excuses," Stacy interrupted, voice rising just enough to command attention. "You're the lead on this project. If the Market Research Report isn't finished, polished, and in my hands by the end of this week, it's not just your name on the chopping block."
She swept her gaze across the design team, who were frozen in stunned silence.
"Your entire department will be dissolved. Reassigned, fired—gone. Because if we lose this pitch, the client walks. And Holloway & Brand does. Not. Fail."
Silence.
Zoe's stomach dropped. Around her, teammates looked at her—wide-eyed, anxious, calculating rent and resumes.
Stacy looked back at Zoe, voice low but razor-sharp.
"You wanted the lead role. That means the weight is on you. Get it done."
She turned and walked out, the silence behind her suffocating.
Zoe stood motionless, blood roaring in her ears, fists clenched at her sides. She didn't know whether to scream or sink into the floor. But one thing was crystal clear:
Stacy hadn't just thrown her under the bus.
She'd parked the entire team there, too—and handed Zoe the keys.
Stacy's heels clicked away down the hallway, the silence she left behind thick and suffocating.
For a long moment, no one moved. The team sat frozen, eyes darting between Zoe and the closed door.
Finally, Zoe cleared her throat, forcing her voice steady. "Look—she's tough. But Ms. Holloway wouldn't threaten the whole department unless she believed we could pull this off."
A junior designer swallowed nervously. "So... we're not actually getting fired?"
Zoe offered a tight smile, though her stomach was still in knots. "No one's packing up their desks. Not if we deliver this report—and fast."
Slowly, the tension in the room eased, replaced by a determined energy. Keyboards clicked back to life; voices resumed in hushed collaboration.
The pressure was immense, but now it was clear: this was a fight they'd face together.