Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Riley
Riley shouldered her bag and joined the crush of commuters spilling onto the platform. The air smelled like exhaust and stale coffee and something vaguely chemical that she'd forgotten existed until now. After a week in Pine Valley, the city felt loud and crowded and wrong.
She checked her phone as she climbed the stairs. One text from Grant, sent an hour ago while she'd been underground.
Grant: Miss you already. Text me when the meeting starts.
Riley's chest tightened. She typed back quickly.
Riley: Just got here. Meeting at 10. I'll text you after.
She hit send and picked up her pace. The office was thirteen blocks away. If she walked fast, she'd make it with ten minutes to spare.
The building loomed ahead—forty stories of glass and steel that had once felt impressive but now just looked cold. Riley pushed through the revolving doors and nodded at the security guard, who looked surprised to see her.
"Ms. Monroe. Thought you were on vacation."
"So did I."
The elevator ride to the thirty-second floor felt endless. Riley checked her reflection in the mirrored walls—tired eyes, hastily applied makeup, hair pulled into a bun on the train. She looked like someone who'd been dragged back to work against her will.
Because she had been.
The doors opened onto the familiar chaos of the office. Phones ringing, people rushing between cubicles, the constant hum of productivity that never seemed to stop. Even on December 27th, the place was half-full.
Riley dropped her bag at her desk and headed for Conference Room B, where Sandra had said the meeting would be.
The room was already packed. A dozen people around the long table, Sandra at the head, a presentation projected on the wall. The client—a middle-aged man in an expensive suit—sat beside Sandra looking annoyed.
"Riley." Sandra's voice was clipped. "So glad you could join us."
"I'm sorry, I—"
"Sit. We're just getting started."
Riley sat, pulling out her laptop and trying to look like she had any idea what was happening.
Sandra launched into the presentation without preamble.
The campaign Riley's team had been working on for months—a product launch for a major beverage company—was apparently falling apart.
The client had some concerns about the messaging.
Wanted to discuss adjustments to the visual direction.
Thought maybe they should reconsider the strategic approach.
Riley listened, taking notes, trying to understand the scope of the changes.
"I appreciate you all coming in," Mr. Harrison said when Sandra paused. "Though I have to say, we probably could have postponed this conversation until after the new year. Given the holidays and all."
"Nonsense," Sandra cut in smoothly. "We're here to serve our clients whenever you need us. Holidays don't stop us from doing great work. We're available day or night."
Riley's jaw tightened. Day or night. Holidays don't matter. Your life doesn't matter.
Harrison looked slightly uncomfortable. "Well, I appreciate the dedication. But really, this isn't that urgent. The launch isn't until February—"
"Which is exactly why we need to move quickly," Sandra said. "Get ahead of any potential issues. Riley, why don't you walk Mr. Harrison through your thoughts on the revised approach?"
Riley pulled up her notes, trying to focus. But all she could think about was the client’s statement. This didn't need to happen today. He just said it could wait. But Sandra wouldn’t let it wait.
The meeting ground on for another hour and a half. Harrison asking questions, expressing preferences, but repeatedly saying things like "we can iron this out next week" and "no rush on this part."
And every time, Sandra would jump in with "let's nail it down now while we're all here" or "we can turn this around quickly for you."
By the time they broke, Riley felt hollowed out. Harrison had been reasonable. Patient. Willing to wait.
Sandra had made it urgent when it wasn't.
The meeting finally broke at noon. Riley gathered her things, ready to bolt.
"Riley." Sandra's voice stopped her at the door. "A word?"
Riley's stomach sank. "Of course."
Sandra waited until the room had cleared, then gestured for Riley to sit back down. "I need you to take point on the revision."
"I'm supposed to be on vacation until—"
"I'm aware. But this is an emergency situation. The client specifically asked for you."
Riley's jaw tightened. "I have plans this afternoon. I need to catch the two o'clock train back—"
"Cancel them."
"Sandra, I can't just—"
"Riley." Sandra leaned forward, her expression shifting to something that might have been sympathy if it weren't so calculating.
"I understand you have a personal life. I respect that.
But this is how you get ahead in this industry.
The people who succeed are the ones who make sacrifices. The ones who show up when it matters."
"I've been here for seven years. I've shown up—"
"And that's why you're the lead on this account. That's why the client asked for you specifically." Sandra's smile didn't reach her eyes. "This is your chance to prove you're ready for the next level. Partner track doesn't go to people who prioritize their personal lives over client needs."
Riley wanted to argue. Wanted to say that working through Christmas vacation wasn't reasonable. That she'd already given this company seven years of sixty-hour weeks and missed holidays and relationships that fell apart because she was never available.
But the words stuck in her throat, weighed down by years of conditioning.
"Okay," she heard herself say. "I'll stay until two. But then I really need to—"
"Let's see where we are at two." Sandra was already standing, dismissing her. "I'm sure we can work something out. Oh, and Riley? I need you to sit in on the strategy call at one. The team wants to hear your thoughts directly."
Riley walked back to her desk feeling like she was moving underwater. She pulled out her phone.
Riley: Meeting ran long. Going to try to catch the two p.m. train. Should still make it in time.
Grant's response came immediately.
Grant: No problem. I'll save you a seat.
Riley stared at the message, her throat tight. He trusted her. He believed she'd be there.
She had to be there.
But at twelve forty-five, Sandra appeared at her desk with a stack of files. "I need you to review the creative brief before the team starts revisions. Make sure we're aligned on messaging."
Riley pulled up the document. It should have taken twenty minutes. It took forty-five because Sandra kept stopping by with "one more thought" or "actually, can you adjust this section?"
Then her colleague Dev needed her input on the media strategy. "Just ten minutes," he said. It took thirty.
Then Sandra needed her to join a call with the internal creative team to discuss approach. "Quick sync," Sandra promised. It ran until two-fifteeen.
Riley watched the clock like it was mocking her.
One fifteen p.m. If I leave now, I can still make the 2:00 train.
But Sandra was at her desk again, talking about messaging frameworks.
One forty-five p.m. Okay, the 2:30 train. That still gets me there by 4:30.
But the creative team had questions. Always more questions.
2:17 p.m. The 3:00 train. I'll miss the beginning but I'll be there.
Riley tried to extract herself. "Sandra, I really need to—"
"Just one more thing. I need your eyes on these deck revisions before we send them to the client."
It was never just one more thing.
At 2:48, Sandra dropped a stack of printouts on Riley's desk. "I need these edits before you go. Shouldn't take long."
Riley wanted to scream. Wanted to throw the papers back at Sandra and say she was done. But she didn't. She never did.
She made the edits.
It took forty-five minutes.
Riley finished and checked her phone. 3:37 p.m.
Her heart stopped.
The three o’clock train was gone. The next one wasn't until four-fifteen, which meant she wouldn't get to Pine Valley until after six.
The pageant started at five.
Riley stared at her screen, the weight of it settling over her like a physical thing.
She was going to miss it.
She'd promised Hannah she'd be there to see her kids perform. She'd promised Grant she'd be back. She'd looked him in the eye this morning and sworn she wouldn't break this promise.
And now she was going to break it.
Riley pulled out her phone with shaking hands.
Riley: I'm so sorry. I'm not going to make it in time. My boss kept piling on work and I missed my train. I'm trying to get there as fast as I can but I won't make the pageant.
She hit send and waited, her heart hammering.
The message showed as delivered. Then read.
No response.
Riley tried again.
Riley: Grant, please. I know you're upset. I tried everything to get away. I'll be on the next train. I'll explain when I get there.
Still nothing.
Riley sat at her desk, staring at her phone, and felt something inside her crack.
This was it. The pattern Sandra had just praised her for. The thing that made her "successful." Sacrificing everything that mattered for a job that would never care about her the way the people in Pine Valley did.
The way Grant did.
Sandra appeared at her desk again. "Riley, I need you to—"
"No."
Sandra blinked. "Excuse me?"
Riley stood, her hands surprisingly steady. "No. I'm done."
"We're not finished with the revisions. The client is waiting—"
"The client is not waiting. They said repeatedly that all of this could wait until after the new year. You can handle it." Riley opened her email, fingers moving across the keyboard before she could talk herself out of it. "I'm resigning. Effective immediately. "
"You're what?"
Riley kept typing, her heart pounding but her resolve hardening with every word.
To: Sandra Mitchell
Subject: Resignation
Sandra,
I am resigning from my position at Mitchell & Associates, effective immediately. I will send transition notes for my accounts by end of day tomorrow.