Chapter One
My life was measured in spreadsheets and high-stakes presentations. I knew what I was going to eat for every meal of every day. I knew what outfit I would put on each morning for the next two weeks. I knew what shade of lipstick I would wear to the upcoming company dinner in two months.
I had a planner that was filled for the rest of the year.
The cream paint on my nails was beginning to chip, which meant my appointment was in three days.
My rent was paid for another six months.
I was going to pay the full year, but I knew my boyfriend was planning to propose in April, and his apartment had two more bedrooms than mine.
Every detail was going to go according to my plan.
Every moment accounted for.
My morning run, the twenty-minute shower, the precisely applied shade of lipstick, each step a testament to my principle of control. I felt a quiet satisfaction as the elevator doors opened on the 27th floor, at exactly 7:48.
“Oh, look at that, you’re fourteen seconds later than yesterday,” my colleague Martha chortled from her desk, tapping her watch. “What happened? Car crash? A bomb?”
I forced a small laugh. “Good morning, Martha. Let’s blame the train.” I made a vow in my head as I walked to my desk to be fifteen seconds earlier tomorrow.
She laughed with a big chunk of bacon in her teeth. “Ha! We all know you don’t trust anything other than your two legs to get you here on time.”
“You know me well enough to be my stalker.” I lifted my pinky and touched my own tooth. “Have breakfast at the office this morning?”
Her gray curls bounced in surprise as she pulled out her compact.
“Oh, Allegra, you life saver. Yes. I went to visit my kids for the weekend and didn’t have time to finish my slideshow.
I’ve been here for an hour already.” She fished a flosser out of her giant purse.
With the piece of bacon gone, she smiled widely and asked, “So, did you do anything fun this weekend?”
I slid my lunch tote into the mini-fridge below my desk, knowing Martha would tease me for not using the shared fridge in the break room. “I finished a book about the secret to longevity, which was oddly depressing to read.”
“Well, you read a book on a Saturday night in your twenties. That’s what’s depressing. You know there’s a big fridge in the breakroom, Miss Persnickety,” she raised her eyebrows tauntingly.
“Oh, is there?” A knowing smile touched my lips as I powered on my computer.
The mix of the clicking of keys and the low hum of a crisp air conditioner fell together in perfect harmony. I smeared creamy lotion on my palms and let it absorb into my skin, ready to get another project finished before lunch and start polishing my presentation that afternoon.
The chatter on Martha’s side of the office muffled and then fell silent. The hush spread over the entire floor.
“Morning, Craig,” Martha said loudly enough to get my attention. “How was your weekend?”
My eyes shot up to see my boss hanging beside mine and Martha’s desk clump.
“Morning, Miss Hillard. It was great. I went fishing with my grandson.” He was smiling at her, his hands crossed behind his tailored black blazer. “You?”
“That’s just peachy,” she said casually, leaning back in her chair. “Got to go upstate and see my kids.”
“That’s lovely, Miss Hillard. And you, Miss Ford?” He turned his attention to me. “How was your weekend?”
I lowered my hands to my lap, regretting the lotion that was now drenched in my sweat. “Good morning, sir. It was fine, thank you.”
He smoothed his silk green tie against his chest and cleared his throat. “Miss Ford, I was wondering if we could talk in my office?”
I swallowed, half expecting my chickpea breakfast to rise in my throat and splatter my keyboard. Ignoring the ringing in my left ear, I plastered a calm smile on my face and nodded. “Of course, sir. Is now a good time?”
“Now is perfect.” He turned on his heel and began walking.
I scrambled to my feet, snagging my binder and two pens.
Martha caught my eye as I walked past her, a confused frown on her face.
I could feel everyone’s gaze on my back as we passed by, no one daring to utter a syllable. It was torturously silent, the only sounds being Craig Sterling’s heavy steps and the sharp click of my four-inch, crisp white heels.
My mind raced to the last project I had submitted. Was there inaccurate data? Was it not the subject I was assigned? The promotion I had been planning on in eight months was suddenly a distant dream. I was fired for sure.
He turned the corner and opened his thick oak door for me. I thanked him and walked in, my breath taken from my lungs as I looked at the stunning view of the city. His office was three times bigger than the one Martha and I shared with our team.
I took a seat across from his black stone desk, opening my binder and holding my pen at the ready. He shook his head and gestured to the couches beside the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Oh no, Miss Ford. Please relax.”
I walked to the couch and sat, feeling my good posture disappear into the deep cushions.
He sat across from me, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back.
“Miss Ford, thank you for coming in. I’ll get straight to the point.
We’ve landed a new client: Agri-Corp. They’re the powerhouse for agricultural equipment.
They’re a legacy brand, very solid, but their market research shows they’ve been seeing a shift in brand perception. ”
I nodded, scribbling a few notes on the blank sheet. My guard fell slightly. He was speaking my language, calming my anxiety with shop talk.
“Their core audience feels a disconnect. They’ve been an institution for over three decades, but they want to remind people of their roots.
They’ve decided their flagship sponsorship for the year will be something big.
They want something that will get them back to their roots, not back to boardrooms.”
The page in front of me was filling up quickly. I underlined the line “back to their roots” three times.
He leaned forward and smiled. “That’s where you come in, Miss Ford. The team and I have been discussing it, and we all agree that you’re our best and brightest when it comes to attention to detail.”
I was practically glowing with pride, my chest swelling. I could see it, a presentation perfect enough to get the entire board’s attention. If it took weeks to complete, I didn’t care. I could do whatever it took.
“We want you to be head of the project; in fact, I want to see what you could do as the head of a team.”
The head of the team? Not having to argue about precise little decisions, such as picking a font? Spending as much time as I wanted on every slide? I was sold on every single aspect. “Sir, that would be an honor,” I said, placing a hand over my heart.
He grinned. “I’m glad you think so. Miss Ford, if you nail this project like I think you will, you’ll be placed on the board with us. You’ll no longer be just a ‘marketing exec.’ You’re going to be a marketing director.”
My eyebrows shot into my hairline. “But sir, that’s your job.”
He shrugged and chuckled. “I’m getting promoted. You’re my first choice to take my place.”
I could’ve cried in that moment, I was so happy. The pen was quivering in my hand, not able to contain my pure joy. “You have no idea what this means to me, sir.”
“Well, let’s get into the project, then, shall we?” Mr. Sterling reached into his briefcase and laid a stack of papers, a magazine, and tickets on the coffee table. “They’ve decided to be the title sponsor of the National Rodeo Tour.”
The pen fell onto the tile floor. I didn’t bother to look where it landed. My left ear was ringing, and I could feel the sweat beginning to form on my hands. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your assignment is to embed yourself. To get down and dirty. You will be traveling with them for the remainder of the tour.”