Chapter 7: The Elevator Showdown

A month later, back in the States, I headed straight to our project’s office, jet lag weighing me down. The city buzzed outside as I squeezed into the elevator, wedged between a woman in a Target cardigan balancing a Dunkin’ coffee and a guy clutching a breakfast sandwich. The faint smell of eggs and sausage lingered.

The elevator beeped—overweight. Groans all around. The last girl in, instead of stepping out, shoved her way deeper. "Why should I get out? It’s everyone’s problem."

She turned, chin high. "I’m a supervisor at Heaton Group. If you make me get out, you’re going against the whole company!"

I recognized her: Tanya Simmons. Her gaze swept the elevator, daring anyone to challenge her. Someone muttered, "Just get out already."

In the chaos, Tanya’s eyes met mine. She smirked. "Alright, so we’re one person over. If you clock-punchers are so scared of being late—maybe the unemployed bum with the suitcase should get out, right?"

She shot me a look, baiting me. I flashed my employee badge, voice steady. "Actually, I work here too. I’m heading to the 25th floor for a project meeting."

A few people exchanged glances, and Tanya’s bravado wavered, just for a second.