Chapter 1

Claire Gomez said, "You got in through connections, didn't you?"

It was my first day, and my ID badge was barely warm on my chest.

Claire stood in front of me, her high heels clicking on the floor, as seven or eight people around us looked up.

I was caught off guard. "No."

"No?" she smiled. Her voice wasn't loud, but in the silent office, everyone heard her clearly. "But I heard your dad knows Mr. Romero."

My heart sank.

She leaned in, tapped her nail on my folder, and gave it a shove.

Over thirty sheets were scattered all over the floor.

"Pick them up," Claire ordered.

No one in the office said a word.

I crouched down and picked them up one by one.

She paced around me in her heels, and then stopped right beside me. "Remember, as long as I'm in charge, anyone who got in through connections won't last."

I picked up the last sheet of paper. 'Fine.'

A shoe print stained the page.

It was slender, the heel mark especially sharp and clear.

I tried to rub it off with my fingertip, but the mark wouldn't budge.

"What's your name again?" Claire asked, already back at her desk without looking up.

"Meilani Roberts," I answered.

"Meilani Roberts," she repeated, rolling the name around in her mouth. "Twenty-five, fresh out of grad school, marketing major. Your resume looks impressive, but I wonder if you have any real skills."

I didn't respond.

She looked up, her gaze sweeping over me. "Your desk's over there, right by the lavatory."

I looked where she was pointing.

In the corner sat a solitary desk, parked right next to the lavatory door.

The air vent was blasting directly onto that spot, and a few unopened boxes of printer paper were stacked up nearby.

"You'll get your computer tomorrow. For now, get familiar with the office." Claire tossed a stack of papers at me. "This is our department's event plan from last month.

"Turn it into a digital version and send it to my email before you leave today."

I flipped through the stack.

There were eighty-three pages, all handwritten.

The handwriting was so sloppy that it looked like a doctor's scribble.

I asked, "How am I supposed to do this without a computer—"

"There's a shared computer in the conference room next door." Claire cut me off. "Don't tell me you can't manage something this basic."

I hugged the stack of papers to my chest and walked out.

As I passed by, I caught her whispering to the person next to her. "Knew it, another nepo baby who doesn't have the most basic skills."

Laughter echoed behind me.

I didn't look back.

The conference room door was locked.

I asked the admin, and they said the key was with Claire.

I went back. "Ms. Gomez, can I get the conference room key—"

"I'm in a meeting. Wait." She kept scrolling through her phone, her computer screen open in front of her.

I waited for twenty minutes. "Ms. Gomez—"

"I'm busy, can't you see?" she said, not looking up. "Why are you in such a hurry? Finish it before you clock out."

It was 3:40 PM. There were two hours and twenty minutes left before clocking out.

I stood next to her desk and waited another fifteen minutes.

Finally, Claire dug a key out of her drawer and tossed it onto the desk. "Here, take it."

I leaned over to grab it. But she pinned the key under her hand.

Claire looked up at me. "Meilani, I don't care who you are or where you come from. In this department, I'm the one in charge. Got it?"

I nodded.

She finally moved her hand away.

The shared computer in the conference room was this ancient desktop that took eight whole minutes to start up.

Word took another three minutes to open.

I started typing.

Some of the handwriting was so messy I had no clue what it said, so I had to wing it.

When I got to page fifteen, the door swung open.

"Who told you that you could use this computer?" A guy in a plaid shirt stood in the doorway, probably in his thirties, with a receding hairline.

I recognized him from the onboarding training that morning. He was the Tech Department team lead.

I tried to explain. "Ms. Gomez told me—"

He said, "This is the Tech Department's shared computer. Nobody from the Marketing Department is allowed to use it."

"But I don't have a computer, and Ms. Gomez said—"

"That's your department's problem." He walked over and shut down the document I was working on. "Get out."

The screen popped up with "Save changes?" He hit "No" without a second thought.

Fifteen pages were all wiped out.

I got to my feet, trying to steady myself with a deep breath. "Fine."