“OK, don’t panic. You can do it. He’s not as scary as everyone makes him to be,” she mutters to herself. Then she freezes. She turns around to check if anyone is in the stalls of the fourteenth floor ladies’ restroom. Wouldn’t do to have any spies in the vicinity. None of the stall doors are closed, but you never know. So she does a cursory examination, her high heels going clack-clack-clack on the black and white tiles. I’m getting paranoid, she scolds herself. It’s this intense competition that is getting to her, not to mention that slimy bastard, Leonard Drake. Leonard is aiming to be the youngest VP in the company, and yes, she has to admit she is older by a full year than that sneaky twenty-eight-year old who is always telling everyone he graduated from Stanford at age nineteen because he is some sort of accelerated home-schooled genius. (Well, she’s older by exactly nine months, if you want to be picky about it.) But VP! Ohhh. She can almost see her name in gold lettering on her door.
