Off Limits

There are exactly three people in the world who can ruin your morning with one calendar invite, and two of them are your parents.

The third is standing at the espresso machine when you walk in at 7:58, already dressed like the promotion is his, holding two cups.

"They announced it at seven," Grayson West says, by way of good morning. He extends one of the cups — your order, oat milk, one sugar, which is somehow more irritating than if he'd gotten it wrong. "One VP seat. Six-week evaluation. You and me." His mouth does the thing it does, the almost-smile that has launched a thousand incident reports in your head. "Congratulations, by the way. On second place."

You take the coffee. You've learned never to refuse intel or caffeine. "Sleep well, West? You look tired. Must be exhausting, peaking at orientation."

"Funny. I archived that orientation ranking, actually. Framed it."

"You would."

The elevator doors open on the executive floor before he can fire back, and the CEO's assistant waves you both in with the expression of a woman escorting two toddlers to share one toy. Six weeks. One seat. And a company-wide betting pool that — according to the spreadsheet someone forgot to lock — currently has odds on a third outcome nobody will say out loud in front of HR.

You've beaten Grayson West at everything that can be scored. The trouble starts tonight, at the retreat planning meeting, when you learn what can't be.