3. REEMA

Jake Coleman has just witnessed everything that happened to me.

Other strangers in the lunchroom I'll hide from. Maybe I'll stagger the timing of my lunch, taking it first thing in the morning to avoid this particular crowd. But this—him?—

To say Coleman is my office enemy is a laughable understatement. He's the six-foot-two fortress standing between me and everything I've been sweating, exhausting, and practically contorting my body to win this year. He's my direct competition. We've got the same position in our company. Client recruitment.

And every year we fight for who is the most successful agent signing the biggest portfolio of clients. It's always been a gladiator pit of cut-throat dueling between us, but this year is way worse. The stakes have completely changed.

See, Mr.Davies instituted a new incentive program. The employee who brings in the biggest portfolio of clients by the end of our tax year receives a twenty-five percent bonus. A quarter of your salary will be added to your commissions.

Let me say that again. One-fourth salary as a bonus. It's unthinkable and somehow everything.

When is the end of our tax-year? Two weeks from now. We're so close to the end of this battle that I'm surprised Coleman left the office to come down here. But he is here.

And right now, he stands between me and the elevator.

Walking toward him is unavoidable. I flatten my expression. I'm infallible. Nothing breaks me. We've been staring at each other like this ever since he joined FINAN Group, but recently it's gotten more intense. His green eyes war against my brown ones. Coleman and I both know it's him or me winning that bonus.

I don't know or care what that money means to him. For me, it turns my whole life around. Once I get the bonus, I can be a proper adult again.

Coleman holds the door open for Sally and me, pretending to be a gentleman. I scrutinize his body language. Did he hear me get rejected? Was he standing there the whole time? And can he use this information in any way to influence our fight?

You might think not, since whatever happened to me was a personal humiliation, but anything is up for ammunition between us. We fight Coliseum-style to land the most clients, our boss frequently giving us the same booklet of leads to use. And progressively, it's gotten dirtier. He's driven across state-lines to poach prospective buyers in person. I've hacked his calendar and deleted appointments. There was that phishing scam he emailed me. And, sure, I may have impersonated him a few times over the phone. Not to mention the incident HR has officially dubbed Stapler-Gate, where we both took it too far.

Coleman arches his brow. "Nice show, Patel."

"Didn't think you frequented the cafeteria, Coleman," I scoff. "Last I checked, the charging stations are in the janitor's closet."

"But I'm so glad I did. Otherwise, I'd miss such a brave shot at love. Courageous work, Patel."

"Is that hope I hear? Don't worry, one day you might also find someone to tolerate you. The future of robotics is so promising."

Yes, we're the type of enemies who address each other by last name. Easier that way to stab the other person in the back. Front. Sideways. Any convenient opening, really.

You might wonder why our boss allows this kind of behavior. Since Coleman and I started competing, FINAN's profits have gone up, year after year.

Whatever we are doing, it's working.

Thankfully, Coleman doesn't follow Sally and me onto the elevator, because the two of us don't do well in enclosed spaces. As soon as the metal doors close and I can't see his smug face, I'm drained of my battle-rage. I apologize to Sally. "I didn't mean to involve you like that back there. Sorry." My hands tuck into my pockets, snuggling into more lint.

"It's okay, Reema. I'm glad I was there."

"Me, too."

"Would you also like a hug, by chance?" she asks.

"Thank you, Sally. I would."

Sally squeezes me into a quick hold before pulling away. I'm almost undone by her wise warmth, but I cling onto my guarded walls. And when that elevator door opens, I make myself forget the last half-hour as if it never happened.

Stalking over to my desk, I decide it's time to get on with the day and land more clients. That's the only thing that matters to me these days. It's the only thing that can.

My work colleague, who also happens to be my best friend, hears me arrive. He turns around in his chair and bites his lip. By the look on his face, I know something is wrong.

I was right.

He tells me and my day descends, igniting a second, even worse, dumpster fire of a situation.

Why does this happen to me?