His breath was hot against my neck. I turned, slowly, meeting his smug grin with a look that could curdle blood. "I don't understand how it's my life you just made a living hell," I said softly. "If you're the one planting doubts in the minds of the directors just to get me into submission, then you don't realize the person you just hurt in there wasn't me—but your supposed best friend."
He opened his mouth as if to reply, but I was already walking away.
By the time I reached my office, the adrenaline had cooled into determination. I sat down, staring at my computer screen—the company logo glowing.
The conversation in the boardroom replayed in my head—the director's doubt, the smug way Sam had sat back, the quiet pride in Mr. Numero's defense. I could feel the weight of expectation pressing down on me.
"I'll show them," I muttered to myself. "Every last one of them."
