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future of my career suddenly hanging in the balance.
    Flicking off some Phuture News gossip girls, I collected my Cognix materials and sent them over to the conference room, closing down my workstation as I got up to leave. I ran a hand through my hair to straighten it out and absently brushed some lint off my shoulder as I looked out at the wall of the building facing my window, hardly ten feet away.
    My reflected image hung thinly over the cold, chipped brick beyond. My heart thumped loudly in my chest, each contraction pushing blood tensely through my arteries, forcing it down into my veins, straining it into the smallest of vessels as the pressure built up. I tried taking a deep breath, but there was nowhere for the air to go.
    Sweat beaded upon my forehead.
    Shake it off, take the fight to them, I thought to myself. A vision of that bum on the street suddenly crowded my mind, and I looked down and away. “We’ll be seeing you soon,” was what he’d said. What did he mean by that? That will never be me.
    My heart began racing.
    Why are you thinking like this? You’re a high powered executive, a queen of New York. You have savings, you have important friends, you own your home, and you’ve even got Mr. Tweedles. I smiled at that. The doctor must have been right—the stress was getting to me. I just didn’t feel like myself.
    Letting out a big sigh, I collected myself and made for the door. Everything would be fine.
    Down the hallway I entered the conference room, and was surprised that projections of our Cognix customers weren’t filling the holographic wall. My boss and Bertram were sitting down on the other side of the long table, looking at me like they were waiting for my arrival.
    I pulled up a chair opposite them, taking an aggressive stance as I sat down. I leaned into the table, feeling my old friend anger begin to make an appearance.
    “What’s up guys?” I half asked, half challenged. I’d had enough of them already this week.
    “Olympia, we’re glad you’re here,” began my boss stupidly, opening clasped hands that had been supporting his weak chin as if about to accept an award for incompetence.
    I let go an audible groan.
    “Roger, what’s up? Cut the bullshit. Did we lose the final phase of the account?”
    “No,” he announced with pronounced lack of enthusiasm, “actually, we won.”
    “So what’s the problem?”
    “No problem at all. In fact, we want to use all of the materials you created. Great work!”
    “Well, good then,” I replied carefully, softening up my seated posture.
    “But...”
    “But what?” I growled, leaning back into the table.
    “We’ve made, ah, our client wants, ah, well, we want Bertram here to head the account. You’ll be working underneath him on this. I’d like you to show him the ropes, you know, you’re the expert.”
    He smiled at me weakly while Bertram beamed enthusiastically. Worm. I smiled as I mentally uncapped the pot simmering inside me, feeling it boil over to explode through my temples.
    “Are you out of your mind?” I yelled back at them both. “There is no way that I’m going to train this little shit eating monkey to do my job!”
    Bertram shifted back in his chair, enjoying the spectacle, his grin floating disconnectedly in my red-shifted vision. My chest tightened as I attempted to let go another salvo. I gripped the table with white knuckles. My vision was swimming.
    “Does this have anything to do with me not wanting to use that kid instead of Patricia?” I asked.
    “No, nothing like that,” said Bertram, smiling. I didn’t believe him.
    “Olympia, look, I understand how you feel,” pleaded my boss, “but you could learn a lot from Bertram too. Look how calm and collected he is.” He looked back at Bertram. “There is no rush on this, why don’t you take next week off, paid leave, and think about everything, okay?”
    I stared down at the table, trying to get a grip on myself. Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad idea. I