The elevator ride to the 48th floor felt like a slow descent into something I couldn’t name.

I adjusted my blouse for the third time. It was slightly tighter than I remembered — the fabric pulling around my chest every time I inhaled. The pencil skirt clung to my hips. My heels clicked sharply as I walked across the polished marble of Maddox International’s top floor.

I wasn’t sure if I was overdressed or underdressed for the interview. Maybe both.

A receptionist with icy eyes ...