Monday is business as usual. Or nearly business as usual. Now, as well as the taste of coffee and mint, I have the taste of Milo on my tongue. This is bad. Complicated. We're gunning for the same promotion–the last thing we need is to complicate things with steamy elevator hookups. 

So why can't I stop thinking about it?

To distract myself, I spend the morning running around like a headless chicken, attempting to iron my dress while batting Mulan away with my foot. She inhales her food instead of eating it, so there is sticky mush all over her mouth. When she rubs against my leg, it transfers to my freshly moisturized skin.

"Bad Mulan," I say, but she keeps on rubbing.

When I'm ready, I walk into the same elevator I'd assaulted Milo's mouth in and try not to think about him. My first task of the day is to drop by the apartment, which means an hour of battling through New York's transit system. I'd hoped to get there early as proof of my professionalism, but as usual, Ashley is there before me. I push open the half-ajar door, step into the room, and freeze.

The apartment is nothing like the sleek, ultra-modern look I'd envisioned in my head. It's old school playboy with black leather sofas, animal skin rugs, and dark vampirey colors that make the place look more like a lair than somewhere you want to bring your one-night stands.

"I went with an old-fashioned vibe," Ashley says to break the silence.

"I can see that." 

Another long pause. "What do you think?" 

I turn to look at her. I think I'm going to murder you. "I guess...I guess I'm just surprised. It's not really what we talked about." I walk over to a garish painting of a woman's breasts and mentally cringe. When I turn back to Ashley, her smile has faltered.

"I know," she says, "but Milo mentioned you were thinking of going for a different vibe with this place. Something more old-fashioned playboy."

My eyes widen. That little rascal. "Milo said that?"

She nods. "I figured that's what you'd meant."

I squeeze the bridge of my nose because I feel a migraine coming on. "No, Ashley. No, it wasn't. If you'd just discussed it with me beforehand, we could have dealt with this miscommunication. How long is it going to take to change it all?"

She bites her red lip. "A week or two?"

I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown. "I told my boss I'd be starting showings next week." I am going to kill Milo for this. "Can you have it done in a week? I can't postpone any longer than that."

She sighs like I'm the one inconveniencing her. "It's really close to Christmas, a lot of people are already starting to switch off. I'm not sure a week is feasible."

It's not often I resort to demon mode, but it is one of those mornings. "Get it done, Ashley." Then I flick my hair over my shoulder and hurry back to the office.

The whole subway ride there, I rehearse what I'm going to say to Laurelle. It's not the type of thing I can tell her via email, as much as I want to, which means I'll have to head up to her office and face those demon eyes of hers in person.

I get to work at the same times as Rosie from four and Giles from five. They ignore me as I step into the elevator, as is customary. It's not that talking to those below your level is an outright rule, but it's behavior Laurelle would stomp out. I smile at them anyway, but they both turn away from me and look at their reflections, so I'm forced to do the same.

The doors open up to four, then five, until I'm the last in the elevator. It gives me a moment to examine my reflection and calm myself down. You wouldn't know to look at me that inside, I am panicking. My hair is in an efficient bun, and I'm wearing my favorite black dress and heels. I look like the type of woman who you don't want to cross; I pray it works to my advantage today.

The doors open up, and my eyes meet Milo's. He's already at his desk with a steaming cup of coffee. For a second, he stops typing. There is something different in the way he looks at me, but I can't put my finger on it.

It doesn't matter. I stride toward my desk and carefully put my things away before switching on my computer. Only now that I've got a minute to relax do I realize how furious I am. This staging fiasco has set me back at least a week, which not only means I'm behind on my schedule but makes me look incompetent.

I try to get to work, but it's hard when Milo keeps looking at me. On the one hand, there is still this heat in my stomach from our elevator kiss, but behind it sits a simmering hatred that burns even brighter. This is what I get for kissing another coworker – more misery and pain. I should have stuck to my guns. 

Still, I do a good job of pretending I'm not bothered and get on with my work. When it's time for my coffee break, Milo stands behind me as though waiting for me to finish, but I can tell that's not why he's here. He's still got his last cup of coffee on his desk.

"You look like a Cartel boss today," he says in that low, sultry voice. "Who are we killing?"

"You, with any luck." Even though I can't see his face, I know he is smirking. "I'm being serious, Milo." Finally, I can't hold it in anymore. I grab my coffee and turn to face him. "You are a wormy little scoundrel, do you know that?"

His eyebrow furrows in surprise. I go to walk past him, but he grabs my arm to keep me in place. "Am I missing something?" 

I look behind his towering frame, over to my desk, to see Jess and the whole office watching us. "You sabotaged my staging by telling Ashley the wrong thing." He goes to speak, but I say, "Don't even try to deny it, Milo. You were the only one I told the old-fashioned playboy thing to. My showings are going to be delayed weeks because of this. I always knew you were sneaky, but I never thought you'd actually try to sabotage me."

He opens his mouth to speak before pausing. "Look, I did tell her, but it was only in passing. I didn't purposely sabotage you."

I shake my head. So that's his excuse? He and Ashley sabotaged my promotion by talking about my business, but it's okay because it wasn't intentional? "Forget it," I say, shaking loose from his grip. "I have work to do."

I head back to my desk while he stands at the coffee machine, dumbfounded. Eventually, he heads to his own desk without his cup of coffee and gets back to typing on his computer. I do the same because if there is one good thing that came from his sabotage, it's that it awoke my competitive streak. 

At eleven, Laurelle's minion stands at the elevator like a bad omen and beckons me over. My heart stops, and I get to my feet. This is it, this is the moment I've been dreading all morning; I'm about to be thrown to the sharks.

Slowly, I straighten out my dress and make my way down the aisle. Jess's eyes soften, because we all know what it means when the minion calls for us. Newsflash, it's never good.

The minion is silent as we ride to the top. "Do you think she's mad?" I ask. The minion ignores me and looks straight ahead. "I mean, did she seem mad?"

The doors slide open, and we step into the lobby. I don't get the usual jolt of happiness that comes with being allowed on this floor; I'm too busy internally screaming.

Minion leads me to the sofas, so I cautiously take a seat. My butt sinks into the expensive leather, and I try to enjoy this moment. Thanks to Milo's poor sportsmanship, it's probably the last time I'll be allowed up here.

Minion tells me that Laurelle is ready. I get to my feet with a feeling of dread and head to her office. She orders me to come in before I knock on the door, and asks me to take a seat. 

"Good morning," I say as I sit opposite. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes." She briefly looks up from her phone to give me the once-over. "What's this I hear about your showings being delayed?"

I swallow hard and try not to play with the buttons on my dress. "Something went wrong with the staging. The property isn't ready to be viewed."

"Elaborate."

"There was a miscommunication between myself and the Staging Director."

"And when will this miscommunication be rectified?"

"A week," I say. I hope.

Her eyes darken. "And what are you doing in the meantime?"

"I'm working on lining up potential clients for an open house viewing, as well as some private viewings. By the time the property is staged, I'll be ready to show it off immediately."

"I hope so," she says, looking back at her phone. "I only allow one screw-up per employee. This is yours, Kennedy."

There is a moment of silence, which tells me this meeting is over. I get to my feet, straighten out my dress, and head to the door. "Thank you," I say. "I won't screw up again."

"I hope not." 

Back at my computer, I ignore Milo's pitiful stares and focus on getting back in Laurelle's good graces. This mess Milo made could have cost me the promotion, and I can't afford to screw up again. That means no more trusting handsome men. No more elevator trysts. No more Milo Woods.

"Did she eat you alive?" Jess asks. She's staring at me from over her monitor, eyes wide like she's waiting for gossip. Any time anyone gets called to seven, the rumors in six fly wildly in anticipation.

"No," I say, not taking my eyes off my screen, "but she will if I mess up again."

I stop typing to tell her about what Milo did and how behind schedule I am. I keep my voice low, hushed, because I'm certain Milo is always trying to eavesdrop, but I can't keep the panic from my voice. This promotion is the only thing keeping me together, and I'm about to lose it.

Jess's eyes soften. She knows how much this promotion means to me, and even though my rise to seven could potentially screw up our friendship, she's never stopped rooting for me. "If he's going to play dirty like that, you need to do the same," she says, sipping at her coffee. "You need to sabotage him back."

I let her words sink in. While I'm loathed to stoop to Milo's level, I can't deny the fact that this delay in my viewing tips the scales out of my favor, and it's all his fault. "Nothing crazy," Jess adds as an afterthought, probably because she's realized how psychotic it sounds. "Just something small that will set him behind schedule. I mean, it is his fault you're so behind now. Give him a taste of his own medicine."

It's not exactly the festive spirit, but then I'm not exactly a festive person. I turn back to my screen and focus, but in the back of my head, I keep replaying her words. The truth is, I'm so mad at myself for trusting Milo. Anyone with any brains could have foreseen that their competitor might try to sabotage them, but clearly not me. Well, two can play that game.

I focus on my laptop again and try to contact some clients. I call it my money tree, a list of contacts that branch into other contacts I've yet to meet. To make it in this business, it's all about who you know, and over the years, I've made friends with my buyers, who then introduced me to their friends. It's what's going to save me now. These loyal clients trust me and will arrange viewings for my property even if they haven't seen it yet, which means it's about the only thing that's keeping Laurelle from putting my head on the chopping board.

At some point, Steve from five comes in with some Christmas treats, even though it's technically forbidden. Not the treats, but him venturing from five into six. Still, the cupcakes he gives us are so phenomenal, I know no one is going to snitch on him. He gives me two frosted cakes with snowmen on the icing, along with a little wink that Milo catches. He looks between us, pauses, and scowls before turning to his laptop, not touching the cake on his table. Even though it's petty, I can't help but feel vindicated.

"So, we're going to the Christmas markets after work," Jess says after her sixth trip to the coffee machine. As much as I love her, I have no idea how she gets any work done. "You coming?"

"I can't," I say because I'm in beast mode now. From this day forth, I will be molded to this seat, my fingers frozen to this keyboard in perfect claw shapes. For years to come, new employees will visit this floor and see my butt still imprinted into the leather of this seat. There is no way I'm having fun when there's a promotion on the line. Milo has awoken the dragon in me. "I need to focus on this property."

Jess sighs and feigns getting back to work, but at six, when everyone leaves, she asks me one last time if I want to go, like maybe she thinks I'll change my mind. I don't, because I'm serious about this. Until the day I get that promotion, I am no longer Kennedy James; I am the terminator.

Everyone says goodbye and heads to the Christmas markets, leaving the four usual suspects behind. I risk looking up to see Milo, who is busy typing away on his laptop like he's writing an important email. 

"So, how's everyone's staging going?" Patricia asks. She says it innocently, like a completely disinterested third party, but I know she's fishing for intel. 

"Oh, it's going great," I say with my biggest smile. "What about you?"

"Great," Patricia says, but something about her forced smile says otherwise. We turn to Harry, eagerly awaiting his response. He hangs his head a little and mumbles okay, which means he's struggling too. 

Milo, as usual, ignores her completely. I stare at him, my hatred mixed with the feeling I'd had when he'd pinned me in the elevator. Why is it impossible to look at him without thinking about his lips? Without imagining his hands on my body? 

Get a grip, Kennedy. 

I get back to emailing clients. So do Patricia and Harry, but it's not long before they succumb to the tiredness and leave Milo and me as the last ones standing. Still eternally bitter, I ignore Milo completely, determined to focus on salvaging my staging, but Jess's words come back to haunt me. One little sabotage and Milo and I would be back on even playing fields.

As luck would have it, the perfect opportunity occurs when Milo gets up to head to the bathroom. My fingers twitch, and I'm seconds away from scrambling across the office to snoop through his computer, but I refuse to stoop to his level. If I get this promotion, it'll be through hard work and perseverance, not dirty cheating tactics. 

He returns moments later, none the wiser. By now, it's almost seven, and although I've got a pile of emails I've yet to reply to, I shut down my computer. After my dress down from Laurelle, all I want is to snuggle up to Mulan and lose myself in a tv show.

Milo shrugs on his vampire coat, this time a navy one. I fasten my coat and get to my feet, scooping up my handbag. Together, we stride toward the elevator, refusing to look at each other. It's hard to believe that just yesterday, I imagined what having Milo as a boyfriend would be like. How desperate I was for him to kiss me. It's sickening.

"How long are you going to stay mad?" he asks.

I glare at his reflection in the elevator doors. "Eternally."

"That's a long time."

"What can I say, I know how to hold a grudge."

His mouth twitches. "That I can believe."

The doors fling open. I hotfoot it across the lobby and over to the revolving doors. I hope to beat him through them, but he's next to me in a second, so we end up squashing into the same divide. It spins us around, spitting us out onto the icy steps, where I'm in such a hurry to get away from him that my heel slips on a patch of black ice.

The way he saves me from a fall down the steps is almost like slow motion. My leg starts to buckle as his arms lock around me, catching me before I hit the ground. He keeps me like this for a moment or two, bundled to his chest.

"You're a walking disaster," he says, looking down at me. "You know that?" 

There is a part of me that wants to stay like this, bundled to his warm, solid chest. But continuing this tryst with Milo is dangerous. What happens if he gets the promotion? What happens when he goes to seven, and I'm stuck in six? What happens when my dreams are all but dead and buried? 

"Thanks," I say, "I try." Then I step away from him and hurry down the street before he can try to give me a ride.

Back home, Mulan whines to be fed as soon as I walk through the door. I put down some food, get into my satin pajamas, and settle into bed with popcorn and Netflix. But I can't even concentrate. All I can think about is that kiss we had and how much I want to do it again. It feels like I'm betraying myself when I think of him like this, but I can't help it. The guy is too handsome for his own good. Still, despite my more-than-questionable feelings, I'm not stupid enough to make the same mistake twice. No more nice, trusting Kennedy. No more kisses with coworkers. 

That promotion is mine. 

A/N

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