A pause. She looked me up and down with clinical distaste. “Yes. Highly inappropriate. Extremely muddy. And frankly, she looks unhinged.”

Another pause. She hung up and gave me a thin, apologetic smile. “Cassandra Crane says the interview window is firmly closed. Have a good day.”

My breath hitched. The fault line that had been forming in my chest all morning cracked open.

“Please,” I heard myself say, hating the vulnerability in my voice. “I understand I’m late, but if she could just look at my portfolio for five minutes—”

“Company policy, Ms. Bellamy. Security will escort you.”

A man in a charcoal pinstripe suit stood up from a leather armchair. “If you want to work in logistics, sweetheart, maybe learn to navigate around puddles.”