Part 1Dying Was My Best Career Move

The first thing I smelled was the copper of my own blood. The last thing I felt was the jagged edge of a broken champagne bottle tearing through my carotid artery.

Then, I blinked.

The neon glare of the club was gone. In its place was the sterile, flickering fluorescent light of the Stratton & Co. marketing floor. I was back. Back to the Tuesday morning when Mindy first proposed the "team-building" night that would end my life.

In my previous life, it started with a whim. Mindy suggested we book a private lounge at The Ace of Spades, a high-end club where a single bottle of Armand de Brignac goes for three grand. She ordered ten. By 2:00 AM, she’d slipped out the back with the rest of the team, claiming she was "checking the valet." She never came back.

The owner—a man with a shaved head and a temper like a pressure cooker—found me alone in the wreckage of the VIP suite. He didn’t care about corporate politics. He wanted his thirty thousand dollars. When I called Mindy, she laughed over the speaker. She told me the champagne tasted like it had been watered down and that the owner should be "honored" a firm like ours even stepped foot in his "dive."

He didn't feel honored. He felt murderous.

* * *

"Friday night. Private lounge at The Ace of Spades. I’ve got ten bottles of gold-label bubbles on ice. Don’t even think about being a no-show, babes!"

Mindy was leaning against my cubicle partition, a bottle of cold-pressed peach juice dangling from her hand. Her lip gloss left a sticky, coral-colored ring around the straw.

Peach. It was always peach. Sweet, soft, and cloying.

Five of our six-person team nodded eagerly. I was the only one who didn't look up from my monitor.

"Norah? You’re in, right?"

She tilted her head, her blonde highlights catching the office light.

I didn't hesitate. "No."

The sucking sound of the straw stopped. She kept the bottle to her lips, but her eyes narrowed. "Wait, why? It’s Friday!"

"I’m busy."

"Is it the money? Don't worry about the money, sweetie. It’s coming out of the team-building budget. Howard already signed off on it."

"The quarterly budget is eight hundred dollars," I said, finally turning to face her. "Ten bottles of Ace of Spades is thirty thousand, plus the lounge fee. How exactly are you planning to expense that, Mindy?"

The rhythmic clicking of keyboards in the department faltered. Diane, our senior lead, let her fingers hover over the keys.

Mindy slowly lowered her juice and stood up straight. The smile stayed on her lips, but the warmth vanished from her eyes. "Norah, you’re so literal. It’s a hookup. The owner is a 'friend' of mine. He’s giving us a massive discount."

"How massive? Give me a percentage. I’ll help you run the numbers against the company's audit policy."

She didn't answer. Her fingernail traced a sharp, nervous line down the side of her plastic bottle.

"Fine. If you want to be a buzzkill, be a buzzkill."

She turned on her heel. On her way back to her desk, she dropped a gourmet chocolate on Chris’s keyboard and gave Diane a playful squeeze on the shoulder. Every move was calculated, a masterclass in social engineering. I had watched her play this game for a year. In my last life, I was just a pawn she sacrificed to clear her tab.

At 3:00 PM, Howard called me into his office.

"Norah, I heard you’re skipping the team event?"

"Yes."

"Reasoning?"

"The cost is astronomical, Howard. Even at a fifty-percent discount, it’s ten times our allotted budget."

He tapped his fingers on his mahogany desk. There was a Yeti tumbler sitting there, decorated with a crooked heart sticker drawn by his young daughter. He looked like a family man, a responsible VP.

"I’ll handle the financials. But Norah, your attitude is becoming a problem. Mindy works hard to keep morale up, and you’re making her look bad in front of the group."

"I’m not trying to make her look bad. I’m asking a math question."

"Ask it privately then. You’re making it sound like she’s... skimming."

He cut himself off, realizing where that sentence was heading.

"Just go. Try to be a team player for once."

When I stepped out, Mindy was waiting at the end of the hallway. She had a new juice. A larger one.

"What did Howard say, Norah?" Her voice was pure honey.

"Nothing."

"Good. Honestly, I’m sorry I didn't consult you first. Next time, you’ll be the first person I ask, okay?"

She draped an arm over my shoulder. It wasn't heavy, but her sharp manicure poked right into the soft skin above my collarbone.

"Mindy, how many of these 'team events' have you organized this year?"

"I don't know... seven? Eight?"

"All on the company dime?"

"Duh. That’s what a budget is for."

"Do you keep the itemized receipts?"

Her grip tightened for a fraction of a second. Then she let go, her smile never wavering. "Why the sudden interest in accounting? Want to see them? I can show you everything."

"Don't bother," I said. "I'll find them myself."

I walked away. Her voice trailed after me, sweet and bubbly as if nothing had happened. "Okay! Suit yourself! Next time then!"

Back at my desk, my phone buzzed.

A voice note in the department group chat. Four seconds.

Mindy’s voice was a low, conspiratorial whisper, the kind meant to sound like a secret shared for your own good. "Norah’s been under a lot of stress lately, guys. Let’s all try to be extra kind to her, okay?"

Five minutes later, Diane peered over the top of her monitor, checking to see if anyone was listening.

"Norah," she breathed, her voice barely audible over the hum of the AC. "You shouldn't have picked a fight with her."