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Every corridor looks identical, every conference room carries a name that sounds expensive, and every turn seems determined to send me farther away from wherever I’m trying to go.

One wrong turn deposits me in the middle of what appears to be an executive meeting.

The room falls silent.

I stop in the doorway. Seven people stare at me. Somewhere near the front, a projector fan whirs loud enough to fill the silence.

“Sorry.”

Nobody answers.

A woman near the end of the table blinks. A man by the window pinches the bridge of his nose.

I retreat, pull the door shut, and hear a long suffering exhale from the other side before I’ve taken three steps down the corridor.

Somewhere between getting lost for the second time and accidentally ending up in the finance department, I’ve become convinced the company uses its floor plan as an employee screening process. If you can find your destination without suffering a mild breakdown, you get to keep your job.

I’m searching for a meeting room called Hudson when I end up back in the lobby. Again.

Three steps later, a man’s voice reaches me from down the corridor.

“Well.”

I stop.

That single word carries the satisfaction of someone who’s just caught a burglar halfway through climbing out a window.

Theo Grant stands about twenty feet away with his arms folded, staring directly at the coffee cup in my hand.

My gaze drops to the cup. “Oh.”

“An excellent opening statement,” he says.

I lift the cup slightly. “This is your coffee mug.”

“It was.”

Heat creeps into my face. “Okay, in my defense⁠—”

Theo nods with the solemn expression of a man considering serious legal testimony. “Strong opening. Unfortunately, the prosecution would like to present additional evidence.”

He points at the cup.

Theo catches my expression and completely loses whatever fight he’s been having with himself. Laughter bursts out of him hard enough that he has to brace a hand against the wall, which feels wildly unfair considering I’m the one standing here with stolen property and no viable explanation.

“I am so sorry,” I say, pressing a hand to my forehead.

Theo waves the apology away and starts toward me. “You’re reacting like you’ve committed financial fraud.”

“You know,” he says, gesturing down the corridor with what’s left of his drink, “most employees spend at least a few days pretending they’re functional.”

“I wanted to make an impression.”

“Mission accomplished.” Then he points behind me. “You’re also heading in the wrong direction.”

I close my eyes. “Again?”

“The meeting rooms are the other way.”