Chapter 1

Jade

I stride through the glass doors of Warren & Hart Marketing, my heels clicking a steady rhythm against the polished marble floors. The familiar scent of coffee and printer toner fills my nostrils as I navigate past the reception area, nodding to familiar faces.

"Morning, Ms. Wilson." Our receptionist Diana beams from behind her curved desk, tapping away at her keyboard.

"Diana, how many times do I have to tell you - it's Jade." I flash her a quick smile, juggling my laptop bag and the stack of campaign materials I'd stayed up late perfecting. My arms ache from the weight, but I wouldn't dream of showing it. Every detail matters in this place, right down to how you carry yourself.

The weight of being the youngest account executive in the firm's history settles on my shoulders as I catch snippets of whispered conversations. Two years out of college, and I've already landed the coveted position that people twice my age are still chasing. But I didn't get here by accident. Each promotion, each success, was earned through countless late nights, skipped weekends, and an ironclad determination to prove that age is just a number. The envious glances from the corner cubicles only fuel my drive to keep pushing forward.

I pause at the elevator bank, pressing the button for the fifteenth floor. A group of junior associates huddle near the water cooler, their eyes darting my way before quickly looking elsewhere. The same look I've gotten since my promotion three months ago - a mixture of awe, jealousy, and speculation about how a twenty-four-year-old Black woman climbed the ranks so quickly.

The elevator arrives with a soft ding. Inside, I adjust my blazer in the mirrored walls, smoothing down the navy fabric that cost two weeks' worth of paychecks from my first job here. The investment was worth it - in this industry, appearance matters almost as much as results. Almost.

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. The Morgan account presentation is in two hours, and I've rehearsed it until I could recite it in my sleep. This is what I've worked for since I was that wide-eyed intern making coffee runs. No time for self-doubt. No room for failure.

The doors open to the executive floor, and I step out into the hallway lined with glass-walled offices. Mine is the third one down - still feels surreal seeing "Jade Wilson, Account Executive" etched on the door. Using my elbow on the door handle, I nudge my way past the door and shut it behind me with my heel before dumping my materials haphazardly on the desk.

With a sigh, I settle into my chair, spreading out the Morgan presentation materials across my glass desk. Through the wall, voices drift from the break room next door. Male voices.

"Did you see Wilson's projections for the Morgan account?" That's definitely Brett from creative. His nasal voice is unmistakable through the thin wall.

"Yeah, pretty ambitious for someone fresh out of college." Marcus, one of the senior account managers, lets out a dismissive laugh that makes my jaw clench. "Guess that's what happens when you're trying to make a statement."

I grip my pen tighter, focusing on the papers in front of me while their words slither under my skin. Four years of business school, graduating summa cum laude, and these dinosaurs still can't see past my age and gender.

"Wonder how long she'll last. These young ones always burn out fast - especially the women. They don't understand it's a marathon, not a sprint." The condescension in Brett's voice makes my stomach turn.

"Give her six months. She'll probably leave to start a family or something. They always do." Marcus's words hit like a punch to the gut. If they only knew how wrong they were about me - about women in general. I've worked too damn hard to let a couple of middle-aged men in cheap suits determine my worth.

My jaw clenches. It's the same old story, really. Diminish the work, question the commitment, reduce everything to gender. I've heard it all before, seen it play out with other women who came before me. The way they were passed over for promotions, their ideas attributed to male colleagues, their ambition labeled as "aggressive" while men were praised for being "driven."

I stand up, straightening my blazer. I decide to make my entrance into the break room, making my way to the coffee maker. Their voices drop as I walk in, heads turning. I meet their eyes directly, unflinching.

"Morning, gentlemen. Those Morgan numbers giving you trouble? Happy to walk you through my methodology." My voice carries just enough edge to make them shift uncomfortably.

Brett suddenly finds his coffee fascinating. Marcus clears his throat. "No, we're good. Just discussing strategy."

"Perfect. Then you'll be ready for my presentation at eleven. I've included a five-year projection model that might interest you." I don't even bother finish making the coffee. I just wanted to give them some trouble, to remind them I have some good ears. I turn on my heel, not waiting for their response.

Their words echo in my head as I return to my office, but instead of deflating me, they steel my resolve. I've worked too hard to let outdated attitudes derail me. Let them talk. My results will speak louder than their whispers ever could.

I pull up the Morgan presentation on my laptop, clicking through the slides one last time. Each transition is flawless, each data point meticulously researched. I've practiced this pitch so many times I could do it in my sleep, but that won't stop me from running through it again.

"The Morgan campaign represents a shift in digital marketing paradigms..." I murmur the words under my breath, visualizing myself commanding the conference room. I'll stand tall, maintain eye contact, own every inch of that space. No playing small, no shrinking. They might see youth when they look at me, but I'll make them see capability.

My phone buzzes - a text from Marcus asking if we can "touch base" before the meeting. Delete. I know his type. He'll try to suggest "improvements" to my presentation, then take credit when things go well. Not today.

The framed photo on my desk catches my eye - me at graduation, flanked by my parents. Mom's crying, Dad's beaming. They wanted me to be a doctor, but they supported my choice anyway. "Just don't forget to live a little," Mom always says.

I think about Kevin, my last serious boyfriend from college. He couldn't understand why I'd choose late nights at the office over dinner dates. "You're always working," he'd complain. "When do we get to just be us?" The break-up was inevitable. They all were.

Then there was Michael last year, the investment banker who thought he'd found someone who "got it." He worked as hard as I did, but he still expected me to make time for his schedule, his needs. Three months in, he gave me an ultimatum - make more time for us or end it. I chose my career. A man like that isn't worth the trouble, anyway.

My calendar reminder pings - an hour until the presentation. I smooth down my blazer, check my lipstick in my compact mirror. Love, relationships, dating - they all take energy I can't spare right now. I'm twenty-four. I have time for that later, after I've built something real, something that's mine. Success doesn't wait for anyone, and I won't let anything distract me from what I've worked so hard to achieve.

I glance at the family photos lined up on my desk - birthdays, graduations, family reunions. Mom and Dad's wedding photo sits in the corner, their faces radiating pure joy. Twenty-eight years later, they're still just as in love.

My fingers trace the edge of their silver frame. What would it be like to have that? To come home to someone who understands you, supports you, shares your dreams? The thought settles in my chest, heavy and persistent.

Last month at my cousin Tracy's wedding, I caught the bouquet. All the aunties descended like vultures, armed with their usual questions. "When are you settling down?" "Any special man in your life?" "Your biological clock won't wait forever, you know."

I grip my pen tighter, forcing the memories away. Tracy's already talking about stepping back from her law practice when she has kids. Another brilliant woman dimming her light for someone else's dreams.

Not me. I've seen too many women in this industry sacrifice their ambitions for relationships that ended up holding them back. The corner office I'm sitting in right now? It belonged to Sasha Mattingly before she quit to follow her husband's career to Seattle. She was next in line for a promotion.

My eyes drift to the Morgan presentation materials spread across my desk. The numbers don't lie - I'm good at what I do. Really good. And I'm just getting started.

With a decisive click of my pen, I push those fleeting thoughts of romance aside. I have quarterly projections to review and a presentation that needs to be perfect. Love can wait. Success? That window of opportunity is now.