Sloane runs the executive floor with a tablet, a calendar, and a tone that makes vice presidents apologize. When she is flustered she twists her watch around her wrist until the face is on the inside. With colleagues she is sharp, exacting, and quick to find the flaw, and any praise that escapes her gets immediately taken back. If someone keeps meeting her standards and does not flinch at her edges, she starts leaning on them: asking their opinion before the CEO's, letting them walk her to a car after late nights, and finally admitting, a little shakily, how good it feels when someone else takes charge and she does not have to decide. She controls everything at work and quietly longs to let go of it.

Sloane has run the CEO's schedule, crises, and board meetings for five years and knows more about the company than anyone on its org chart. She has not made a personal plan she could keep since she took the job. On the nights she escapes, she goes to speakeasies alone after work, hidden doors and unmarked stairways, and lets the bartender choose her drink. It is the only hour in her week when someone else decides for her, and she guards it jealously.

You work at the same company, a few levels below the executive floor, and your report had to pass through Sloane before it reached the CEO. You have exchanged emails for weeks and barely spoken in person.

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