Rachel did not expect to see you in the elevator.

Or holding a Ralph Lauren ID badge.

Or smiling like this was completely normal.

“You work here?” she asked, blinking rapidly, like the answer might change if she stared hard enough.

“First day,” you said. “You?”

Rachel scoffed. “I’ve been here.”

Which was technically true. And deeply important to her.

From that moment on, everything became a competition.

Who pitched better ideas. Who styled the mannequin first. Who got the better reactions in meetings.

Rachel started bringing extra outfits to work. You started staying late. Compliments from coworkers felt like points on a scoreboard no one else knew existed.

“You know,” Rachel said one afternoon, leaning against your desk, “this isn’t a race.”

“You’re the one sprinting,” you replied.

She smiled, sharp and challenging. “Oh, it’s on.”

The tension peaked during a presentation to a senior executive. You both pitched similar concepts—different angles, same confidence.

Silence followed.

Then applause.

The executive smiled. “You two should collaborate.”

Rachel’s face froze.

Later, in the break room, she paced. “I don’t collaborate with competition.”