The air is thick with the scent of hot tarmac and cigarette smoke, the heat pressing against my skin. Around me, clusters of office workers linger over Tesco meal deals, their voices low, their lanyards catching the midday sun. I sit on a sun-warmed bench in the park, my hands trembling, my blouse clinging to my back, my mind spiralling.
I’ve just cc’d the wrong party in a confidential email chain — everyone is about to find out. And I’m terrified about what will happen when they do.
