The sun was barely up when I trotted down the polished, marble-floored hallway of our corporate office, but I was already humming a mix of whatever upbeat pop track had played on my car radio and a song I'd made up on the spot about iced coffee. I took a generous sip of my lukewarm vanilla cold brew, adjusted the strap of my shoulder bag, and smoothed down my silk blouse before giving two crisp, rhythmic knocks on the heavy mahogany door in front of me.
"Come in," a tired, gravelly voice called out from inside.
I pushed the door open with my elbow, keeping my morning smile fully intact as I swept into the spacious corner office.
 "Good morning, Director Harrison! Bright and early, as requested! I've got the weekly regional reports signed, stamped, and ready for your royal approval, plus-"
"Elise, take a seat," Director Harrison interrupted. He didn't even look up from the thick leather-bound folder lying open on his blotter, his wire-rimmed glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose.
I didn't take a seat. Sitting down always made things feel like an interrogation, and I was far too energized for that. Instead, I strolled right up to his massive oak desk, leaned my hip casually against the polished edge, and took another sip of my coffee while eyeing his overly serious expression. 
"Whoa, whoa. What's with the dramatic tone, Chief? Did the quarterly board meeting go that horribly? Did Mr. Henderson spill espresso on his white rug again?"
Director Harrison finally looked up, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose with a heavy, long-suffering sigh. 
"Elise. You're being transferred."
I blinked once, letting the sentence hang in the air between us. I waited for the punchline, for him to pull out a gag contract or tell me I was being moved to the corner desk near the window. But when his face stayed completely, rigidly flat, I let out a loud, sudden laugh that echoed off the high ceiling.
 "Transferred? To where? The 5th Street branch? Did I finally break the main copier beyond repair? Because I promise you, those paper jams were an act of god, not personal negligence-"
"Moscow," he said, cutting straight through my deflection. "Russia. Effective immediately."
That actually made me freeze mid-sentence, my cup hovering halfway to my mouth. "Wait. Russia? As in Russia Russia? Cold, giant, vodka-and-snow Russia?"
"Yes," Director Harrison said, pushing the thick folder across the desk toward me. "The international expansion team needs a liaison to oversee the operational transition over the next six months. Executive management reviewed the roster, and they picked you. You have the adaptability, the track record, and frankly, the boundless energy required to deal with their local management team."
I stared at the black-and-white printout of the corporate travel itinerary peeking out from the folder. "And when is this 'transition' supposed to start?"
"You need to pack your things today," he said calmly. "Your flight leaves tomorrow evening at eight."
"Tomorrow?!" I threw my hands up in the air, nearly sloshing cold brew onto his pristine desk.
 
"Director Harrison! Sir! Why do you have to send me to the frozen tundra? What did I ever do to you? Is this elaborate psychological revenge for me stealing your favorite pen from the executive lounge last month?"
Director Harrison pinched the bridge of his nose again, though the faint twitch at the corner of his mustache gave away the fact that he was struggling not to smile.
 "It's a massive promotion, Elise. Your salary is doubling, your housing is fully covered in central Moscow, and it puts you on the fast track for a vice presidency before you turn thirty. It's final. Sign the transfer form."