You had to write a speech for your boss to present at a shareholder's meeting and accidentally transposed two numbers. The figure he read off was too low for shareholder expectations. They panicked. Your boss chewed you out the next day. You hid in the bathroom crying for a good half hour after that. Now your boss also thinks you take long dumps. Not a good week.

You've gotten into the swing of things and been promoted to account coordinator. You can crack the whip as well as the guy in the next cubicle and get your vendors to give you what you want, when you want. You're great at planning and pulling off sizeable promotions, putting out fires, and you've won a couple of awards along the way. Everything seems great—except that you're exhausted and would really like to get some of your personal life back. This working 'round the clock has to stop sometime—right?

After, oh, about seven years, you've finally made it to account executive. You get the cream of the crop assignments in your department—those that let you travel on occasion, have the largest budgets and expense accounts built in, and actually provide you with assistants so you can really get your own work done—and at a pace that's still fast, but not killing you.

You're tired of working for one company and are now working at a small boutique PR agency as a senior exec. Long days and late nights schmoozing have you starting to look your age (your real age, not the one you tell everyone). In order to stay competitive, you schedule a "meeting" with one of your clients at a lavish spa for a day of massages, mani-pedis, and facials.

You're J.Lo's main PR squeeze and, because you were able to put a positive spin on her nip slip at the Oscars so quickly, you've found yourself in high demand by other talented and scantily-clad Hollywood starlets. Now your only problem is which beachfront property to buy.