“Shut the door behind you, please,” Richard calls as Wesley reaches the door. I used to spend hours, late into the night, in this room, with that door closed while we brainstormed new ideas. Sometimes there would be other associates or executives. Sometimes just us.
I don’t think that will ever happen again.
With the click of the latch the air feels closer, the smell of Richard’s cologne overwhelming. The room has shrunk by at least a few feet.
“Why, Richard?” I ask, more for something to do, a way to take control of this situation than because I actually want to know. Any answer he gives will only make me angrier.
“Oh, Corrine.”
Deep breaths, Corrine. Deep, deep breaths.
“You’re just not ready.”
“How could you possibly—”
He holds up a hand. “Yes, your presentation was adequate—”
“Adequate?” Is this really happening? I might be losing my hold on reality. “Were we in the same room? We landed the account. With a client who has been suspicious of our process from the start.”
My cheeks heat and my tone is not one I would ever accept from a subordinate, but I can’t stop.
Hetsks. “This is what I mean.” He gestures to me. “You’re too emotional to take feedback right now.”
I grab hold of the back of a chair as my blood pressure skyrockets.
I quit.
I can hear myself saying the words in my mind, feel my lips form them. I can taste them in my mouth and they are so, so sweet. I almost let them free and let loose on this man, who I can’t even recognize anymore. He’s not the man who mentored me. And yet, I owe my career to him.
“What about the mentorship?” I ask, and already it sounds like the fight has left my voice. “You said you’d be taking this mentorship into account.”
He waves my words away, like they mean nothing. “Speaking of mentorship, I think you could benefit from some more one-on-one time with me.”
Richard barely finds the time to mentor his own intern. “You want to mentor me?”
“Yes.” He leans forward. “You need to be...” He purses his lips. “Molded into the VP we need.”
Maybe it was that pause, the prickling along my spine, or the way he saidmoldedbut suddenly it all clicks. This is a punishment. Because I wouldn’t have dinner with him. Because I’ve rebuffed his advances. An elaborate excuse to force me to spend more time with him.
The thought is absurd. Completely ludicrous. But as I examine his narrow, calculating eyes, it’s entirely plausible.
My hands shake. I no longer know what feels real and what feels fabricated by my boss for his own personal gain. “No,” I hear myself say. “No.”
“Pardon me?” The razor-sharp edge of his voice pulls me back to reality.
I take a deep breath, set my shoulders, and look him straight in the face. “Maybe you’re right.”
The words hurt, physically, in my chest, to say.
“Maybe I’m not ready. Even for a mentorship.”
I just want to get out of this room.
“I need more time.”
I don’t recognize myself, the sound of my voice. It’s flat, like me.
I don’t know when I turned around and walked to the door but when my hand turns the handle, he says, “Think it over, Corrine.”
