Mr. Marx blinks like he didn’t hear me right. Ms. Scott doesn’t even flinch.
“May I ask why?” she says evenly.
I shrug. Might as well be honest. “The work-life balance at the airline is crap. I got two days of paternity leave. Two. Employees are doing the jobs of managers, managers are doing the jobs of MDs, and don’t even get me started on the salary structure. And it’s not just that. I can’t work for a company that fired my pregnant wife, solely because they were afraid of a lawsuit.”
Ms. Scott’s brows lift slightly. “Your wife worked at Marx United?”
I nod. “As a flight attendant for two years. She fell helping a passenger, and the second we got home from the hospital, she got a call saying she broke protocol and was terminated.”
The room goes quiet.
Mr. Marx clenches his jaw, the earlier humour gone. Ms. Scott looks between us, thoughtful.
“Well,” Ms. Scott says slowly, “that… is something we’ll be looking into.”
“Good,” I say simply.
Mr. Marx leans forward, resting one hand on the lack of Ms. Scott’s chair. “Look, I’m aware that the company, especially from the top, has been lacking. But we’re trying to fix that. Andwhile we understand why you’d want to walk away, think about it. You’ve got seniority here. Decision-making power. And most importantly-” he taps the desk “-you have a direct line tothisoffice.”
Ms. Scott nods. “We can’t change the company without people like you.”
I look down, caught off guard by the sudden shift. It’s flattering. Dangerous, even.
I look back at them, lift my chin, and say evenly, “Thirty percent bump.”
Ms. Scott’s mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile. “Twenty.”
I lean back in my chair. “Twenty-five. And the paternity leave I missed out on.”
They exchange a glance. Mr. Marx nods once. “We have a deal. But the paternity leave will have to wait until the President and MD are hired.”
I stand, smoothing down my jacket. “Can I recommend someone?”
Both of them nod, curious.
“Janette Cross,” I say without hesitation. “She’s in acquisitions, but she does more actual work than Knore and Hughes combined ever did.”
Ms. Scott’s brows lift slightly in approval. “We’ll take that into consideration.”
“Then I guess I’ll see the terms in writing.”
“HR will email your new contract by the end of the day,” Ms. Scott replies as she stands, offering me her hand. I shake it, then turn to Mr. Marx.
Well, that just happened.
Chapter Twenty Eight
Brooke
“Oh my god,” I say, still in my work shoes, still holding my bag, blinking at him like I misheard.
Matthew’s practically vibrating as he chops the peppers, way too fast for someone this excited. “I mean… holy shit,” he says, eyes wide.
Quickly I put my stuff down, wash my hands then gently touch his shoulder, easing the knife from his hand before he takes a finger off. “How about I do this?”
He nods, practically bouncing away like he’s got too much energy to contain. “Do you know what this means? A salary bumpandfixed working hours. I could actually come home at a normal time.”
I smile. “That’s amazing.”
