He doesn’t say anything. Neither do I.
I just pull him gently toward our bedroom.
The door clicks softly behind us.
Matthew
The elevator doors slide open to reveal what looks like a regular office floor, except this one sits at the top of the building. Everything’s shinier. I turn left toward a sleek mahogany door where a woman is stationed behind a pristine desk.
“Matthew Basen,” I say. “I have a meeting with Mr. Marx.”
Her smile is smooth and practiced. “Oh, Mr. Basen. You’re early. So is Mr. Marx. You can head in.”
She stands, opens the door, and gestures me inside.
The office is massive, modern and polished, yet with that expensiveold moneyair. There’s a desk near the centre but no one behind it. I glance around and find them to the right: a woman behind another desk, a man leaning casually over her shoulder, looking at some papers. The way his hand brushes her back, all casual, I can’t tell if he’s slept with her or just doesn’t understand personal space. Either way, neither seems good.
I clear my throat.
They both look up. The man straightens. He’s taller than me.
“Matthew Basen,” I say, extending a hand.
“Caden Marx,” he replies, shaking it. “And this is my partner and legal advisor, Leni Scott.”
I shake her hand, then take the seat he gestures to.
Mr. Marx wastes no time. “I’m gonna get right to it. Who fucked up?”
My mouth opens, but before I can say anything, Ms. Scott clears her throat delicately. “What hemeansis, we’re aware of the issue with the latest discount campaign and want to hear your side.”
I clear my throat. “Well, Mr.-” I blank on his last name for a second, “Dan, he wanted me to create a discount campaign for an airport in Dallas that wasn’t seeing much traffic. So, I did. When I asked about logistics, he sent me Dallas Airport. I asked him personally if he was sure. Everyone in the industry knows that airport’s booked solid year-round. He told me to ‘do myjob.’ So, I did. Still just to be sure, I emailed him and CC’d both the president and managing director, asking him to confirm. He reiterated his stance in writing. So, I approved it.”
They’re silent for a moment. Mr. Marx’s mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to grin.
“Malicious compliance,” he mutters finally, smirking.
I blink, not expecting him to call it out that fast. I scratch the back of my head awkwardly.
“If it hadn’t cost us so much money, it’d be funny,” he adds with a small laugh.
“Yet you’re laughing,” Ms. Scott deadpans.
He clears his throat. “Right.”
Ms. Scott turns to me. “The reason you’re here is because-” she picks up a sheet of paper, scanning it, “Mr. Knore, Mr. Hughes,andDan all claimedyouwere the one who messed up and falsified emails to cover your… mistake.”
My mouth opens in outrage, but she lifts a hand. “We’re aware that’s not true.”
I look at them, confused now.
Mr. Marx says. “We’ve been looking into our subsidiaries ever since my father retired. Honestly, the airline was at the bottom of the list because it was running well or so we thought. Turns out, that might’ve been because of the people under management, not the ones running it.”
I stay quiet, trying to figure out where this is going.
Ms Scott continues, “We’ve decided to ask Mr. Knore and Mr. Hughes to quietly retire. Dan has already been terminated. We’re in the process of finding someone to take over thepresident and MD positions. In the meantime, we’d like you to return to your previous post, with a ten percent bump in salary.”
I take a slow breath, surprised. Before I can talk myself out of it, the words are already out of my mouth: “Respectfully, no thanks.”
