Consider this my formal notice. Someone else can be your verbal target practice.
I have better things to do with my time.
Eliana Hunter
Better, but still not quite right. Too emotional. Too revealing.
I delete it again.
This time, I don’t think. I just speak from the heart.
Mr. Hale,
I quit.
Life is too short to spend it being humiliated by someone who wouldn’t recognize human kindness if it shoved kouign-amann from Grain & Gather down his throat until he choked on it.
The revenue analysis you requested isn’t happening. Not because I can’t do it—we both know I could run circles around half your executive team with my eyes closed—but because Ichoosenot to.
I choose to spend my time on things that matter.
You were right about one thing this morning: I’m a twenty-seven-year-old woman who just realized she’s been wasting her life trying to prove herself to people who will never see her as more than “justanother employee.” So I’m done with that. More importantly, I’m done withyou.
My access badge has been returned. My computer is logged out. My dignity, despite your best efforts, remains intact.
I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but we both know that would be a lie.
Eliana Hunter
I stare at the screen, my heart pounding. Sending this is more than burning a bridge—it’s absolutely insanity.
It’s perfect.
I print the letter and go grab it. I could take it to Bastian directly. It’d be darkly satisfying to hand it over and watch his face contort.
But that would mean seeing him again, and I’ve had enough of Bastian Hale’s face for one lifetime.
Instead, I walk to his assistant’s desk. Patricia, who’s lasted longer than any of the others because she’s sixty-two and takes absolutely no shit from anyone.
“Patricia, could you please ensure Mr. Hale gets this?” I hand her the envelope with his name written on the front.
She looks at the envelope, then at me, and something in her eyes says she can sense a bit of what I’m going through. “Of course, dear. Immediately?”
“Whenever’s convenient,” I say. What do I care? I’m already gone.
“Good luck, Eliana,” she says. I wonder how much she’s seen, how many employees she’s watched Bastian grind down over the years.
“Thanks, Patty,” I say. “For everything.”
I turn and walk away. The elevator arrives with a soft ding. I step inside, press the lobby button, and watch the floors count down. Sixteen. Fifteen. Fourteen.
Each number is a day I won’t spend here. A morning I won’t dread. A humiliation I won’t endure.
By the time I reach the lobby, I’m not thinking about Bastian Hale at all.
5
ELIANA
