re·duc·tion: /r?'d?kSH(?)n/: noun
1: the process of boiling down liquid to concentrate flavors.
2: what happens when all the excess bullshit gets stripped away, leaving only what’s essential.
I make it exactly three steps into the outside world before I start to wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake. The resignation letter—my beautiful, bridge-burning manifesto—sits in that envelope like a coward’s goodbye. And suddenly, I know with absolute certainty that I can’t do it this way.
LeBastard Hale stole six years of my life, and I’m going to slink away with a letter delivered by his assistant? I’m gonna let Patricia hand him my resignation just for him to shrug and ignore?!
No. Absolutely not.
If I’m going to burn this bridge, I’m going to look Bastian Hale in his arctic eyes while I light the fucking match.
Patricia glances up from her computer when she sees me storm back in. Her penciled eyebrows raise. “Change of mind, dear?”
“Actually, yes.” I pluck the envelope from her desk. “I’ll deliver this myself.”
Again, I get the sense that she somehow knows far more than she’s letting on. She nods and says, “He’s in his office. Heads up: He’s been on calls about Project Olympus all afternoon. His mood is… ” She pauses and chooses her words carefully. “… particularly challenging.”
“Perfect.” I hope he’s in the worst mood possible. I hope he’s in his fullest, grouchiest, most corporate whiny baby form. It’ll make thiseff-youeven sweeter.
The walk to his office feels both endless and too short. My sneakers squeak against the polished floor—I’d worn heels this morning, but after the pastry incident, I’d changed into the emergency flats I keep in my desk. Well,kept. Past tense now. And starting in about five minutes, it’s not longer “my” desk, is it?
His door is slightly ajar. I can hear his voice, crackling with frustration.
“—don’t care about the regulatory timeline, Hoffman. We need those permits by end of the month or the entire fucking project falls apart.”
I knock, but he either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care. Through the gap, I can see him pacing behind his desk, one hand pressed to his ear with his phone, the other gesturing sharply at nothing.
“The investors are already skittish. If we miss another deadline—” He pauses, listening. “No. No, that’s not acceptable. We’retalking about a potential three-billion—that’s billion with a B—dollar valuation here.”
I knock again, louder this time. He glances toward the door, sees me, and holds up one finger.Wait.
Any other day, I would. Any other day, I’d stand here like a good little employee, waiting for Bastian to grace me with his attention.
But I’m done waiting.
I push the door open and walk in.
His eyes narrow, but he’s still listening to whoever Hoffman is. “—understand the complexity, but that’s why I pay you obscene amounts of money. Figure it out.”
I stand in front of his desk and wait. He looks good, damn him. Chicago’s afternoon light paints his face bronze, his hair gold. Even frustrated and pacing, he moves with that effortless, uncaring grace of someone who’s never once had to doubt their place in the world.
Must be nice.
“Hoffman, I need to go. Email me the revised timeline by six.” He ends the call without anything resembling a goodbye, then fixes those ice-blue eyes on me. “I don’t recall scheduling a meeting, Ms. Hunter.”
“You didn’t,” I reply. “This won’t take long.”
“Good, because I have actual work to do. Unlike some people, I don’t have time for—” He stops. His gaze goes to the envelope in my hand. “What’s that?”
This is it. My moment. I practiced this speech in my head a dozen times on the elevator ride back up the stairs. I know what I’m going for: courteous but cutting, dignified but devastating. I’m going to tell him exactly what his management style costs, how much institutional knowledge he’s about to lose, how scrambled he’ll be trying to replace me, and then I’m going to laugh right in his face when he tries to beg me to stay.
I slap the envelope on his desk. “My resignation. Effective immediately.”
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t reach for the envelope, either.
“I wanted to thank you,” I continue, “for clarifying my position here this morning. You’re right—I am just another employee. One of many. And as such, I’m exercising my right to pursue other opportunities that better align with my professional goals.”
