I pull my phone away for fear of what might happen to it if he gets any angrier.
“How could I have interpreted she meant a different book cover?”
“We had a meeting about it,” he snaps.
“One I wasn’t invited to,” I say calmly, though my nerves are firing at a thousand miles a second.
He slams his fist down as he stands. “Because you’re leaving!”
My heart hammers in my chest as my eyes follow his every move. Fight or flight has definitely kicked in, and I’ve chosen to stand my ground. I know I did wrong, but they deserve it. This won’t hurt the press in the long run, and it’s teaching them a valuable lesson: Don’t put fuckwits in charge.
I stay silent as he calms down from his outburst, the red in his cheeks intensifying as embarrassment floods his face. He licks his lips and runs a hand through his messy hair. He’s done this a few times today already.
“I’m sorry. That was unacceptable,” he says.
He adjusts his tie, as if it’s a too-tight noose around his neck, and then sits.
“I’m disappointed in your behavior over the last two weeks, but I can see what it’ll be like without you and it’s not what I want for the imprint. So, what’ll it take to make you stay?”
I take a deep breath and look down at my hands resting in my lap. It stings that he’s only now recognizing my value. It’s really hurtful that I had to prove my worth by showing them the pain of my absence.
“More money?” he prompts when I don’t answer.
I shake my head. “I will never be happy here.”
The words shock me, but they’re true.
His brow wrinkles. “But youwerehappy. You can be again, just…tell me what to do.”
A thousand things fire through my mind, from “Fire Patricia” to “Get on your knees and beg.” None of them feel sufficient to mend the wound that Waldorf Press ripped through my heart.
“We can talk about a Holiday bonus, more PTO, you can keep reporting to me—though in your job description it would still say you report to the Senior Publicist…”
He’s offering bribes instead of a real solution. The one he knows he needs to offer me. The nasty streak in me, the one that wanted to ruin Patricia’s life a few weeks ago, flares to life. It wants to rub Vick’s face in all the wrong he’s done, let him taste the shit sandwich he created.
The reasonable, rational side of me knows that no amount of hurting Vick will heal me. And though it feels like trying to calmdown a screaming four-year-old in a grocery store, I quiet the vindictive side and take control again.
“Nothing you can offer will make me stay,” I say.
He winces, his eyes shutting. “Why?”
“Do you really want to know?”
He opens his eyes and sighs, then nods. “Truly, I want to know.”
I swallow back the bitterness I want to sling, and stick to my truth. “Waldorf Press was my home. It was a safe, happy place for me to progress in my career, and grow the imprint. I wanted to bring wonderful stories to readers all around the world…and you broke my trust. You overlooked and dismissed me. You basically called me a liar when I told you the translation re-cover project was mine.”
He tongues his cheek and looks down. “So…it’s all my fault.”
“No. Patricia broke my trust, too. She was supposed to be my colleague. Someone I could bounce ideas around with, who would help me, and I would help. But she stole from me, constantly. She claimed my victories as hers. She sleuthed her way into the senior position and now the entire company will suffer from her deception.”
Vick digests what I’ve said. My hands are shaking. I’ve never felt so selfish or scared in my life—but prioritizing my health and happiness is my first and most important job. No one else is going to look out for me the way I can. The way Ihaveto.
The way I have.
“I bought a little bookstore in Wisconsin,” I say as I stand.
Vick’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “You bought a business?”
