Page 115 of True Colors

The old gang is all there in the conference room.

Erin. Pallavi. Dot. Benjamin. Vijay. And last but definitely not least, Luther.

Vijay sits next to me and checks in. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I say blithely. Like hell I’m going to show any of these people that I’m hurting. I’ve been wounded worse by people whom I trusted a hell of a lot more than I did Luther.

Speaking of heartbreak, the cause of mine stands at the head of the table. There’s no open laptop. No slides queued. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, and his jeans look like they’ve been through more than a few washes.

The Rolex is still shiny, I note.

He nods at me. I return the gesture. I am pretending to be nonchalant, but inside, just seeing him has butterflies fluttering in my belly.

The apology yesterday did something—I can’t deny that. I’m angrier than I am hurt right now, even though before he came by, I was drowning in pain. But grief isn’t orderly. You don’t progress linearly, you ricochet.

Luther waits until everyone is settled, then clears his throat.

“Thank you all for coming.”

He speaks with the same confidence he always has, but there’s more humility in his tone today.

Interesting.

“I called this meeting because I owe all of you an apology. And I owe it publicly.”

I straighten.

What the hell is he thinking of doing? By God, if he humiliates me again, stutter or not, I’m going to rip him a new one.

“The presentation yesterday didn’t fail because of bad data,” he says. “It didn’t fail because of complexity or timing. It failed because of my leadership.”

Say what?

I’m not the only one who is surprised. You can, literally, hear a pin drop because even the air conditioning seems to have gone silent at his words. Corporate temperature systems, like employees, are not used to hearing senior executives apologize, especially in public.

“I made a decision rooted in fear.” Luther’s eyes flick to me, holding my gaze. “Fear of perception. Fear of risk. Fear of how things would look instead of what was true.”

I look away because if I don’t, I’ll let him back in, I’ll believe him, and that is dangerous for my well-being.

But then he continues in that firm voice of his, and I can’t help but let at least his words in. “I sidelined the person who built the model. I allowed someone else to present work they didn’t own. And I treated a disability as a liability instead of part of a whole, capable professional.”

Erin gasps loudly and stands as if on automatic pilot. Her hands grip the table tightly, like she’s stopping herself from saying something, throwing something at Luther to shut him up.

Luther ignores her. “That was wrong of me. It wasn’t a misstep, or a business decision, or even a leadership judgment—it was plainly wrong.”

“Sit down, Erin,” Dot hisses.

Erin does as she’s ordered, but her outrage is etched on her face for all to see.

If Luther notices the byplay, one couldn’t tell because he’s focused on me. His demeanor says that I am the wronged party, and even though this apology is for the whole team, it’s primarily for me.

“I want to be clear,” Luther goes on. “This wasn’t about performance. Or competence. Or readiness. This was about me choosing comfort over courage. And that choice hurt this team—and most of all, Anouk.”

I look at him then. I can’t look away. I want to, but I can’t.

No one has ever apologized to me like this for hurting me.

No one has ever done it so overtly, with so much heart and sincerity.