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“Now get out of my office.”
I leave his office on shaky legs, boiling on the inside. Instead of heading back to my cubicle, I find myself going around the corner to Lou Tolliver’s office. To my surprise, his door is open and I see him hunched over his desk in his oversized leather chair, glasses perched on top of his completely bald head, knuckling his cheekbone with a gnarled fist.
“Excuse me, Lou?” I call from the doorway. “Do you have a moment?”
He looks up and pauses to recognize me, then raises a hand and waves me in. I close the door behind me and approach his desk, as nervous as if I were in high school all over again.
“Something wrong, Clarissa?” he starts.
His tone is kind, but guarded. As I sit down, I already know this is a bad idea. Lou is kind, but also very old-school. Women are secretaries, in his mind. In fact, I’ve noticed him give me surprised looks on more than one occasion just for wearing pants instead of skirts and heels.
But, I have to give it a shot. Carefully I explain the situation. I lay out the details of all the deals I’ve closed. I express my value to the company and he listens sympathetically, nodding every few seconds. When I’m done, he leans back in his chair, steepling his old fingers together against his chest.
“You really have done excellent work, Clarissa. Fine work. Fine work indeed.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tolliver,” I whisper hoarsely, my voice weakened from a morning of emotion.
He nods toward his hands for a few moments.
“Fine work, indeed,”
he announces, as though we are done.
“I believe I deserve to be promoted to Head Broker,” I finally say.
To my surprise, he breaks into a smile.
“Do you now?” he answers indulgently. “From executive assistant to Head Broker?”
“Well, yes,” I answer confidently.
He squints, frowning as though this causes him some discomfort. I suppose women asking him for things is an annoyance.
“I’m sure when you’re ready, your manager will promote you. Is there anything else?”
I take a deep breath, trying to fill my lungs with enough air that I might just float away.
“All right,” I force myself to say. “Thank you for your time.”
“Mmmmfph,” he grunts, returning to the work in front of him with relief as I leave his office.
Snatching a box from the copy room, I return to my cubicle and begin placing the things I’ve accumulated inside it. There isn’t too much here. A philodendron. Pictures of my parents and all five siblings litter the cork board. A ceramic vase that I’ve been using as a pencil holder.
But you know what, I’m not moving to that other cubicle. Screw it. I’m quitting.
“Clarissa?” comes a voice, and I turn around to see Hillary from HR.
I don’t say anything. Her eyes flicker toward my box of belongings uncomfortably.
“Can we sit down for a moment?” Hillary says in her trained, professional way.
Shit.
I follow her down the hallway, ignoring the stares. Following the head of HR to her office is a pretty well-known sight. Everyone who sees this pretty much knows what is going down.
I’m not surprised at all to see Greg already seated in her office. He has a manila folder on the table in front of him. He leans back in the office chair, one ankle crossed over his other leg, a sneer on his face. I notice he’s got his sleeves rolled up again.
Hillary closes the door confidentially and takes a seat on the other side of the conference table from Greg.
