Chapter 1 of The CEO Besatisfies with Vouchers Until I Revealed Who I A

To crush our New Year's sales targets, the three of us—the dealership's top sales champions—had cleared out the entire 4S showroom inventory.

We expected the promised cash grand prize. Instead, the boss handed that bonus to an intern who'd been here all of five days. As for us? He tossed over supermarket vouchers printed with "$500 off a $50 spend."

"It's the holidays. Your commissions are high enough already." The boss's tone dripped with condescension. "People shouldn't be too greedy. Take these vouchers, buy some rice and cooking oil, and go home for the New Year."

The meeting ended.

Simon, our top closer, crumpled the voucher and tossed it into the trash can in a perfect arc. Along with it went dozens of purchase intent forms from corporate and government clients he'd been nurturing for months.

Evelyn, the gold-medal salesperson, immediately messaged several luxury car clubs. From now on, for any after-sales maintenance, not a single one of their cars should come to this dealership.

I silently took out my phone and dialed the Group Chairman.

"Grandpa, revoke the franchise rights for this branch. I think the manager here has a defective brain. Consider it my New Year's gift."

Burning bridges after crossing the river? Common enough. But slaughtering the hen that lays golden eggs right before the New Year, just to stew it for soup?

That was a new one.

——

"Elena, I can't take this money. It was earned through the hard work of you seniors. I'm just a newcomer—I don't deserve it."

The intern, Hudson Pruitt, pushed the box of cash toward me, eyes wide with feigned sincerity.

"How about... you all take this money? Consider it a token of respect for my elders."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was pitched perfectly for Manager Whitney to hear from nearby.

Whitney's frown deepened. He stomped over, snatched the box, and forcibly stuffed it back into Hudson's arms.

"Hudson! Take it! This is what you deserve!"

A heavy hand clapped Hudson's shoulder. Then Whitney turned to us, contempt etched into every line of his face.

"The new media strategies Hudson brought in have revitalized our store's publicity. *That* is what keeping up with the times looks like!" His lip curled. "Unlike certain old people—dead weight occupying space, relying on seniority, and endlessly greedy!"

Old Simon looked ready to explode.

But Hudson immediately stepped in front of Whitney, spreading his arms protectively. He looked at Simon with a wronged, puppy-dog expression.

"Uncle Simon, don't blame the manager. The market is tough this year. These vouchers are a personal gesture from the manager's own pocket to help subsidize us." A theatrical sigh. "Everyone is struggling. Please try to understand the manager's position."

What a masterclass in emotional manipulation.

"What? You think it's too little?" Whitney slammed his palm on the table, spittle flying. "I've given you face, haven't I? If you don't want to work, then get out! There are plenty of people lining up for jobs right now!"

Colleagues who usually couldn't hold their heads up around us—crushed beneath our performance figures—now wore gloating expressions.

Evelyn and I exchanged a look and silently returned to our stations.

When Hudson passed by, he deliberately lagged half a step behind. In a voice only I could hear, he whispered.

"Elena, don't look down on it."

His gaze dropped to the commuter bag I'd carried for three years. His lips curled into a smug smirk.

"How about I lend you a little from this $300,000? You could buy a new bag. After all, yours is almost worn through."

I stopped.

Turned my head.

Looked at his petty, arrogant face.

A scoff escaped me.

"No need."

"Keep your money to treat that two-faced personality disorder of yours."