By the end of that day, after standing under the scorching sun from morning till dusk, my shoulders were sunburned and peeling, my skin darkened to the color of charcoal.
But I rarely mentioned any of this to Geoffrey because I didn't think it was necessary.
Two years of hard work had taken me from a junior salesperson to Deputy Sales Manager.
The company had grown, and moved into a new office tower. Geoffrey had bought a villa, a luxury car, and even gotten married.
But somewhere along the way, things had quietly started to change.
Ever since his wife took over the finances, the reimbursement rules had become stricter and the approval process longer.
Every entertainment expense was scrutinized—down to the very last cent.
Every time I filed for reimbursement, Geoffrey's wife would interrogate me as if I were trying to commit fraud.
I still remember that day clearly—after finishing business with President Hansen, we happened to pass by Thirstea Cafe.
The weather was unbearably hot, and he casually mentioned he was thirsty.
I bought two cups of milk tea without thinking—just common courtesy.
I hadn't even planned to claim it. Later, when organizing receipts, I saw it was only 8.8 dollars, so I attached it to my report without much thought.
That tiny number—8.8 dollars—caused my entire 50,000 dollars expense report to be voided and earned me an additional 1,000 dollars fine.
That was the moment something in me finally went cold.
Just as I pressed the print button, I heard a voice behind me.
"Sir, I've sorted out the files you wanted."
It was Yvette, my assistant—the one I'd trained personally, teaching her everything about sales from scratch.
I quickly minimized the resignation letter on my computer and turned around to take the folder she was handing over.
She stood by my desk, her eyes flicking toward the printer.
When the resignation letter slid out of the tray, her gaze sharpened immediately.
"Sir... this is..." She pointed at the paper, visibly startled.
I picked it up calmly and tucked it into the folder.
"Nothing important. Just a standard application."
But she wasn't buying it. She leaned closer, tugging lightly at my sleeve, her tone half-pleading, half-playful.
"Sir, don't lie to me. What happened?"
"If you leave, what am I supposed to do? I still have so much to learn from you!"
"It's really nothing..." I was about to brush her off when the administrative assistant's voice came through the intercom, announcing a meeting at three o'clock.
Yvette reluctantly let go of my sleeve, though her eyes stayed fixed on the folder in my hand.
I casually shoved it into my drawer and locked it.
Soon enough, the meeting began.
Geoffrey stood at the front, reciting the quarterly report from his notes—a routine performance.
He commended the overall results, his expression smugly satisfied.
Then his tone shifted.
"Next, I'll be announcing this quarter's Top Sales Performer. As promised, the reward will be 300,000 dollars!"
I kept my head down, already planning how to hand him my resignation afterward.
"And the winner is... Yvette Smith! Let's all congratulate her!"
My head snapped up.
Across the room, Geoffrey's meaningful gaze met mine.
The conference room erupted in murmurs.
"How could it be Yvette? Deputy Manager Romero's numbers are way higher!"
"She's just the assistant—how could she outperform her boss?"
"Exactly, I remember clearly, the biggest deals this quarter were all Manager Romero!"
Yvette rose gracefully amid the whispers, a demure smile on her face as she walked to the podium. Her skirt brushed lightly against my arm as she passed.
Geoffrey raised his hand to silence the crowd.
"I understand some of you may have doubts," he began smoothly. "But under the company's new performance criteria, this quarter's awards aren't based solely on sales figures—we also value profit margins and budget control."
"Yvette's projects achieved an average profit margin 20% higher than the department average, and every single entertainment expense stayed strictly within budget."
