1: 1
Three years at the branch office, and my transfer back to headquarters finally came through.
On my first day, I'd barely signed the contract when I noticed the director position I'd been promised had become a team lead role.
I sat down in the stairwell, hands shaking, and typed out five hundred words to my husband, Clifford Greer, asking why.
The reply I got was six words.
【Keep it professional. Report to your supervisor.】
A second later a message pinged in the company-wide group chat, tagging everyone. It was from Regina Pruitt.
【Thank you all for looking after me these past six months. I've ordered afternoon coffee for everyone, help yourselves in the eighth-floor conference room~】
Right after, Clifford dropped a cash gift in the chat.
【Congratulations, Director Pruitt.】
Voices drifted in from the hallway.
“Some people just have all the luck.”
“Well, she's Mr. Greer's protégée. She only said she wanted to give it a try, and the appointment landed in her lap.”
I stood frozen where I was, my eyes stinging.
Back when Clifford first started out, he'd had a project all but locked down, only to lose it at the last moment to someone who cut in front of him.
He learned later the other person had gotten there through connections.
After the company went public, he made a hard rule about personnel appointments: if he ever caught that kind of thing, he showed no mercy.
So I worked myself to the bone, climbing up on my own merit.
And in the end, there was no praise. Someone still cut in front of me.
And the one behind it, it turned out, was him.
If that was how it was, then I didn't want the position or the man.
1
I swallowed the ache in my throat and finished writing my resignation letter.
Staring at the send button, in the end, I still wanted a clear answer.
Eight years together, four of them building the company at his side, three at the branch office.
For three years I ran a team on my own. Retention hit ninety-five percent. I brought in over a hundred million in investment for the company.
And now I'd been passed over for someone with no real track record.
And the reason was simply that she wanted to give it a try.
But I wanted to hear the answer from his own mouth.
I keyed in the code for the top-floor elevator, 0924, the day his company made it.
The elevator rose slowly, the whole city opening up beneath me.
I could see the old apartment block Clifford and I used to squeeze into, where we'd dreamed about the future, refined our plans, hunched over a secondhand laptop watching the stock charts.
He promised me he would give me the best of everything.
But once the company went public, he moved our marriage underground and sent me off to the branch office.
He said too many companies ran into trouble because of a husband-and-wife dynamic.
That he also wanted me to gain real experience, instead of standing beside him because of who I was to him.
I agreed.
Now the apartment block was gone, torn down and rebuilt into a new shopping district.
And I'd done everything I set out to do.
And this was how it turned out.
The elevator stopped at the twenty-eighth floor and opened with a soft chime.
The moment I stepped out, I saw Clifford at the counter, patiently holding a pen and guiding Regina.
“See how much clearer that is?”
“Don't rush. Take your time.”
“There's a roadshow in a few days. You'll be running the whole thing.
“Mr. Greer, I've never coordinated an event that big. If something goes wrong……”
Regina let the words trail off.
“Don't be afraid. Go for it.”
Clifford looked at her, his expression soft.
“No experience? Then create some.”
“That finance instructor you like will be there too. Get a photo with him while you're at it, give yourself a little motivation.”
The late-autumn sun came through the window and fell across me.
But I had never felt colder.
In all these years, he had never once handed me an opportunity.
There was a time when a businesswoman I deeply admired was giving a talk at a symposium.
The company received an invitation from the organizers.
I'd just closed a thirty-million project, and I wanted Clifford to take me. He said we had to avoid the appearance of favoritism.
I asked him, a little angry, what appearance there was to avoid when no one around us even knew we were together.
His face went hard.
“Valerie Cooley, the workplace is for building a career, not for chasing your idols.”
“Besides, not every woman has that kind of potential.”
After that, I carried the rule about appearances all the way through.
No matter how hard it rained, I never took his car to or from work.
In meetings, I wouldn't spare him a second glance.
In the elevator, I kept my distance from him.
I always believed the standard he held me to was the standard he held everyone to.
But now Regina had shattered all of it.
Regina answered obediently.
“Yes, Mr. Greer, I'll go get started now.”
She turned and met my eyes.
“Valerie……”
I didn't look at her. I walked straight into Clifford's office, sat down on the couch, and tossed the employment contract onto the desk.
“I want an explanation.”
He frowned.
“The contract says it plainly enough.”
I let out a small laugh.
“Three years, and you give me a team lead position?”
“Clifford, did you bring me back just so I could watch you flirt with your little protégée?”
His voice dropped.
“Valerie, what are you talking about?”
“I'm talking nonsense?”
I met those eyes of his, full of edge.
“Then why does the whole company know she's your protégée, and no one knows I'm your wife?”
“Clifford, am I really that……that much of an embarrassment to show off?”
As those last words left me, something like a wad of cotton lodged in my chest.
My nose stung, and the tears spilled over all at once.
I hated that after all these years I still couldn't break the habit of crying at moments like this, and I turned away to wipe my eyes.
When I turned back, Clifford was watching me with a calm face, like he was looking at a madwoman.
“Valerie, you're not some girl fresh out of school. Don't bring your emotions into the office.”
He picked up his ringing phone, his tone gentle.
“I'll come with you. Wait for me in the parking lot. That guy's a slippery old hand, you can't handle him on your own.”
Then he took a bottle of peach-flavored drink out of the fridge, twisted it open, set it on the desk, and said to me,
“When you've cooled off, we'll talk.”
The door shut, and the whole floor went quiet again.
I threw that bottle of peach drink into the trash.
He'd forgotten I was allergic to anything with peach in it.
The Clifford Greer from eight years ago was gone.
