Chapter 4
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Chapter 4
“Breanna, what the hell are you up to?!” Darion’s voice grated on my cars. “Mr. Griffin specifically requested you to lead the project. Get back here right now!
“If you keep this up, I’ll report your conduct at the next board meeting!”
I wheeled my suitcase toward the parking lot. “Mr. Floyd, I’ve resigned. I’m no longer an employee of your compa- ny.”
“Resigned? Who approved that?!” His voice sharpened suddenly.
“I never saw the paperwork! What’s the HR Department doing?”
“Mr. Floyd,” I cut in softly, “yesterday at 10 a.m., Ms. Dobson signed the resignation papers on your behalf.”
I heard the HR director murmur nervously in the background, “Mr. Floyd, you said Ms. Dobson had full authority to handle it.”
Darion’s tone suddenly softened. “Breanna, I was too harsh earlier. Come back now. The company really needs you.”
I opened the car door and felt a sudden wave of exhaustion. “Darion, do you really think I stayed at that miserable company all these years for the job?”
“Stop being difficult!” The sound of paper rustling came from his end. “I don’t approve of the resignation. You’ll be back at work tomorrow…”
“Darion,” I interrupted, “let’s end this on good terms.”
The other end fell silent for a long time.
“Breanna,” Darion’s voice turned hoarse, “what do you want? Shares? A higher salary? I can give you anything.”
I stared at the runway outside the airport’s floor-to-ceiling windows, suddenly thinking of those wasted seven years.
“You can’t give me what I want. Stop making empty promises.”
“Breanna!” He raised his voice sharply. “Don’t push your luck. You think you can survive in this industry without
me?”
The moment I heard him yell, I ended the call.
As the plane roared high above the clouds, I wiped the tears from my cheeks.
After a few hours of flying, I landed and caught sight of Vincent, the family’s longtime housekeeper, waiting at the entrance to the VIP passageway.
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Chapter 4
“Ms. Mansfield,” Vincent bowed slightly, “Mrs. Mansfield sent me to pick you up.
“Thank you, Vincent.”
A black Maybach drove to the front of the terminal.
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The car merged into the traffic along Times Square. As I watched the neon lights flash past the window, I suddenly remembered the basement apartment Darion and I shared right after graduation.
Back then, he always said, “Once the company goes public, we’ll buy an apartment with a view of the Statue of Liber- ty.”
My phone suddenly vibrated with a text message from Darion: “Breanna, you really think you can make it in New York without my connections?”
The Maybach stopped in front of the Mansfield Group headquarters. Vincent held an umbrella and opened the car door. “Ms. Mansfield, we’re here.”
The head of security jogged over from the revolving door. “Good afternoon, Ms. Mansfield.”
Some people were just snobbish.
They treated people differently based on one’s shareholding percentage, not on how one dressed.
The elevator went straight to the top floor. A project team leader approached me and presented his tablet. “Ms. Mans- field, this is the comprehensive survey report on the Manhattan plot.”
“You can call me Breanna.”
I clicked on the page listing the bidding companies and saw the logo of the Floyd Group.
I tapped the tablet with my finger. “I’ll take charge of this project.”
The team leader’s eyes widened in shock. “Understood, Breanna.”
My phone lit up with a photo from my mom: there she was, wearing an apron and cooking soup.
I could almost smell the rich aroma wafting from the pot.
It suddenly reminded me of how Darion always said, “Breanna, social events are more important than dinner. Be rea- sonable.”
A message from Vincent popped up: “Ms. Mansfield, Mrs. Mansfield wants me to check if you’d like some tonic soup tonight?”
“Yes,” I responded, looking out at the neon lights of Manhattan.
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