A Guide to Bantering with Your Boss (Warners #2)

Chapter 1

Charlotte

Tip #1: If your boss sees you as indispensable, remember that’s corporate-speak for “You’ll never see sunlight again without me.”

I strode into my team’s open office space, a battlefield of coffee mugs and computer screens arranged in militant lines down two long tables.

“Charlotte! Good morning!” Ravi intercepted me with his usual cheerful grin, holding out a cardboard drink tray. The older Indian man’s professional suit featured a tie decked with chubby corgis in various playful poses. (I knew from experience the corgi tie meant he was wearing matching corgi socks.)

“Hey, Ravi. You’re a lifesaver, as usual.” I grabbed my usual—a hazelnut latte—and the larger to-go cup that was marked as a black coffee. “How’s the family?”

Ravi set the drink tray by his workstation, which was cluttered with framed photos. “Causing the usual ruckus. My granddaughter’s first tooth is coming in! I’ll have to show you photos during a coffee break. How was your evening?”

I continued toward my destination—Isaac’s office, marked by a door at the back of the room that was flanked by two small, glass-walled meeting rooms. “Long. Isaac and I were here late, crunching numbers for the new sales model.”

Ravi’s face creased with concern. “Oh my.”

Theo, a tall blond with a crew cut who had the demeanor of a rebellious theater kid trapped in a personal trainer’s body, popped up from behind the computer screen he’d been typing away at. “It’s unfair how much the Overlord works you!”

I shook my head. “The overtime was unavoidable. I’m just happy we finished.”

Arisa emerged from one of the meeting rooms as I reached Isaac’s door. “The marketing team has already sent two interns over here to thank you for finishing the sales model last night.” Arisa frowned as she played with a lock of her wispy, short brown hair, a stylish mix of a bob and a pixie cut with lots of layers. “They should have sent you dozens of gift baskets after dumping their questions on you last night, asking you to finish in preparation for this morning.”

“It was poor planning on their end,” I agreed. “But it also would have been easier to scrape together if Isaac had more staff on our team.”

As Warner Print’s CFO—and a member of the Warner family—Isaac Warner managed the company’s financial operations. He was above the accounting department and the finance department, each of which had their own employees and offices, but Ravi, Theo, Arisa, Lola—whom I hadn’t seen yet that morning—and I were his only support staff.

“True,” Arisa said. “With as few staff members as we have, we’re all feeling the strain.”

“It’s all because the Overlord won’t budge,” Theo grumbled to his computer screen. “He insists on doing so much work himself.”

Ravi, ever the optimist, chimed in, “Isaac’s drive for perfectionism is what makes him a great CFO. He just wants what’s best for the company.”

Arisa opened the office door for me. “Indeed. So we had better get started if we want to be prepared for his arrival.”

Ravi laughed, making his belly jiggle. “Is that a hint to get to work?”

“Yes,” Arisa blandly said.

“You’re almost as bad as the Overlord, working us to the bone.” Theo dramatically sighed, and Ravi patted him on the back as he passed him on the way to his own workstation.

Arisa, her expression professionally neutral, watched the pair for a moment before turning to me.

I wavered at the entrance to Isaac’s office. “Is something wrong?”

Arisa pressed her lips together—which was unusually expressive for her. “Not quite. I have a concern that pertains to Warner Print, but it’s not strictly work focused.”

Arisa was a particularly private individual and—after having been a part of the team for over a year now—had only recently started engaging in small talk with the rest of the team. For her to bring up anything not directly related to a work project was big.

“It’s not a problem. What’s on your mind?” I asked.

Arisa hesitated. “As it is now spring, I’ve started eating lunch outside.”

I nodded to show my understanding—multiple buildings in the Warner Print campus had giant patios with seas of tables and chairs for employees to use for that very reason.

“I’ve noticed,” Arisa continued, “that the squirrels that live on campus are looking… unhealthy.”

“Do you think they’re rabid?” I asked, already mentally sorting out who I’d need to call to get this addressed.

“No, no.” Arisa wildly shook her head. “Rather, the squirrels are… I think they’re eating too many food scraps from the garbage, and it’s very unhealthy for them.” Arisa held out her cell phone, showing a picture of an admittedly rotund squirrel that was having a problem hefting its way up a tree trunk.

“Oh. I see,” I said, a little confused.

“Do you think you could bring it up with management?” Arisa asked.

“Sure,” I agreed.

Managing squirrel health wasn’t something I’d ever thought would be one of my duties, but considering it was quiet Arisa making the request, I’d handle it.

“Thank you, Charlotte.” Arisa flashed me a brief smile. “I’ll get back to work now.”

I waved to Arisa, then stepped inside Isaac’s inner sanctuary. The office was tastefully elegant, with one wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. Comfortable furniture—which I had personally picked out—gave the space a welcoming feel. A large, framed photograph on the wall showed Isaac accepting the position of CFO a few years ago, with me standing just behind him. It was Isaac’s only personal memento in the entire office.

I set my latte on my desk, adjusting my chair as I moved past it.

I actually had two desks: a workstation out where the rest of the team worked and a desk inside Isaac’s office.

The table workstation was my original spot. However, two years ago Isaac had added a desk for me in his office since we worked on so many projects together; it was a pain to have to talk over a messenger app or phone call.

It was an unusual arrangement considering I was his executive assistant, but Isaac didn’t care about the status quo, especially when he believed a different method would increase work quality.

I walked up to Isaac’s desk and set the steaming coffee on a wooden coaster emblazoned with the Warner Print logo. The rich aroma of the coffee filled the air, a stark contrast to the sterile, impersonal nature of Isaac’s workspace.

His desk was neat to the point of obsessive, devoid of personal touches. It held a top-of-the-line computer, a monthly calendar, and a notepad with three black pens arranged on top of it, perfectly spaced apart.

I drew the blinds to the angle I knew Isaac preferred in the morning, minimizing the glare of the sunlight. Finally, I turned on Isaac’s computer as well as my own, then settled in to check our emails. After twenty minutes of sifting through emails—sorting them into Isaac’s folders and answering any that I could—I was done.

Before I could move on to my next task, Lola—the last member of our small team—stuck her head through the open door.

“The Overlord is coming.” She briefly crossed her eyes to scowl at a lock of her long, sandy-blond hair with perfect beachy waves that had dared to fall across her face, then huffed at it to flick it off her cheek.

“Thanks, Lola. But you really have to stop calling Isaac that.” I grabbed my phone and stood up, striding for the door.

“Why?” Lola joined me in leaving Isaac’s office and heading for the door to our department’s space. “Personally I think calling him our Overlord is being nice. We could call him the ice king or office tyrant. He’s so frosty and cunning, and he certainly deserves it with his work-or-die attitude.”

I opened the calendar app on my phone. “Isaac can be… intense. But if you or Theo slip up and call him Overlord to his face, you’ll regret it.”

In addition to being the two youngest members of our team—who’d joined around roughly the same time—Theo and Lola were two mischievous peas in a pod.

“I’m careful,” Lola said as we stopped by the glass double doors that separated our office area from the rest of the building. “We both are. We won’t slip up.”

I shook my head, but before I could say anything, Isaac pushed one of the double doors open, stepping into his domain.

Tall and impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, Isaac commanded attention. His dark brown hair and sharp glasses that framed his gray eyes gave him an intensity that sometimes made it hard to meet his eyes, but he was incredibly attractive in a “look, don’t touch” kind of way.

“Good morning, Isaac,” I said.

“Morning, Charlotte.” Isaac gave me the once-over, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized me.

I ignored his attention. He’d asked me to be his assistant years ago when he was first promoted to a managing position. I could fluently interpret his body language. (The staredown was him determining if I’d been detrimentally affected by our previous late night.)

“You have one hour to answer emails before your first meeting of the day with Samuel,” I said, referring to the CEO of Warner Print. “He wants to touch base on the status of the business tax return.”

“Finally. I spoke to him about it last weekend, and he thought the deadline was a goal, not a requirement.” Isaac scoffed. As Samuel’s twin, he didn’t pull any punches when it came to his brother.

“Mmm,” I said in response, not willing to take sides. “The accounting department has already sent over several emails this morning that you should look at in preparation for the meeting.”

In the background, Ravi, Theo, Lola, and Arisa called out their good mornings to Isaac. He acknowledged each greeting with a nod as we crossed the room.

“Any word from the sales team?” Isaac asked.

“You have several emails in your inbox awaiting your approval, but it seems they have everything they need for the new sales model,” I said.

“Excellent. Thanks, Charlotte,” Isaac said as we entered his office.

“For sorting your email?”

“For staying late last night,” Isaac said. “Make sure you note down your overtime.”

I made my way over to my desk. “Already done.”

Isaac nodded, satisfied as he sat down in his ergonomic computer chair. “I want to make sure you’re compensated for the extra hours.”

I sat down and set my phone on top of my desk. “Thanks, but I’d rather not have to work the overtime.”

Isaac sipped his coffee and woke up his computer. “Understandable. However, overtime will be unavoidable for the next week or two. We’ll have to rework the tax return and get it filed.”

“Accounting finished the tax return and already had a third-party accounting firm go over it,” I said. “That’s what you’re supposed to talk to Samuel about.”

“They finished it, yes, but we need to double-check their work,” Isaac said, his attention drifting away from me as he logged on to his computer. “Particularly after the debacle with the sales model. If both the finance and accounting departments are so incompetent they couldn’t put together the sales model for the marketing team yesterday, I’m not inclined to trust them on something as important as our tax return.”

Outwardly I held my expression, but inwardly I sighed.

Warner Print’s finances were perfect because Isaac’s work was flawless. Unfortunately, this meant that leaving anything to the other departments was delegating to less skilled workers—something Isaac couldn’t abide. As a result, he had a lot more work than his C-suit role should encompass.

But this had been my life for years—even before Isaac was promoted to CFO and he herded me to the top with him. The crazy work hours were why the only friend I had outside of work was my housemate, Ella.

“I understand,” I reluctantly said, but Isaac was already immersed in work and didn’t hear me.

* * *

Several hours later, it was nearly lunchtime. Isaac and I were at our desks, while three members from the sales department occupied the cushy couch and armchairs arranged in front of Isaac’s desk.

The leader of the sales team, a middle-aged woman named Sharon, looked from her wristwatch to Isaac and winced apologetically. “Can we continue for another twenty minutes? We’re almost done.”

Isaac leaned back in his desk chair, which creaked, and glanced at me.

I’d been studying the leather portfolio perched on my desk, trying to rally myself to act on what was inside today. But on feeling Isaac’s eyes on me, I clicked through some screens, opening up his calendar. “You have the availability. Your next meeting isn’t for thirty minutes. I can ask Lola or Theo to run to the cafeteria and grab you something.”

Isaac tapped his fingers on his desk. “Have them pick up something for you too. I want you in the afternoon meetings.”

Of course he did.

It was thoughtful of him to make sure I was fed, but I wasn’t thrilled that it was going to be one of those eating-in-a-rush days.

“I’ll do that.” I switched screens to the company messenger app to tag Lola and Theo.

One of the three sales team members—a young man who looked fresh out of college—spoke up. “Why doesn’t she get it? Isn’t fetching food part of her job as your executive assistant?”

It felt like the temperature of the room immediately dropped ten degrees.

Isaac turned his attention to the junior employee, his gray eyes as cold as ice and his expression dangerously blank. “What?”

The young man didn’t take the hint and doubled down. “Executive assistants are just overglorified secretaries, right? She should go get you lunch. It’s not that far to the cafeteria.”

Sharon made a strangled noise, and I started mentally rifling through the guy’s employee file. I would need to remember his name for HR, as Isaac was going to react.

His name was… Josh Hunkle. He was the grandson of one of Walter—the Warner family patriarch who’d founded the company—Warner’s friends. He must have assumed he was untouchable.

He was about to learn otherwise.

Isaac clenched his jaw, a telltale sign of his anger. “Charlotte is not just my executive assistant. She’s an indispensable member of my team and integral to Warner Print’s success.”

Josh’s eyes widened as he started to realize his mistake. “I-I didn’t mean?—”

“Furthermore,” Isaac’s voice was sharp as a blade, “Charlotte’s role requires a level of expertise and dedication that you clearly don’t understand. Perhaps you should focus on improving your own performance instead of wasting air and what few precious brain cells you seem to have making stupid assumptions.”

I mimicked a stone statue at my desk. Isaac was famous for his icy, almost robotic exterior and for demanding a lot of his employees. But if someone dared to comment negatively about them in front of him? He’d take on anyone—client, executive, or otherwise—with a frozen kind of fury.

The young man turned a sickly green. “I-I’m sorry, I just?—”

“You didn’t think,” Isaac cut him off coldly. “That much is clear. Reread the employee manual for a refresher on Warner Print’s expected etiquette.”

Sharon jumped in, trying to salvage the situation. “He’s still learning, Mr. Warner. I assure you, we’ll address this internally.”

Isaac didn’t acknowledge Sharon. He was focused on the now very apologetic Josh with the intensity of a hungry wolf.

That was my cue to step in.

“Isaac.” I was careful to keep my voice and body language relaxed. “What do you want to eat?”

The office was stiflingly silent for a few heartbeats, then Isaac turned in my direction, back to business as usual. “Don’t bother ordering out. We’ll go to the cafeteria for lunch after all. This meeting is over.” Isaac stood up, casually slipped his left hand into a pocket of his slacks, and, without acknowledging the sales team, stalked out of his office.

I exhaled in relief and logged out of my computer. I grabbed my coat and scurried to the door, pausing long enough in the doorway to look back at the sales team.

Josh was slumped in his chair, and Sharon was eyeing him like a deeply disappointed mother.

“Email me after lunch, Sharon, and I’ll see if we can get the meeting rescheduled,” I said.

“Don’t worry.” Sharon was all smiles for me. “I think it would be best if I summarize the rest of the report in an email. And please accept my apologies on my team member’s behalf. I’ll make sure he fully understands the company expectation of workplace respect.”

I glanced at Josh, who didn’t look apologetic so much as rightfully terrified for his future with Warner Print. “It’s fine,” I said. “Good luck teaching him.” I waved to Sharon, then hotfooted it to Isaac’s side as he stalked toward the unfortunate employee who happened to be stationed closest to the door.

“Ravi,” Isaac snapped. “I need you to write up a complaint for HR.”

“Ravi,” I countered. “Don’t.”

Isaac turned on me, scowling. “You’re protecting him?”

“No,” I said. “I’m protecting you. You chewed that kid out. He might have deserved it, but if we chat with HR about it, we’ll have to talk about your correction too. And you know they don’t like it when you imply employees are stupid.”

Isaac narrowed his eyes—he was still angry.

“It’s better to let Sharon handle it. She will correct Josh—through HR–approved methods,” I said.

His expression thawed as he tilted his head in thought, but the fact that he wasn’t saying anything wasn’t a great sign. He was likely trying to figure out the easiest way to fire Josh.

I looked imploringly at Ravi. He was settled in his chair, his folded hands resting on his jolly belly. He caught my look and winked at me, then sat up straight. “If Sharon’s going to discipline an employee, you can trust her, Boss. She’ll have him undergoing extra training sessions for the next month.”

Ravi and I waited while Isaac deliberated.

Warner Print—and its employees—meant everything to Isaac. The company was the Warner family’s legacy, and Isaac, his twin, Samuel, and his cousin Logan had been handed the company earlier than expected when the twins’ father passed away when they were barely in their mid-twenties.

For that reason—and many more—Isaac had devoted his life to Warner Print, something I expected would continue for the rest of his life.

“Fine,” Isaac reluctantly said. “But I at least want this noted in his file. If he pulls a stunt like this again, he’s gone.”

I nodded. “I’ll send an email and get it done.”

“Good.” Isaac’s shoulders settled down as the hostility left him. He was back to his detached self. He turned on his heel and strode off in the direction of the doors. “Lunch first.”

I slipped on my jacket. “Yes, lunch first.” Turning back to Ravi, I tossed him a smile. “Thanks, Ravi.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Ravi insisted.

I smiled and waited until Isaac was farther away before lowering my voice and speaking again. “Could you tell the rest of the team? I don’t want anyone accidentally bringing the meeting up later today and reminding Isaac.”

That got Theo’s and Lola’s attention. The duo—stationed at the far end of the line of workstations, rolled their chairs to Ravi’s spot.

“I hear the promise of office gossip!” Lola said, delighted.

“Yeah, who is on the Overlord’s shit list now?” Theo asked.

“Settle down, Kids, and I’ll tell you a story.” Ravi patted Theo on the top of his head.

“Charlotte?” Isaac called from the office doors.

“Coming!” I gave Ravi, Theo, and Lola a finger wave before hurrying after Isaac—he would wait for me to leave, and I didn’t want him catching sight of Josh when the sales team vacated his office.

I smiled at Isaac, who nodded in return, and together we headed out to lunch.

* * *

Except for me, the team’s open office space looked like a ghost town. Half the lights were off, casting long shadows over empty workstations. Most of the computers were shut down, their screens black and lifeless. The hum of the building’s ventilation system was the only thing breaking the silence.

I glanced at the clock on my computer screen. Six p.m. No wonder my stomach was growling.

“Ah—good, Charlotte, I caught you!” Jordan—an employee from the finance department—hurried through the office’s double doors holding a packet of papers. “Could you give these to Isaac?”

“Hello, Jordan.” I smiled at the longtime Warner Print employee. “Actually, Isaac is doing some computer work right now and isn’t on any calls, so you could take the papers back to him if you like.”

Jordan’s smile froze on his face—a look I was used to seeing.

“You don’t like?” I guessed.

Jordan—easily fifteen years my senior—scrunched his face up. “I don’t, no.”

I sighed. “Is it bad news?”

“No, no.” He violently shook his head. “It’s a report he requested.”

“Then he’ll be reasonable,” I said.

“Isaac’s reasonability with the rest of the world is very different from his reasonability with you,” Jordan weakly said. He held out the papers to me again. “Please?”

I sighed and took the papers. “Fine.”

“Thank you!” Jordan beamed. “I owe you one.”

“Yes, yes. Have a great night, Jordan.”

“You too, Charlotte!” Jordan dashed out the doors as if he was afraid I’d change my mind.

This was another unexpected aspect of my job—working as Isaac’s liaison. Isaac wasn’t temperamental or mean by any stretch of the imagination. But his usual blank expression and blunt speaking habits could feel frigid if you didn’t know how to interpret them, so it was pretty typical that those who didn’t personally know Isaac used me as a go-between whenever possible.

Isaac knew this, but he wasn’t particularly motivated to alter his reputation, as he was never one to care about it in the first place.

“Good night, Charlotte,” Arisa called, jarring me from my thoughts as she got up from her workstation and headed to the office’s double doors. She had her coat on and her handbag slung over one shoulder.

I saved the Excel spreadsheet I’d been working in before Jordan had interrupted. “Good night, Arisa. Do you have any fun plans?”

“Yes, I’m grabbing dinner with my fiancé.” Arisa shyly smiled.

“Well, have fun. Oh—I wanted to let you know that I spoke to Isaac about the squirrels.”

She paused. “Oh?”

“He said he’d talk to someone about it,” I said, recalling Isaac’s rare bewildered expression when I’d told him about Arisa’s request.

“Thank you so much,” Arisa said.

I nodded and propped my elbows up on the arms of my desk chair. “Of course. But you know, you can approach Isaac in the future with similar requests.”

Arisa went still.

“He might not come off as friendly, but he’s very reasonable, particularly to proven employees like yourself,” I said.

Arisa shook her head. “He’s like that with you but not the rest of us. With your long history of working together, he’s downright affectionate.”

Calling Isaac affectionate was stretching things, but I was self-aware enough to recognize he treated me with a sentiment more similar to what he had for his twin than a typical employee.

“Everyone knows you’re his soft spot,” Arisa continued. “And if you want to stack the deck in hopes of getting a positive answer, it’s best to communicate through you.”

“Maybe, but the company—much less our team—is going to be forced to deal without me very soon,” I muttered.

“Sorry, what was that?” Arisa asked.

“Nothing.” I pasted on a professional smile. “Sorry, I was just talking to myself. Have a great night, Arisa.”

“You too, Charlotte.” A small wave, and Arisa was gone, leaving me alone in the workspace. Isaac was still here, but he was holed up in his office working, of course. He was always working.

I turned back to my spreadsheet, but my mind was elsewhere. My leather portfolio sat next to my keyboard, taunting me. I’d been carrying it around for over a week, building up the courage to do what I needed to do.

I shook my head and focused on my work, finishing my scan of the spreadsheet before responding to a few emails that were waiting for my approval.

Finally I was done. I saved my work and shut down my computer. I hesitated, then—glancing at the clock and wondering when I had last left the office before five—grabbed Jordan’s papers and my portfolio and stood up. My legs felt like Jell-O as I walked toward Isaac’s office.

Pausing outside his door to take a deep, fortifying breath, I clutched my portfolio like a life raft and knocked on Isaac’s door before opening it.

Isaac didn’t look up as I entered. He had perfect posture except for the left elbow resting on the edge of his desk. His glasses glowed from the light of his computer, and he rapidly clicked through screens, reading them faster than I could register.

I shut the door behind me and walked to my second desk, setting the leather portfolio down with exaggerated care. My eyes lingered on him, hoping he’d notice and save me from having to start this conversation.

He didn’t.

“Are you planning to spend another late night here?” I asked.

Isaac paused, his eyes still glued to the screen, then checked his wristwatch. “I’ll go home in another hour or two.”

It was already six thirty. An hour or two would definitely make it a late night.

“The team has left for the day,” I said. “Arisa was the last to head out. She and her fiancé are grabbing dinner.”

“Good for them,” Isaac said, his blank tone making it unclear if he actually meant it as he went back to clicking through documents.

“Here, Jordan from finance said you were expecting these papers, but he didn’t want to bother you.” I passed the packet of papers over.

Isaac nodded. “Good—though I’m sorry he bothered you over the issue when he could have handled it himself. Then again, if he was that competent I wouldn’t have to check the numbers again anyway.” He narrowed his eyes.

“It’s what I’m here for,” I cheerfully said, determined to steer the conversation away from anxious Jordan. “I’m done for the night, but do you want me to order dinner for you? Maybe something from Verona’s?” I asked, naming the Italian restaurant—the only Italian restaurant—in the small but charming town of Fox Creek, where Warner Print was headquartered.

Isaac leaned back in his chair, considering. “Thanks, but it’s not necessary.”

“Are you sure? You need to eat.”

Isaac removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll have a protein bar. You restocked them, right?”

“Yesterday, with all your favorite flavors. They’re in the usual desk drawer.”

“Thank you, Charlotte.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence. I watched as Isaac put his glasses back on and his eyes drifted to his screen, the blue glow reflecting off his lenses. He wasn’t a tyrant, despite how the team joked. He was just… driven. Everything he did was for the company, for the Warner family. I understood that. Maybe too well.

But I couldn’t stay any longer.

“I’m resigning,” I blurted out.

Isaac looked up, his eyes narrowing. “What?”

“I’m quitting.” I fumbled with the leather portfolio, pulling out my resignation letter. “This is my official notice.”

I walked up to Isaac’s desk and held out the paper. He didn’t take it immediately, instead studying my face as if searching for a clue, a hint that this was some kind of joke. When he realized I was serious, he took the letter from me with a slowness that bordered on unwillingness.

“I plan to stay on for at least a month to help with the transition,” I said. “If the company agrees.”

Isaac read the letter, his lips forming a tight line. “What happened? Did someone say or do something?”

“No. Everyone here is wonderful.”

He looked up from the letter. “Are you unhappy with your compensation? Your benefits?”

I shook my head, upsetting the sleek ponytail I’d pulled my long black-brown hair into. “I’m vastly overpaid for what I do.”

“You’re vastly overqualified for what you do,” Isaac countered. “And your work here is far more technical than what a typical executive assistant handles.”

I pressed my clammy hands together and tried to keep my shoulders straight and my voice calm. “The point is, I’m quitting.”

Isaac set the letter down on his desk, his fingers lingering on the paper. “Why?”

“I can’t keep working these hours,” I said. “The late nights, all the overtime—it’s too much.”

“I can get you an assistant to lighten your workload.”

“Even with a lighter workload I’d still work too much. I’d just get sucked into new projects.”

We stared at each other, the weight of my words sinking in. I didn’t want to leave, but I didn’t see another option. This was the only way I could reclaim my life.

“Charlotte…” Isaac started, but trailed off. His typical composed, almost stoic expression flickered briefly.

Isaac wasn’t a demonstrative person, so any sign of expression was huge.

“I love Warner Print,” I said, wanting to reassure him. “I’ve loved working here, and specifically I’ve loved working for you. I don’t regret any of it. But we’re thirty now, Isaac. I want my thirties to be different. I don’t want them to be all about work like my twenties were.”

My boss was silent, processing. This was always the hardest part with Isaac. He took time to think, but his silence was hard to bear.

“I don’t want overtime every week,” I continued. “No matter how well paid I am for it. I want something else to show for my life besides work accomplishments.”

Isaac picked up the resignation letter again, his eyes not reading but staring through it. “You’ll submit this to HR?”

“Tomorrow. Via email.” I waited, hoping he’d say something, anything. That he’d understand, that he’d forgive me for leaving him after spending almost our entire professional lives together.

But he was silent, his expression once again blank.

Giving up, I grabbed the leather portfolio. “Good night, Isaac.” I turned to leave.

“Charlotte,” Isaac called as I reached the door.

I stopped, not turning around, and waited.

But he didn’t say anything. I looked back to see him staring at the resignation letter, his expression unreadable.

I left his office, closing the door softly behind me. A rush of relief washed over me—I’d finally done it. Resigning was the first step toward molding my future into the life I wanted. But Isaac’s thoughtful silence gnawed at me. I hadn’t expected him to be happy about my resignation, but I also hadn’t expected him to be so… quiet.

I walked through the empty workspace, the taps of my high heels on the flooring echoing off the walls. This place had been my second home for so long. I loved the company and my fellow employees.

However.

Things had to change. I was proud of everything I’d accomplished here, but I wasn’t going to let another decade pass of work, work, work with no friends, no romantic relationships, and no life outside my career.