29. The Emperors New Resume
THE EMPEROR'S NEW RESUME
KARINA
“You don’t have time to have a complete nervous breakdown."
I announce this to my reflection on a Thursday evening in early September, as Seattle settles into that perfect equilibrium between summer and fall.
It’s warm enough for short sleeves during the day, but with a crisp edge that requires a light jacket after sunset.
The kind of weather that feels like possibility.
It's been three days since I received Ariana's job offer and two days since the video of Callum defending me against Richard went viral.
I've watched it exactly twenty-seven times, analyzing his expression, his words, his unexpected public declaration that has left social media aflame with speculation.
My apartment has become both sanctuary and prison.
I've cleaned it obsessively, reorganized my bookshelf three times, and panic-baked enough Armenian pastries to feed a small village.
None of it has brought clarity about what to do next.
The job offer sits open on my laptop.
Senior Partner at Ariana Reeves Crisis Management, heading their new "Corporate Authenticity Division."
A prestigious position with creative control, excellent benefits, and a clear path forward that doesn't involve groveling back to Abernathy Corp.
It's perfect. It's sensible.
It's exactly what I should want.
So why am I hesitating?
The doorbell interrupts my existential spiral.
Through the peephole, I spot not one but both of my sisters, arms laden with bags that suggest an extended stay rather than a casual visit.
I open the door, suspicion immediately replacing confusion. "Whatever this is, I'm not interested."
"Too bad," Viktoria pushes past me, already heading for the kitchen. "We've given you three days of dignified wallowing. Time's up."
Susanna follows, pausing to kiss my cheek before depositing her bags on my couch. "We brought wine, cheese, and emotional support in ascending order of importance."
"I don't need an intervention," I say, even as Viktoria efficiently uncorks a bottle of red and Susanna arranges an impressive charcuterie spread on my coffee table.
"It's not an intervention," Susanna corrects, arranging salami in an artistic spiral. "It's a strategic planning session."
"For what?" I ask, reluctantly accepting the generously filled wine glass Viktoria hands me.
"Your big apology, of course." Viktoria settles into my armchair with the authority of someone who's planned a corporate takeover or two. "We've been monitoring the situation. It's time for decisive action."
I take a fortifying sip. "There is no 'situation' to monitor."
"Oh really?" Susanna pulls out her phone, scrolling dramatically. "So the fact that Callum Abernathy publicly defended you against his brother, declined to press charges despite significant pressure, and has been photographed looking like a devastated Highland warrior poet isn't a 'situation'?"
"Devastated Highland warrior poet?"
"Exact quote from Buzz Seattle's coverage," she confirms. "They have a close-up of his face that's been made into approximately sixteen thousand memes. My personal favorite adds the caption 'When they're out of haggis at the corporate cafeteria.'"
I choke on a laugh. "This is insane. All of it."
"The insanity train left the station weeks ago," Viktoria declares. "We're now in uncharted territory. The question is: what are you going to do about it?"
I sink onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. "What can I do? I lied about my credentials. I breached his trust. That's the one thing Callum Abernathy can't forgive."
"Yet he defended you," Viktoria points out. "Publicly. Against his brother."
"And turned down pressing charges," Susanna adds. "Don't forget that part. It's very romantic in a legally significant way."
I stare into my wine glass, afraid to acknowledge the hope flickering in my chest. "Even if he's not completely furious anymore, it doesn't change the fundamental issue. I built my professional identity on a lie."
Viktoria leans forward, her expression suddenly fierce. "No, you built your professional identity on talent, determination, and relentless hard work. The lie was just the door you had to pry open because the system is rigged against people like us."
"Especially women our age without the right pedigree," Susanna adds. "Remember when that startup rejected you because their 'culture' wouldn't 'mesh' with someone who didn't have an Ivy League degree?"
"Or when Drake Communications said you were 'too experienced' but really meant 'too old'?" Viktoria continues.
"Or when that tech bro suggested you 'build your portfolio' by doing free work for his friend's startup?" Susanna's indignation grows with each example.
I feel a knot in my throat loosening as my sisters list each barrier I've faced—each rejection that pushed me toward the desperate choice to fabricate credentials.
"The point is," Viktoria concludes, "you've spent your entire life shrinking yourself to fit other people's expectations. Maybe it's time to show the world—and Callum Abernathy—exactly who you really are. No filters, no masks, no carefully curated résumé."
"The real Karina," Susanna says softly.
I blink rapidly against unexpected tears. "What if the real Karina isn't enough?"
"Then he doesn't deserve you," both sisters reply in perfect unison.
The synchronicity breaks the tension, and suddenly we're all laughing—deep, liberating laughter that feels like release.
"Okay," I manage when I can breathe again. "So what's this big apology you mentioned?"
Viktoria smiles in a way that's simultaneously comforting and menacing. "A social media campaign. But instead of managing someone else's image, you tell your story. The real one."
"#TheRealKarina," Susanna suggests, hands framing an imaginary headline. "Your journey from Armenian immigrant family to marketing director. The barriers, the setbacks, the reality of class divisions in corporate America—and how you fought through it all."
"And," Viktoria adds significantly, "how you fell in love with a man who managed to break through the walls you've spent decades building."
"Whoa," I hold up my hands. "Who said anything about love?"
My sisters exchange eyeroll-laden glances that only siblings can perfect.
"Please," Susanna scoffs. "You've watched that video of him defending you a thousand times."
"How did you?—"
"You've viewed it so many times YouTube asked if you wanted to add it to a playlist called 'Obsessive Rewatch,'" Viktoria says matter-of-factly. "They only do that after twenty-five views of the same content in a 48-hour period."
I groan, burying my face in a throw pillow. "Fine. Maybe I have... feelings."
"Feelings," Susanna repeats. "The woman who once drove to Portland and back in one night because Richard mentioned wanting authentic Voodoo Doughnuts has 'feelings.'"
"That was different. That was..."
"Pathetically trying to impress the wrong brother?" Viktoria suggests.
"Terrible taste in men?" Susanna offers.
"A phase I'd rather forget," I throw the pillow at Susanna, who dodges it easily.
"The point is," Viktoria continues, "you've never looked at anyone the way you look at Callum. Not even Richard. Especially not Richard."
The simple truth of this observation silences me.
She's right, and we all know it.
"So what do you say?" Susanna asks gently. "Ready to be authentically, terrifyingly yourself? Professionally and personally?"
I take a deep breath, feeling something shift inside me—fear giving way to determination. "I think... I think I am."
My sisters cheer, clinking their glasses against mine in celebration.
For the next hour, we outline the #TheRealKarina campaign—a series of posts that would tell my unvarnished story while highlighting broader issues of credential gatekeeping and class barriers in corporate America.
"It needs a personal element too," Viktoria insists. "Something that shows your human side. Maybe reference the whole Kilted phenomenon from your perspective."
"Speaking of which," Susanna says, grinning, "have you seen the fan fiction yet?"
"The what?" I blink.
"Oh. My. God." She grabs her tablet. "You haven't seen the best part of this whole saga! There are literally hundreds of stories about you and Callum online."
“God, this can't be real…”
"Oh, it's real," Viktoria confirms. "Some of it is surprisingly well-written. Other parts are..."
"Hilariously wrong," Susanna finishes, scrolling through pages. "Like this one called 'Highland Heat' where Callum apparently speaks exclusively in Scottish proverbs."
She clears her throat and adopts a terrible Scottish accent: "'Ye've bewitched me, lass, with yer marketing prowess. I cannae think of spreadsheets when ye're near!'"
I nearly spit out my wine. "Please tell me you're making that up."
"I wish," Viktoria says, reaching for the tablet. "This one has you speaking almost entirely in exclamation points. 'Oh Callum!'" she reads in a breathless falsetto. "'Your corporate strategy is so robust! Your quarterly projections make me swoon!'"
By now, I'm laughing so hard tears are streaming down my face. "Stop! I can't breathe!"
"Wait until you see the one where you defeat Duncan MacTavish in a traditional Highland Games competition to win Callum's hand," Susanna gasps. "Apparently you have hidden caber-tossing talents."
"Well, I am surprisingly strong," I manage between fits of giggles.
"From carrying the entire marketing department on your back," Viktoria agrees.
As our laughter subsides, I find myself filled with a different reality.
The fan fiction.
The viral videos. The social media storm.
It all highlights how little control we have over how others perceive us.
The only thing we can control is our own truth.
"I'm going to do it," I announce out loud. "The campaign. #TheRealKarina. All of it."
"Including the part about being in love with Callum?" Susanna asks pointedly.
I take a steadying breath. "Especially that part. Because if I'm going for authentic, I might as well go all in."
My sisters raise their glasses in solemn salute.
"To authentic vulnerability," Viktoria declares.
"To terrifying honesty," Susanna adds.
"To the real Karina.” I clink my glass against theirs. "Whoever she turns out to be."