URGENT: Revenue Analysis Required.
I free one of my hands, grab my phone, and tap to open it, already knowing it's going to be bad.
FROM: Andrew Simon
TO: Erica Jones
RE: URGENT: Revenue Analysis Required
Ms. Jones,
Given your apparent abundance of free time this morning, I'm confident you can handle the attached revenue analysis. I need a complete breakdown of five-year projections, including seasonal variations, competitive positioning, and risk assessments for each of our three proposed market penetration strategies.
Due: 5 P.M. today.
I'm sure someone of your capabilities won't find this challenging.
A. Simon
CEO, Simon Hospitality Group
I check the attachment. It's fifty-eight pages of raw data.
"That's impossible," Mitchy says, reading over my shoulder. "That's at least a week's worth of work."
"That's the point." A hot, sharp feeling surges up in my chest. Not tears this time—this is something else. This is twenty-seven years of keeping my head down, of being underestimated, of being overlooked and
underappreciated, all crystallizing into a single moment of absolute fury.
"He's trying to make me fail. He wants me to either kill myself trying to meet an impossible deadline or flounder publicly so he can justify whatever sicko power trip he's on."
"So don't play."
I look at Mitchy. "Huh?"
"Don't play his game." She taps on my phone screen to open up the Notes app. "Here's what you're going to do: You're going to go back to that office, and you're going to write the best damn resignation letter anyone's ever seen. You're going to fold it until it's all corners and shove it up his
clenched asshole. Then you're going to walk out of there with your head high and your dignity intact, and you and me are gonna make the next eighty-nine days the most fun anyone's ever had."
I want so badly to bottle up her fire and take a dose of it myself. As long as I'm looking at Mitchy and holding her hand, that feels possible. But the second I close my eyes, the blackness inside my head gets taken over by images of all the different versions of Andrew who have rocked my world in the last twenty-four hours, and I end up feeling more confused than ever.
"I don't even know how to write a resignation letter," I admit.
"Good thing your best friend is a copywriter." Mitchy's fingers are already flying across my phone. "Two weeks' notice?" I think about this morning. Just another employee. One of many.
"Effective immediately," I say.
Mitchy's grin is positively vicious. "That's my girl." We finish our meal and head back to the office together. Yasmin has to peel
off at the tenth floor, where the marketing department lives, but she pumps my hand before the elevator doors close. "I love you, Rica Belly," she tells me. "Always and forever."
Then the doors close, and I'm alone again The twentieth floor is afternoon-quiet when I return. A few people glance up as I pass, probably wondering if I'm okay after this morning's scene in the test kitchen. I'm sure the stories have already grown legs. I give them bland smiles, professional and plain, saving my energy for what comes
next.
My cubicle feels smaller than usual. The gray walls hem in on me like a cage I've been living in for so long that I forgot it was locked. I sit down, pull out my phone again, and look at what Mitc and I put together.
Dear Mr. Simon,
Please accept this letter as formal notification of my resignation from my position as Senior Project Manager at Simon Hospitality Group, effective immediately.While I have valued my time with the company and the opportunities for professional growth it has provided, I have
decided to pursue other opportunities that better align with my goals.
I will ensure all current projects are documented and accessible to whomever assumes my responsibilities.
Thank you for the experience of working at Simon Hospitality. I wish the company continued success.
Sincerely,
Erica Jones.
I read it twice. It's professional, courteous, and completely bloodless. Everything a resignation letter should be. Nothing that would give Andrew the satisfaction of knowing he got to me. But something about it feels wrong.
I delete it and start over.
Mr. Simon,
I resign, effective immediately. This morning, you made it clear that I am 'just another
employee' and that my attempts at kindness are unwelcome disruptions to your corporate machine. You're right—I don't
belong here. I never have.
I don't belong in a place that values efficiency over humanity, where six years of exemplary work can be dismissed in a
moment of cruel, pointless theater.Consider this my formal notice. Someone else can be your verbal target practice.
I have better things to do with my time.
Erica Jones.
Better, but still not quite right. Too emotional. Too revealing. I delete it again.
This time, I don't think. I just speak from the heart.
Mr. Simon,
I quit.
Life is too short to spend it being humiliated by someone who wouldn't recognize human kindness if it shoved kouign-amann from Grain & Gather down his throat until he choked on it.
The revenue analysis you requested isn't happening. Not because I can't do it—we both know I could run circles around half your executive team with my eyes closed—but because I choose not to. I choose to spend my time on things that matter.
You were right about one thing this morning: I'm a twenty-seven-year-old woman who just realized she's been wasting her life trying to prove herself to people who will never see her as more than "just another employee." So I'm done with that. More
importantly, I'm done with you.
My access badge has been returned. My computer is logged out My dignity, despite your best efforts, remains intact.
I'd say it's been a pleasure, but we both know that would be a lie.
Erica Jones.
I stare at the screen, my heart pounding. Sending this is more than burning a
bridge—it's absolutely insanity.
It's perfect.