"What the hell was that?" he asks.
Like when he first called the meeting, his voice is at a perfectly reasonable volume.
But I flinch anyway, because something in it is worse than a roar.
I flinch inwardly, that is. I won't let him see me rattled. Fear is catnip for bullies like Andrew, and I refuse to feed him a single bite.
"I'd call it me defending myself," I fire back.
"You made me look incompetent in front of my senior team. That's twice now."
"You did it first!" I sound like a whiny little first grader saying I'm rubber, you're glue, but I don't care.
"You called me in here specifically to blame
me for something that wasn't my fault.
What did you expect me to do? Take it lying down? Say 'Thank you, sir; may I have some more'?"
His jaw ticks. "I expected you to be a team player."
"I am!" I cry out again. "But I'm not your scapegoat."
