Her rehearsed speech is dribbling with so much condescension, I can’t listen. I’m finally back on the thirty-eighth floor of this shiny Manhattan skyscraper, and I can’t seem to find a single good reason to be here and work with these people. It’s your dream, always has been. Yeah, but why? Why was it ever my dream to work at Évoque? Why come back? This company used me for years and then discarded me without a second thought. And all they’re offering now is another junior position with no real independence. One you would’ve killed for a short while ago. Only because I didn’t know better.

“So you encourage the people who work here to bring forward new ideas?” I challenge her.

“Of course, we do.”

“You mean like when the story about Maison Vanderbilt committing tax fraud was brought forward.”

Emilia’s nostrils flare. “Blair, in case you’ve forgotten we’re a fashion magazine, we don’t do investigative journalism. Now, I’m sure at this”—she waves one hand in the air dismissively—“online-whatever you’ve been working for, lines and roles were more… let’s say blurred, but—”

“Of the fifty-or-so papers under the umbrella of Northwestern Publishing, not a single one could’ve picked up the story?”

“I honestly don’t see what you’re trying to accomplish with this sterile polemic.”

“I’m trying to say that this company doesn’t encourage people to bring forward ideas, it forces them to kill stories to keep easy advertising money flowing in.”

“Blair, let me be perfectly clear. This is a unique opportunity. You blew your first chance at a serious career and were lucky enough to get a second, which doesn’t happen very often and wasn’t the wisest idea in the first place if you ask me… You won’t get a third.”

Oh, she’s just confirmed my worst fears. Someone higher up forced Emilia’s hand, but she never wanted to offer me the job. The Talent Manager Coordinator hates me. Which means she’d try to make my head roll every chance she got. Another good reason not to come back.

I stand up. “No, Emilia. I’d like to be perfectly clear. You screwed up your first chance by promoting the wrong person for the wrong reasons. This was your second chance, and you blew it. Sorry, you won’t get a third. Goodbye.”

I don’t wait for a reply, I simply show myself out of the witch’s office. Humph, goodbye. There should be a better word. I don’t want to wish her goodbye, I want to say bad-bye. In the long elevator ride down, I envision a whole article on the topic.

Title: The Power of Bad-Bye

Subtitle: When Enough Is Enough

In the lobby, I give back my pass, hardly paying attention, already typing the first paragraph of the article in my head. With no regrets, I walk out of Évoque for the last time.

***

That afternoon I knock on Richard’s door as soon as I get into the office.

Richard lifts his eyes from a document, and a deep frown appears as he spots me standing behind the glass. He waves me in with a dismissive flick of his fingers.