I was shocked and saddened to hear that you wanted to work with another agent at the company for your next project. In addition to being an incredible writer, I have considered you one of my closest friends. I have worked extremely hard nurturing your talent these past years. Can you please let me know what I have done to offend you and I’ll do whatever I can to make it right?

Your friend,

Paige

It takes all my self-restraint not to roll my eyes at Paige’s email. She and I are not friends. Not even close. I am a trained psychiatrist and psychotherapist. Does she honestly believe that her insincere flattery and overfamiliarity will endear her to me? And how exactly has she nurtured my talent aside from taking fifteen percent of everything I’ve made?

But the best part of being a bestselling author is that I don’t have to answer to people like Paige. I get to call the shots—and my contract is with the agency, not with Paige herself. So my reply to my former agent is extremely succinct.

Paige,

I’m afraid that I just don’t feel that you are a good fit for me anymore. Best of luck to you.

Sincerely,

Adrienne Hale, MD, PhD

As I hit “send” on the email, I wonder how Paige will respond. Will she accept that I don’t want her to be my agent anymore and take the rejection gracefully, or will she haul her Audi back out to Westchester and beg on her knees for me to take her back? I suspect it will be the latter.

Human beings don’t deal well with rejection. Back when our ancestors were hunters and gatherers, being ostracized from a tribe was akin to a death sentence. For that reason, rejection is experienced by human beings as being incredibly painful. Studies using functional MRI have shown the same areas of the brain become activated both during rejection and during real physical pain.

Some people deal with rejection better than others. Paige won’t deal with it well. I can already see it unfold. But it doesn’t matter. Once I make a decision, I never go back on it.

A new message pops up in my inbox. The sender is a woman named Susan Jamison—a name I am very familiar with. I click on the new message, already aware of what it is likely to say.

Dr. Hale,

I appreciate the work you have attempted to do with my son, but I don’t feel like he’s making any progress. As I told you two months earlier, I will no longer be paying for his sessions. I’m sorry he has not been reimbursing you himself out of his allowance, but I must reiterate that I will no longer be financing any of these therapy sessions. I’m sorry if you assumed otherwise.

Best,

Susan