Chapter 9 NINE

Teresa stood in the elevator like a criminal that was headed to sentencing. Her hands clutched her bag so tightly her knuckles had turned white, the resignation letter folded and hidden inside.

Each floor that ticked upward made her heartbeat louder. By the time the elevator reached her floor at Rexona Industries, she could feel her blouse sticking to her back with sweat. Her heart was racing and had started feeling lightheaded. She didn't eat before she came. Her appetite was very long gone.

The second the doors slid open, silence greeted her. Then whispers came in full force.

"There she is," someone murmured behind a raised mug of coffee while gesturing to her.

"Did you hear he snapped at four people this morning? Something about a missing file in the office, he looked absolutely furious."

"Yeah, and she's the only one who had overtime access yesterday. Just saying maybe she misplaced it and is getting others in trouble"

"I heard him scream at Melissa asking where she was. She probably did something wrong."

"It was inevitable that something like this would occur. I mean she's just a newbie and then she flew to the top in no time."

Teresa's face burned. Her ears rang. Her steps felt shaky. Every eye that landed on her made her flinch inward.

As she walked past the break room, a blonde receptionist sneered under her breath, "Only God knows how she got promoted."

Another muttered, "Probably got promoted on her back."

"I doubt it, our boss wouldn't have such poor taste."

Teresa kept walking, head low, breath shallow. She kept on chanting to herself "Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry"

Her steps slowed as she reached Mark's office. She hand hovered above the door knob for several seconds. The door was shut, but his voice carried through like a blade.

"I don't care if it's impossible, get it done. No mistakes. If any more mistakes are made." The threat hung in the air like an executioner's sword.

A group of employees filed out quickly, including Matthew, his assistant. He bumped shoulders with her on the way out and gave a her stiff glare. "Good luck," he said with a scoff.

Teresa froze at the threshold, heart slamming against her ribs. Her grip on the resignation letter tightened.

Mark looked up.

"Close the door," he said.

She obeyed instantly, fingers fumbling with the handle before it clicked shut. She turned, too scared to meet his eyes.

"Look at me." He commanded her and her body compiled with our her knowing.

He was behind his desk, tall, cold, unreadable. His gaze swept over her slowly her tense shoulders, her clenched fists, the slight shake in her frame.

"Come forward."

She hesitated for a second, irritating him.

His voice dipped lower. "Now."

She took a few careful steps closer. His eyes dropped to her hands. "Give it to me." he gestured to the piece of paper she was clutching like her life depended on it.

The resignation letter. She didn't even try to argue just held it out like a fragile offering.

Mark took it, unfolded it, and read in silence. The seconds stretched on like it was hours. Teresa stared at her shoes, stomach churning. When she dared to glance up, he was still looking at the letter.

Then, he ripped it into pieces. The tearing sound was sharp and final. Her breath hitched.

"What happened yesterday will not happen again," he said, his tone cool, clinical. "If there's a problem, you speak to me. If you're... overwhelmed, use my private quarters. That's what they're for. Don't use my seat again."

She blinked. "Sir, I...I didn't mean to..."

"Do you understand?" he cut in.

"Yes, sir," she whispered, voice cracking.

"Good."

An awkward silence stretched between them. Mark leaned back slightly. "Where are the Harding reports?"

It took her a moment to register the question. "O..on your desk, sir. I left them in the green folder, right..hand side."

He said nothing, just opened the folder and flipped through.

"You annotated them?" he asked, eyes not on her.

"Yes, sir," she murmured. "I...i corrected a few of the calculations in the revenue breakdown."

Another silence.

He looked at her finally.

"You did well." His voice had softened by a degree. "I expected sloppiness."

She opened her mouth, unsure if she was meant to say thank you. But he was already moving again.

Without another word, he reached into the top drawer of his desk.

Her breath caught in her throat.

He pulled out a soft bundle of pink fabric with white bows, her panties.

Her mouth fell open slightly.

Mark held them up between two fingers, expression unreadable. "These are yours I presume."

Her knees nearly gave out. "I...I can take them..."

"No," he said. "I'll keep them safe."

He folded them neatly, like they were something expensive, and placed them back in the drawer. Then closed it and locked it with a key.

Teresa's throat burned with embarrassment. Her face was on fire. It was one thing that she was pardoned but another that her underwear would be, stolen? Or confiscated.

"I don't want a repeat of that again," he said, locking eyes with her. "But I won't throw you to the wolves either. You're not leaving this office or company. At least not yet. I heard good things about you, don't let other things distract you from your work."

She didn't know whether to be grateful or terrified.

He gestured to the door. "You may go."

Teresa turned and walked out quickly, her legs numb beneath her, heart thundering. As soon as she reached the hallway, she exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for a week.

She didn't understand what game he was playing.

But it wasn't over.