A Mother Adored: From Office Outcast to CEO's Beloved novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: Sign-Off
After hours, her director corners her and holds her permanent job over her head. Hattie records him and says no, and the elevator opens on the CEO.
Dale Brower kept my permanent contract in the top drawer of his desk.
He pulled the drawer out an inch so I could see the paper.
Then he pushed it shut with his knee.
It was ten at night, and the fourth floor of Whitaker Group was empty except for us.
I had been there since seven that morning, and I had rewritten his pitch deck three times.
"You did good work this month, Hattie," he said.
He used the soft voice, the one he never used in front of other people.
"Six months of an internship, and tonight is your last chance to show me you're a team player."
I stood by the glass wall with my laptop against my chest.
He walked around the desk and stopped too close.
His shirt smelled like old coffee and cologne.
"I need to know you're grateful," he said.
His hand settled on the small of my back.
It slid lower.
I had grown up on a dairy farm outside Findlay, Ohio.
I had pulled a calf out of a cow in a February storm with my bare arms.
I knew what it felt like when something big was standing too close and thought it owned the barn.
I stepped sideways, and his hand followed me.
"Take your hand off me," I said.
"Don't make this awkward." He smiled.
"Everybody on this floor started the way you did.
"Everybody learns."
His other hand closed around my wrist.
My phone was in my back pocket, and I had already pressed record an hour ago.
I had done it the first time he texted me at midnight, and I had been recording every late night since.
I had thirty-one clips on my phone, and none of them were enough, because he was always careful.
Tonight he was not careful.
"Say it again," I said, loud and clear.
"Say what you want me to be grateful for."
His smile slipped.
"What?"
"The contract in your drawer," I said.
"Tell me what I have to do to get it."
He glanced at the dark windows, and then back at me.
He thought I was scared.
He thought a girl from a farm who sent half her paycheck home would say yes before she said no.
"You sit in my car after work, Hattie," he said quietly.
"You come to my place when I ask.
"And you don't tell anyone, because nobody will believe a girl who showed up in boots."
He let go of my wrist and pushed my hair behind my ear with one finger.
I did not move.
I had never wanted to hit anyone so badly in my life.
But I had my mother's voice in my head, from when I was fifteen and she was already sick.
She had said, Don't swing first, baby, make them swing where everybody can see.
"I'll think about it," I said.
His shoulders loosened.
"That's my girl," he said.
I walked to my desk, picked up my bag, and my knees almost gave out.
I did not run.
I put my phone in my coat pocket, still recording, and I walked toward the elevators.
Behind me, Dale laughed and called after me.
"And Hattie, do not even think about HR.
"I play golf with the head of HR every other Sunday.
"I play golf with half the board."
I pressed the elevator button three times.
"Nobody is coming for you," Dale said from the hallway.
"You hear me?
"There is nobody on this floor who will ever come for you."
The elevator dinged.
The doors slid open.
A man stood inside in a dark coat, with a leather folder under his arm.
I knew his face from the lobby portrait and the company newsletter.
I had never seen him in person, because the CEO of Whitaker Group did not visit the fourth floor.
Nolan Whitaker looked at me, and then past me at Dale.
His eyes were grey and perfectly calm.
"I came down for a signature," he said, and his voice was low and even.
"I heard enough."
Dale's face went the color of paper.
Nolan held the door with one hand and looked at the phone in my pocket.
"Hattie Moser, isn't it?" he said.
"Bring the phone."
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