When I Stopped Carrying Her

I didn't sleep a second, but I wasn't even tired.

Next morning, I showed up right on time. Didn't bother with the stares—just headed straight to my desk to pack.

Victor strolled up, fake-concern mode activated.

"Aaron, can't you take a joke? It was just some toilet duty. Why'd you go and tell Ms. Sullivan you're quitting? No need to blow it up like that. Look, I'll even make it up to you. Outta my own pocket."

He held out an envelope like it was charity. "Here—$25," he said, dragging out the number with that smug little smile.

The company crushed its revenue goals this year. Everyone who joined the holiday raffle walked away with at least a grand—even the ones who barely showed up.

And me? Longtime employee. Top sales guy. I got $25—like I was some kind of charity case.

That hit hard.

Anger flared, and I smacked his hand away. Not soft, but not enough to knock him down either.

Victor blinked, stared at his hand, then eased back against my desk.

"Aaron, I was just trying to be nice. Give you a little cash gift," he said, voice all calm, eyes flicking around the room like he wanted an audience. "You didn't have to hit me."

Rachel rushed over and grabbed my arm. "Aaron Lawson, my patience has limits. Apologize to Victor right now or you're done here. You'll never step foot in Sullivan Properties again!"

I yanked my arm back. "Ms. Sullivan, did you forget? I quit yesterday. I'm just here to grab my stuff."

Her face tightened. She stepped in front of me, blocking my path like the box in my hands was contraband. "You can quit, but those 300 client files stay."

I looked at her, deadpan.

"Fine." I didn't flinch.

I bent down, pulled out a neatly stacked set of documents, and set them on a nearby desk. "Just remember—those 300 clients came here for me. Not the company. Not you. Not Victor."

Rachel let out a dry laugh, like I'd just told the best joke she'd ever heard. "Wow. You really think you're all that? Without this company's resources, who even are you? Don't flatter yourself."

Victor jumped in. "Yeah, seriously. You think we can't handle your clients? We'll be just fine."

I didn't say a word. Wasn't worth it.

I slid the files to the center of the desk, gave everything one last glance, then stood, grabbed my box, and walked off.

The elevator doors creaked open. I stepped in.

Then came the shout behind me—panicked, sharp.

"Ms. Sullivan! Mr. Grant! Something's wrong!"

An employee rushed over, pale and shaky. "Th-The front desk just got slammed with calls! Clients from earlier deals—they're all trying to cancel! We've already counted over a hundred, and the calls won't stop!"