Page 97 of Take It Offline

“Yes,” Roberts interrupts. “I was disappointed to hear that I was not invited to either of those discussions.”

I’m at a loss. There’s a tremor under my skin, my composure slipping, so I clasp my hands tightly in my lap and hold on for dear life.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” I finish. Because there clearly isn’t anything I could say.

Finally, Emmanuel steps in. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t able to read the document itself prior to this meeting, but I will rectify that today. I’ll also follow up with those areas you mentioned before we move forward. No matter the outcome, I’d like to thank you and Charlie for the hard work you’ve done so far.”

My voice is smaller than I like when I say, “Thank you,” but I can read between the lines.

Emmanuel isn’t here by accident.

Charlie wasn’t excluded by accident.

My head is clearly on the chopping block, and Roberts is holding it there.

Last year, when he pushed for minimum viable product during the system upgrade, I suffered through it.

Most Digital initiatives go this way. A grand idea in the beginning, passed down with the authority of a testament. Noinstructions on how we would deliver it, only a deadline and the understanding that failure isn’t an option.

The real secret of tech in big business? Sunk cost fallacy is real. They’d rather spend millions of dollars to deliver a bad program and replace it later than accept defeat.

Especially if they have a fall guy.

Shit, I wish Charlie was here.

The truth is, confidence wanes. Like the tide or the moon, I’ll be on top of the world one day, then suddenly so riddled with impostor syndrome that I might as well be an NFT for how little value I have.

Right now, the tide is slowly rising, and I’m desperate to hear his voice. For him to tell me it’ll be all right. I need his steadiness, the way he looks a problem in the eye and cracks a joke.

Roberts stands, ending the conversation, and without even the lie of a thank you, he opens his office door and lifts his chin, silently signaling that it’s time for me to leave.

It’s a dismissal, swift and silent, and I bite back the curse that rises up.

Charlie is up and out of his seat as soon as Roberts closes the door behind me.

Anger storms between my ribs and batters against my shutters, ready to spill out at the first crack in my armor. I resist it, clenching and shoving it back.

It won’t hold forever, but I only need it to last a little longer.

Charlie watches me with wide eyes as I stride back to my desk and silently begin packing my bag. There’s still an hour of the workday left, but I don’t have a single care about leaving early.

Let Roberts see.

It would be all the reason I need to finally quit.

When I look up, I find Charlie packed up and at my side. Ready to follow me, with or without an explanation. I waver, the anger and hurt ready to break open within the safety of his arms.

“I can’t,” I choke out, the words catching in my throat.

I can’t think. Can’t talk. Can’t hold myself together much longer. I grab Charlie’s forearm, needing a life raft. “Can we leave? I need you.”

With a nod, he leads me out, his hand an anchor on my back, strong as steel.

I don’t care where he takes me. I just want to fall apart. I can do that if he’s there, holding me, keeping me safe.

I’ve always been too scared to show anyone this side of myself—the raw, exposed nerve of fear, anxiety, and rage that pulses underneath my careful facade.

But it’s different with Charlie.

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