Page 82 of Reply All
I sigh and let go of him, throwing myself with a frustrated huff back onto the mattress.
With a laugh, he crawls up my body, raising his undershirt that I wore to bed as he goes. With every inch of skin he exposes, he places at least one kiss. When our bodies line up perfectly, Will places a soft peck on my nose, drops his forehead to mine.
“I’m putting in my notice today,” he whispers, his eyes tight, brows pulled together.
I gasp, pushing us both up to sitting positions, my shirt riding back down. “Are you serious?”
He nods and runs his fingers through his hair, looking out the window briefly as he settles onto his heels.
“But… I mean, how long have you been thinking about this? It can’t be that long, since I’m just finding out. Maybe you should take some time to think it through. I know you’re tired and have been working some crazy long hours, but you should probably find another job before and then?—”
He takes my hands in his and places a soft kiss on my lips to cut me off. “Bridge,” he starts again. “I’ve been thinking of doing this for a while—just been waiting for the right time to leave. I’m sorry I haven’t told you. But we’ve been trying to separate work from our personal life, remember? We agreed not to go into too much detail.”
I nod once before he continues.
“Honestly, it’s overdue. Things are crazy, my boss is insane and borderline abusive, and I don’t like the practices they set forward in their everyday business operations.”
I raise a brow, intrigued. “What do you mean? If they’re doing something sketchy, you need to tell me because Sartoria & Co. shouldn’t?—”
He laughs once, rueful. “See? I couldn’t go into much detail because it would’ve caused potential conflicts.”
“Will, if Stevenson is doing anything illegal?—”
“It’s nothing like that. They’re fine, and your company isn’t at risk working with them, other than that they’re extremely difficult—but I’m sure by the number of orders you’ll receive it’s bound to pay off. Somehow.” He sighs before continuing. “Honestly, it’s more so that they’re greedy. And the new corporate structure values margin and profit over reputation and morals—I’m sure you’ve seen it in the email exchanges and the one meeting you were at. And I mean, I get it. It’s a business. The entire point is for them to make money. But I feel as though there should besomeshred of integrity in what we do, right? Like, there should be a point where you stop trying to stretch the margin.”
I understand his frustration—but only to a point. I’ve only seen the cost-cutting, profit-hungry side of Stevenson from our side, as vendors. I haven’t experienced the day-to-day demoralization of employees through new company policies that sully their brand name. But I believe it because the attitude is there. The frustration is evident in every single email response from the client, in everything their Chief Merchandising Officer and her team says and does. Iris insists it’s the higher-ups putting pressure on them, which tracks with everything Will tells me.
He lets out a groan and throws himself on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
Sensing he has more to say, I remain quiet and let him take a moment before he continues.
“I hate the constant battle of putting out shitty products and doing layoffs, making people work three different jobs because we want to cut corners when we don’t need to. Management thinks they’re doing all this to set the company up for success but, in my opinion, all it’s doing is setting it up for failure.
“Employees are unhappy, which means they care less, so their work is subpar. Turnover is increasing rapidly. The quality of our products is going down—be it because we ask our vendors, like Sartoria & Co., to lower their own standards or because we don’t have as many people doing QA tests so many issues slip through the cracks. I mean, we first went to you guys to revamp our private label brand because you have an outstanding reputation for quality and sustainability. And suddenly they want to cut corners left and right, completely defeating the purpose of why we did it. Make it make sense, you know?
“And honestly? I fucking hate the job in general. I hate being the bad guy. I hate it when my boss makes me do things I don’t want to do and then tells me to claim the ideas as my own. I hate what it entails. Yes, the money has been fantastic, but I’m good now and none of it is worth any of this anymore. And while, if I’m being honest, I don’t have a single fucking idea what I want to do with my life, I know for damn sure it isn’t this.”
His eyes are wild, his breathing a little shaky. I’ve known he’s been frustrated with work for a long time, but never to this degree. Because of our agreement, Will has kept a lot under wraps, it seems.
“How long have you been feeling this way?” I ask. “I mean, you had mentioned it before—to an extent. But how long have you felt so unhappy?”
“Pretty much since the day before I even started working there,” he admits in a whisper.
I gasp. “Will. You mean to tell me that forfiveyears you’ve hated every second of your job?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you leave sooner?”
Something flashes in his eyes. Uncertainty. Hesitation. “I— I made a commitment, remember. And I simply wasn’t in a position to leave.”
And that’s Will, always loyal, no matter what. Even if it hurts him, he stays true to a fault.
But loyalty aside, five years isa lot. I find it difficult to believe Will wasn’t in a position to leave. Did he mean he couldn’t find a job? I already told him once before his intelligence and charm would make him a shoe-in anywhere. But maybe that’s just my love for him talking. Though I find that very difficult to believe. Besides the occasional cover hogging, Will has proven to be nothing short of perfect every day that I’ve met him.
“You could’ve left sooner. No one would’ve faulted you for it if you were unhappy.”
He stares up at the ceiling, pensive for a moment. “Maybe not. But I wasn’t in a position to.”
