Chapter 5
1340 Words
Jake’s POV
“Send the revised draft to acquisitions before noon,” Nathan said to the woman standing in front of his desk.
His tone was calm and measured. “And make sure legal reviews clause four. We’re not repeating last quarter’s mistake.”
“Yes, sir,” she replies quickly.
He nods once, dismissing her.
Then his eyes shift to me.
“Mr. Humphrey.”
The way he said my name felt deliberate. Precise.
“Yes, Mr. Hayes.”
“The summaries you submitted this morning were adequate,” he says. “Adequate is not the standard here.”
My jaw tightened slightly. “What would you prefer?”
“I prefer insight, not repetition. If I wanted the manuscript paraphrased, I would ask a machine.”
A few heads lifted from nearby desks. Not obviously staring, but listening.
“I’ll revise them,” I said.
“You’ll need to do more than just revise,” he replied evenly. “You’ll demonstrate that you understand what makes a book profitable, not just readable.”
He turns to Clara. “Your report was concise. Thank you.”
She smiled faintly and walked out.
The difference was not very obvious, neither was it dramatic.
But it was there.
He returned his attention to me. “You may step into my office.”
I got instantly nervous.
I followed him inside. The door closed behind us with a soft click.
He didn't sit this time. He leaned against his desk instead, arms folded.
“You want this internship,” he says.
“Yes.”
“Then stop behaving like you’re grateful to simply be here.”
The words caught me off guard.
“I’m not…”
“You are,” he cuts in. “It shows.”
I held his gaze. “What’s wrong with being grateful?”
“Gratitude breeds hesitation. Hesitation costs money.”
His eyes scanned my face like he was searching for something underneath.
“You’re capable of more than what you’ve submitted,” he continued. “Unless I misjudged.”
The word lands heavier than the criticism.
“You didn’t,” I said quietly.
A faint shift in his expression. Almost approval.
“Good. Then prove it.”
The silence stretches.
Two nights ago, that same voice gave very different instructions. Now it sliced cleanly through corporate air.
“You can go,” he said.
I turned toward the door, but his voice stopped me again.
“And Mr. Humphrey.”
I paused.
“No personal calls during work hours.”
“I haven’t…”
“This is a place of discipline,” he says, cutting me off before I could finish. “Remember that.”
“Yes, Mr. Hayes.”
I stepped out, it felt as though I had just been poured a bucket of cold water.
Back at my desk, I redid every summary from scratch, making them cleaner and sharper, I dug into themes, market angles and comparable titles.
I invested myself in it because that was safer than thinking about why he looked at me like he was measuring restraint.
Around noon, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
I ignored it.
It vibrates again.
And again.
Excusing myself quietly, I stepped into the hallway and glanced at the screen.
It was my sister.
I answered immediately. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Jake,” she says, voice small. “Mama’s prescription. The pharmacy says…”
“Slow down. What happened?”
“They said the insurance didn’t cover everything.
They need the rest before they release it.”
“How much?”
She tells me.
It’s manageable.
“I’ll handle it,” I responded. “Don’t worry.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m at work right now, okay? I’ll call you later.”
“Okay. And Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m proud of you.”
The words hit unexpectedly.
“Thanks,” I say softly.
“Mr. Humphrey.”
My entire body stiffened.
Nathan stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, keeping his expression unreadable.
I ended the call. “It was my sister, my mom is….”
“I don’t recall asking for details.”
“I stepped out.”
“You stepped out without notifying anyone.”
“It was urgent.”
He stepped closer.
“This office does not bend for personal inconvenience,” he said quietly. “If you cannot separate your private life from your professional responsibilities, you will not last here.”
“My family isn’t an inconvenience.”
His gaze sharpens slightly at the edge in my voice. “Lower your tone,” he said.
I inhale slowly. “Yes, Mr. Hayes.”
“Good. Because if I have to repeat myself, it won’t be in the hallway.”
The implication is clear.
“I understand.”
He held my gaze for a second longer, then stepped back. “Return to your desk.”
I watched him walk away, frustration simmering beneath the surface. He has no idea what I balance every day. Or maybe he does and simply doesn’t care.
The rest of the afternoon stretched long.
Every correction he gives me is precise. Every comment made me feel worse than the last one.
“Your analysis lacks conviction.”
“This comparison is lazy.”
“Think bigger.”
He did not raise his voice. He did not insult me.
But he did not soften either.
By five o’clock, I was drained, I just needed to get home and sleep.
Most employees began packing up. Laughter trickles through the hallway as people discuss dinner plans.
I shut down my computer slowly.
“Mr. Humphrey.”
Of course.
I look up.
“In my office.”
Again.
I followed him inside for the second time that day.
He closes the door.
“You improved,” he says. It almost sounds reluctant.
“Thank you.”
“But you allowed emotion to interfere earlier.”
“It was my family.”
“I am aware.”
“Then you understand.”
“I understand that distraction weakens performance at any level.”
The air between us thickened.
“Are you usually this hard on people, you’re harder on me today than everyone else,” I said before I could stop myself.
His eyes narrowed slightly, he wasn't angry.
“Do you want me to treat you like everyone else?”
It’s not a question meant to be answered casually.
“No.”
“Then accept the difference.”
The words hung between us.
He stepped closer.
“You think I’m punishing you,” he continued quietly. “I’m not. I’m eliminating weakness.”
My throat felt dry. “You assume I’m weak.”
“I assume you’re capable of being better.”
“And if I fail,” I ask.
“Then you don’t belong here.”
“And do I belong here,” I press.
“You’re dismissed.” He ends the conversation.
I walked out with my head spinning.
The elevator doors open just as I reach them. I step inside.
And then, before the doors close, Nathan enters too.
Of course he does.
The space is narrow, and filled up by silence.
He stood beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him through layers of fabric.
Neither of us spoke.
The numbers above the door begin to descend.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
The elevator seemed to take way longer than it usually would.
Four.
Three.
I wonder if he remembered the way I said his name that night. If he remembers the way I…
The elevator jerked violently, pulling me out of my thoughts.
The lights flickered, then everything goes dark.
A sharp metallic sound echoes through the shaft as the elevator stops abruptly.
“What was that?” I asked, to no one in particular
“oh this damn engineers.” Nathan murmured under his breathe, though I could hear it.
We were stuck together on the elevator somewhere between the floors
- Writer
