This is it. Your time is now.
Sloane Dell beamed at Candace, her boss and the director of marketing at Organic Chemistry, who was seated across the glass desk from her. Sloane had put in the hours, the less-than-desirable assignments (which sometimes included literally scooping up dog poop) as a social media assistant at the organic pet food company for the last three years. But it was all for a good cause. The promotion to social media manager was about to be hers. Finally.
Candace’s head was bent down as she reviewed Sloane’s work file, no doubt cataloging all the metaphorical gold stars Sloane had received from colleagues over the years.
Sloane is the best! Sloane is such a team player! Sloane comes up with the best, most innovative ideas! We couldn’t survive without her!
Okay, maybe that last one wouldn’t be in there, even though it was true. She wasn’t cocky, but she loved her job and was good at it.
Sloane’s smile spread as Candace lifted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. Her bright pink lipstick had started to bleed in the right corner.
Concentrate, Sloane! Now’s not the time.
Candace cleared her throat and adjusted the black frames that always seemed to be slipping down her nose. “Thanks for coming to see me, Sloane. I wanted to let you know we enjoy having you here at Organic Chemistry.”
Here it came. The big promotion. Sloane’s chest swelled with hope and excitement. She was already starting to think of all the ideas she wanted to implement to further the company’s goals, the student loan payments she could increase . . .
“. . . believe you still need more experience before you can move up to the manager position.”
“Tha—” The rest of that word petered out as Candace’s words sank through Sloane’s body like a lead stone, anchoring her to the stiff leather chair.
What the fuck?
Only the self-control she’d learned to assert over herself even through the most trying of times stopped her from blurting out that way-too-real question. Instead, she went with the much more sedate, more “professional” “Excuse me? Could you repeat that, please?”
Candace sighed and pushed up her glasses again. “Yes, it’s true. We agonized over this decision, but don’t feel putting you in a position you’re not quite ready for is the right move. It can only hurt your career.”
Such bullshit. Over the past two years, she’d put in countless hours for this company, come up with several campaigns that went viral, tripling their social media followers and directly correlating to an increase in sales, only for her immediate supervisor, the assistant director, Daniel, to take the credit. She’d let him get away with it because Sloane was a team player. And now her generosity had officially blown up in her face.
What a bunch of horseshit. Cow shit. Bear shit. Whatever excretions from whatever animal you could think of.
But she had to play the game.
After all, this was corporate America, where fakeness ruled and Black women were often punished for having the unmitigated gall to be both Black and female, so she was going to smile and play the game with the sunshiney-est smile possible. It was the only way to reach her ultimate goal of receiving the promotion she most definitely deserved. “I appreciate you looking out for me.”
Candace pressed a hand to her chest, the pink shade of her polish perfectly matching her lipstick, because appearances were always important. Her beady little green eyes gave off earnest vibes. “Thank you so much for understanding that this was such a tough decision for us. We agonized, but truly think this is the best for you.”
“I quit.”
Sloane froze. Wait. Who said that? The voice sounded familiar. Wait. She, Sloane Renee Dell, had said that. Sloane’s chest filled, not with panic, as she’d initially assumed, but a sense of rightness. Damn right she quit.
Candace’s mouth had fallen open in pure shock, her eyes bugging out behind her very tasteful, yet very expensive frames.
Sloane rose as a sense of purpose surged throughout her entire body. “I deserved that promotion. You know it. I know it. Everyone in this office knows it, and I’m not going to let you gaslight me into thinking it’s my fault you didn’t offer it to me. Consider this my resignation letter. I won’t need two weeks.”
Sloane whirled and strode confidently out of the office. With laser focus, she headed to her little cube—because offices were reserved for managers and directors and the like and not little pesky assistants who apparently didn’t deserve promotions. She quickly collected the few personal items she kept on her desk—the framed photo of her mom and siblings, her lucky shamrock plushy—and headed for the elevator.
Bethany, who worked in accounting, blinked when she saw Sloane. “Where are you going, Sloane?”
“I quit!”
Perhaps she’d said that a little too loudly, because heads began popping over the top of cubicle walls like the creatures in the Whac-A-Mole arcade game. She regally nodded at them all and gave them her best Duchess Meghan wave as she glided down the hall.
Her best friend, Felicia, the admin assistant, gave her a questioning look as she passed the front desk. Sloane shook her head but didn’t stop. Later. She would explain later. If she stopped now, she’d end up screaming at the top of her lungs about the injustice of it all and wind up being escorted off the property by building security.
Reality didn’t hit her until she was behind the wheel of her Mazda. Her vision went hazy for a second as she sucked in unsteady breaths.
Oh, God. What had she done? She had bills to pay. Student loans to whittle away at. She couldn’t quit a good job without another one lined up. But she had. She pressed a shaky hand to her abdomen. That mocha latte she’d treated herself to as a midday snack and pre-promotion celebration was now curdling in her stomach with the fury of sour milk.
But if the powers-that-be didn’t have her back, did she really want to work there?
No. She. Did. Not.From A Legend in the Baking by Jamie Wesley. Copyright © 2024 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.