LEAVE PROPOSAL

The next morning, I sat at my desk, staring at the glowing screen in front of me. My email was open, the cursor blinking right next to my carefully worded proposal for leave. It felt like I’d rewritten it a dozen times, trying to make it sound professional while practically begging to get out of here for the cruise.

The dream cruise. My dream cruise. The boat cruise I'd been more than opportuned to go on, one I had already mentally calculated. And yeah, Charles was going to be there, but I wasn’t about to let him ruin everything. I’d spent enough time letting him get in my head. Not this time.

I took a deep breath, my fingers hovering over the mouse. Robert had suggested I take some time off so I could cruise in peace. He made it sound so easy, like I could just ask for it and get it, no problem. But this was Ms. Thatcher I was dealing with. My boss. The ice queen herself. Still, it was worth a shot. I couldn’t not go just because Charles was going to be there.

“I’ll deal with that later,” I mumbled to myself, then clicked Send.

The email swooshed off into cyberspace, and I immediately regretted it. My stomach twisted in knots as I imagined all the ways this could go wrong. What if she said no? Or worse, what if she ignored it? That woman was always so damn unpredictable.

I tried to focus on work, but I was distracted. My fingers tapped restlessly on the keyboard, filling out a report I barely cared about. It wasn’t long before my phone buzzed. I glanced down at it and saw the notification: Ms. Thatcher wants to see you in her office.

Oh, great. That didn’t sound good.

With a sigh, I pushed back my chair and made my way to her office, dreading whatever was about to happen. I could already feel the tension building in my shoulders. Ms. Thatcher had this way of making you feel small, like nothing you did was ever good enough.

When I knocked on her door and heard her sharp “Come in,” I knew this wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Sophia,” she said the second I stepped inside, not even bothering to look up from the papers on her desk. “Sit.”

I obeyed, sinking into the chair in front of her, trying to steady my nerves. Her office was just as cold and uninviting as she was—gray walls, black furniture, and that god-awful fluorescent lighting that made everything look washed out.

“So, you want to take time off for a... rest,” she said, her voice dripping with disapproval as she finally looked up at me, pushing her glasses down her nose. “Is that right?”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve been planning it for some days now. It’s really important to me.”

“Important?” She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching in what looked like amusement. “You know what’s important, Sophia? Getting your work done. And from where I’m sitting, you have quite a bit of work that needs doing. More than enough to keep you here. Not off on some....

I clenched my fists in my lap, trying not to lose my cool. This was so like her. Ms. Thatcher acted like nothing in life mattered except for work. Like we were supposed to be robots or something, programmed to grind away at our desks day after day with no breaks.

“But—” I started, but she cut me off.

“I’m going to be blunt, Sophia. I’m not approving your leave request. I don’t have time to deal with whatever ‘rest’ you think you deserve right now. We have deadlines, projects piling up, and quite frankly, you’re needed here.”

I blinked, my mind racing. She really wasn’t going to let me go. Just like that. “I... I’ve worked hard. I haven’t taken a vacation in over a year. I—”

“And you’ll get your vacation,” she interrupted, leaning back in her chair with a condescending smile. “When there’s time for it. Right now, there’s not. So I suggest you refocus your energy on what’s in front of you instead of chasing after some silly cruise.”

Silly?

What the actual fuck is wrong with Ms. Thatcher?Arghhh I hate this damn woman more than I hate pickles. I clenched my fists as I stood up, barely holding back my frustration. She always acted like this—like she owned the world and everyone in it. I’d worked my ass off for months, barely taken any breaks, and she had the nerve to call my dream vacation "silly"?

I could feel my face burning as I walked out of her office, trying not to slam the door behind me. How the hell am I supposed to make this work now? The cruise was supposed to be my escape, my chance to get away from all this. And here she was, acting like I was asking for the moon.

My mind raced with options on how to convince her to approve this leave, but nothing seemed possible. No way in hell was I letting her ruin this for me. I deserved this trip. And then it hit me—Robert.

He’d said something before, hadn’t he? He had clearly stated that if applying for a leave doesn't work, he could pull some strings,” he’d told me over the phone yesterday. I hadn’t thought there would be a need for it if Ms. Thatcher would approve my proposal for the leave, so I didn't take it seriously at the time, but now? Oh, this was definitely the time to call in that favor.

I unlocked my phone and went to the phone app, scrolling for his number as I headed back to my desk. She thinks she can stop me? Well, we’ll see about that. If Ms. Thatcher wasn’t going to let me go, Robert sure as hell would make it happen.