Page 50 of Empowered

Something was wrong; I just knew it before he even answered. “Come in.”

I entered, scared of what I would find inside.

The office was dimly lit. Shyam was behind his desk, his eyes trained on the papers on his desk.

I closed the door behind me. The room was silent except for the sound of my sandals on the hard marble as I cautiously approached the front of the desk.

He didn’t speak or even look up at me.

“Hey,” I tried to break the tension, my voice heavy with concern.

“Have a seat,” he replied bluntly. No emotion—just to the point.

His demeanor was troubling. This wasn’t like the man I had known just twenty-four hours ago. That man was warm and loving. No. This was the man I had met in New York—cold and clinical. This was the man who took over my old company and refused to commit to me.

I didn’t listen to his order because I was too nervous to sit down. “What’s wrong?”

He finally looked up from his desk, his eyes holding mine. They were bloodshot and dark circles framed them, showing signs of stress and worry.

I walked quickly around the desk to his chair. “Babe. What happened?”

He stopped me before I could reach out and touch his face. He held out a sheet of paper in front of me, keeping me from getting closer to him.

“What’s this?” I asked, taking the paper from him.

He didn’t answer.

I read it, trying hard to get my eyes to focus on the words instead of listening to the storm of thoughts in my head. I only made it as far as the heading before I spoke. “A letter of recommendation?”

He nodded.

I didn’t understand. All these dramatics just for the letter of recommendation that I had asked for when I first agreed to help him track down Tarun?

“Um—thanks. Are you upset with me because I plan to use this to leave Sethi Tech?” If he wanted me to stay, he just had to tell me.

“No. I want you to leave.”

It had always been my plan to find an even better job one day, at another tech company, using this letter to help me. He knew this too, but hearing him say that he wanted me to leave crushed something inside of me. It was the way he said it—so detached, like he wanted me to leave forever.

“I’m not in a hurry to find a new job,” I said. “Maybe when we go back to New York, I’ll start looking for—”

He cut me off before I could finish, his tone final. “You’re not going back to New York.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

He handed me another document. A flight itinerary. I stared at the three capital letters of the destination airport in shock. The combination of sharp black ink and the emotionless font of the letters on the white bill mocked me.

The words came out as a whisper, hoping that it wasn’t true and that I was seeing things. “This says I’m going to Seattle—tomorrow?”

“I’ve notified my on-call flight crew and they will take you home tomorrow afternoon,” he said, dry like the words on the paper.

“Are you coming with me?” I asked hopefully. None of this made sense.

He hesitated before answering. “No. I’m going back to New York—without you.”

Realization dawned on me, knocking the air out of my lungs. “Are you breaking up with me?”

He diverted his eyes from mine, confirming my question.

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