My Rise, Her Regret

In my third month of employment, I realized that my colleagues were calling me an old geezer behind my back.

This nickname came from Wanda Stewart’s arrogant and ambitious assistant.

I had hit the age of 32, but was still clinging onto the last vestiges of hope of marriage after eight long years of our relationship.

I asked Wanda, “Do you know that your subordinates call me an old geezer?”

She said without batting an eyelid, “That’s just the way Samuel is. He’s just a straight-talker and he’s just kidding. You’re already 32, are you seriously fussing about this?”

She then chuckled, “You two are really alike.”

My heart turned cold. Turns out that eight years of my youth were nothing but a joke to her.

I turned to leave, resigning from my post and blocking her.

Yet, the woman who was always so calm and cool started panicking.

“Jansen Graham, please come back to me.”

The first time I clearly heard them calling me an old geezer was at our regular meeting on Monday.

Samuel had his head bowed as he listened to me lecturing him, his eyes turning red.

Someone muttered under his breath during the break, “He’s really an old geezer who loves mistreating handsome young men.”

I froze at the remark, which caused a ripple effect that grew into torrents of whispered rumors and gossip.

“He’s totally abusing his authority and venting his frustrations on the young man.”

“He’s already 32 years old and still harping on his eight-year-long relationship. How stubborn and narrow-minded of him, really.”

I put down my glass and silence immediately ensued in the meeting room.

All their gazes landed on me, as though I were the one at fault.

Samuel pressed a napkin to the corner of his eye.

“Mr. Graham, I’ll check through the data again.”

“Not check through, but re-do.”

I tried to ignore the piercing pain in my chest and said coldly.

“I want to see the accurate analysis report and remediation plan tomorrow morning before the meeting.”

My gaze swept across everyone in the meeting room, including those gossipmongers.

“The meeting is adjourned.”

I stood up and left the meeting room.

Hushed whispers surged up again like a tide.

This time, even more unbridled than it was before.

“Why is he acting all high and mighty? He only got to the position of director because of Ms. Stewart.”

“The old geezer just flew into a rage. Did his mid-life crisis come early?”

When I arrived back in my own office, I received a notification on my computer of an incoming email from the internal system.

I clicked it open, only to be greeted by a shocking title, “Suggestions for optimizing management communication approaches and caring for our employees’ mental health.”

The sender was the HR director, but I knew who was behind this.

Samuel’s tears spoke volumes more than my performance report.

Just as I closed the page with a cold snort, Wanda’s call came in.

She