Chapter 2
Eight years ago, when I first joined that company, I knew nothing.
I was twenty-five, fresh out of grad school. I'd sent out over thirty résumés. They were the only ones who called me back.
The interviewer was Grace Thomson, the HR director. She was in her early forties and got straight to the point.
She asked, "You have no sales experience. Your degree isn't even related. Why should we hire you?"
"I can learn," I said.
She shook her head. "Sales isn't something you just learn out of a book. Do you know how much our top performer closed last year?"
"No."
"Fifteen million dollars." She held my gaze. "Do you think you can do that?"
"I can try."
She laughed.
"Alright," she said. "Let's see what you've got."
*****
I found out later she'd just been in a good mood that day.
Her daughter had gotten into college, in the same graduating class as me, and also studied law.
She told me I reminded her of her daughter—polite, but stubborn.
"Naomi," she said on my first day, "in this business, it's not about your degree. It's not about how you look. It comes down to one thing. That is endurance."
"Endurance?" I blinked.
"Yeah," she said. "You outlast the clients. You outlast your coworkers. You outlast yourself. The first one who burns out is done."
Back then, I didn't really get it.
Later, I did.
Sales wasn't glamorous. It was survival.
*****
My first account was a small construction supplier out in the suburbs.
The owner was in his fifties, old-school, and barely looked at me.
I showed up six times. He brushed me off every time.
On the seventh visit, he finally asked, "Why are you in sales?"
"To make money," I said.
He grinned. "At least you're honest."
Then he leaned back in his chair. "You know what matters most in sales? Not your pitch. Not your smile, but thick skin."
"What?"
"Thick skin." He tapped his desk. "I've been in business thirty years. I've met hundreds of reps. The ones who make it? They don't embarrass easily.
"You came here seven times. I ignored you every single time. And you still came back. That's thick skin."
That day, he signed my first contract.
It was only for thirty thousand dollars—not a big number, but it felt massive to me.
*****
After that, it was the same pattern on repeat.
I'd chase a lead, get rejected, follow up, and get rejected again.
Year one: I sold a hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of business, ranking third from the bottom.
Year two: I closed four hundred and fifty thousand dollars—still below average.
Year three: I brought in one and a half million dollars, making the top five.
Year four: I was number one.
I'd closed six million dollars in deals.
*****
At the annual company meeting that year, I walked onstage to accept the award. The applause was loud.
People were smiling. Someone shouted, "Naomi's a beast!"
I stood there holding the trophy, and all I could think about was what Grace had said.
She said, "The first one who burns out is done."
I lasted four years.
And I won.
What I didn't expect was this: winning wasn't the end of the grind.
It was the beginning of something else.
*****
In my fifth year, the company brought in a new Sales Director from headquarters.
Her name was Jessica Lewis. She was thirty-five, with a polished résumé and a polished smile.
At her first team meeting, she sat at the head of the table and looked us over one by one. "I've heard Naomi was last year's top performer?"
I nodded.
"Good," she said lightly. "Let's hope you can keep it up."
It sounded encouraging. It wasn't.
"Keep it up" wasn't praise.
It was a warning.
The months that followed proved my instincts right.
Jessica didn't like me.
Or maybe she just didn't like anyone who made her look replaceable.
That year, I closed seven million dollars—more than the year before.
My bonus was seven thousand less.
"We've updated the performance metrics," Jessica announced at the department meeting. "It's affected everyone's payout."
So I checked.
I was the only one whose rating had dropped.
I asked her about it.
"It's a holistic evaluation," she said. "Naomi, strong numbers are great. But teamwork matters too."
"When have I not been a team player?" I asked.
"For example, you skipped the department dinner last month."
"I had a client meeting."
"Clients matter," she said evenly. "But so does the team. No one wins alone."
I didn't argue.
There was no point.
She had already decided what I was: a problem.
And I knew why.
My numbers made her nervous.
At the last quarterly meeting, Jacob Smith—the regional VP—had praised me in front of everyone and called me "the backbone of the department".
I remember Jessica's face.
She was smiling. Her eyes weren't.
After that, things shifted.
High-value accounts stopped landing on my desk.
I wasn't invited to key meetings.
Team events happened without me even knowing.
I went from "top performer" to invisible.
But that still wasn't the worst of it.
The worst was Horizon Development Group.