Chapter 4
The Sherman Group's headquarters towered in the very center of Crownhill's CBD. Its thirty-six-story glass walls caught the sunlight, slicing through the skyline like a sword drawn from its sheath.
Nina was dressed in the black suit she'd splurged on yesterday for 1,000 dollars. It was the priciest thing in her wardrobe.
As she walked into the lobby, the receptionist looked at her with obvious curiosity. "Ms. Sherman, Mr. Sherman is waiting for you on the twenty-eighth floor."
"Thank you," Nina said.
She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the twenty-eighth floor. As the doors slid shut, she caught her reflection in the mirrored stainless steel.
At twenty-two, her features had the Shermans' trademark refinement, but her eyes carried a weight far heavier than most people her age. That heaviness wasn't something she was born with. It had been etched into her, year after year, by a lifetime of rejection.
On the twenty-eighth floor, in the CEO's office, William sat behind a massive walnut desk, a cup of coffee and a document in front of him.
He was in his early fifties, his hair perfectly styled, his suit custom-made, and the platinum cufflinks on his sleeves gleamed under the lights.
Beside him sat Brian.
Brian was thirty, a younger version of William, with a cool, steely gaze. He wore a deep gray cashmere coat, leaning back in his chair, absently spinning a pen between his fingers.
When Nina walked in, Brian gave her a quick once-over for two seconds before looking away.
In those two seconds, Nina could read it all over his face. Brian was asking, "What do you want this time?"
"Sit." William gestured to the chair across from him.
Nina sat with her back straight and her hands folded in her lap.
William slid the document across the desk. "I've looked over your resume. Your grades are solid, and you've got some internship experience. But VP at the Sherman Group isn't a job for a fresh grad. I suggest you start as a manager first."
"No," Nina said, her voice quiet but unwavering.
Brian's pen paused mid-spin.
"Dad." Nina locked eyes with William, "I want the VP of Retail position. If you think I'm not qualified, I'm willing to take a three-month trial period.
"During that time, I'll be in charge of the Retail Division. If I can't boost performance by at least fifteen percent, I'll resign. And I won't ask for a position here ever again."
William's brows arched slightly.
The Sherman Group's Retail Division hadn't grown for three years. The last VP of Retail pulled out all the stops and only managed a three percent bump last year. Fifteen percent? That was practically unheard of.
"Are you serious?" William asked.
"Yes."
"And if you can't hit that target?"
"I'll walk away for good and won't ask you for anything ever again."
William glanced at Brian.
Brian gave a slight nod, meaning, "Let her try. It's not our loss anyway."
"Alright," William said. "Three months as VP of Retail. If you achieve fifteen percent growth, you become official. If not, you leave."
Nina stood up and extended her hand. "Deal."
William regarded her hand, hesitated for a moment, then took it.
Nina's palm was dry, her grip perfectly measured.
Nina noticed that William didn't meet her eyes as they shook hands; instead, his attention shifted to the doorway.
Nina glanced in the same direction.
The CEO's office door was cracked open, and Yvonne was standing outside. She was dressed in a cream-colored sweater, her long hair draped over her shoulders, holding an insulated lunch bag.
She'd clearly overheard the conversation. For a split second, her expression flickered between surprise and hurt, but she quickly smoothed it over with a polite, dutiful-daughter smile.
"Dad, I brought you some soup." Yvonne pushed the door open and set the bag on the desk. Then, as if she'd just noticed Nina, she added, "Oh, Nina, you're here too? Are you guys talking business? I hope I'm not interrupting."
"No," William said, his face instantly softening when he saw Yvonne. It was a kind of warmth Nina had never seen from him before. "What brings you here? Is it cold outside?"
"It's not cold. I made a pot of chicken soup. Your throat's been acting up, and I thought you could use something warm," Yvonne said sweetly, setting the thermos on the desk.
Then she turned to Nina. "Nina, I didn't know you'd be here, so I only brought one serving. Should I pour half out for you?"
Her tone was perfectly apologetic, but Nina caught a flicker of triumph in her eyes.
It was as if Yvonne was saying, "See? Dad will always be mine. You can snatch the VP title all you want, but he cares about me, not you."
Nina smiled. "No, thanks. I don't care much for soup."
She turned and walked out of the CEO's office, her steps steady and her back straight.