Page 70 of Not Safe for Work

Thinking

Listening

Leading

Doing

Communicating

My pencil hovers over the empty circle next to leading, because I’m sure this is the correct answer. For a moment, I’m torn between responding the way they expect and how I really feel. I do want to lead, but maybe I’d actually rather be listening, and maybe that would make me a better leader.

Because I can’t seem to help myself, I look over at Rafe to find his head down and his dark hair falling into his eyes. I’ve done a lot of things in the past few weeks that some might call career-limiting moves. I blackmailed my boss and then made out with his son. And I can’t stop thinking about doing it again. The making out. Not the blackmail. Though I’m not ruling it out for future consideration.

Rafe said his father was pressuring him about the training program, and it occurs to me that it’s probably already been decided. I never stood a chance, and my answers don’t matter.

So, I look back at my paper and mount my own quiet rebellion by choosing to answer honestly. Maybe it really is time to give up on this and accept that while WMC was the only option I had five years ago, that isn’t true anymore. Despite everything, I’ve had the opportunity to cultivate many skills that would make me a valuable asset somewhere else.

Plus, I’m so tired of trying to win over a corporation that refuses to be won.

I darken the circle next to listening as pressure releases me from the box in which I’ve been contained. Maybe I’ll learn something important about myself instead of just being the person I think they all want me to be. I run through the rest of the questions on this test and every other one, being as honest and true to myself as I can.

Several hours later, we’re all tested out and finally allowed to go free. A low hum drones through the room as everyone discusses their answers and the questions. Rafe is watching me in a guarded way, but I turn away. I don’t know what I want to say to him, and I feel a headache coming on as pain forms behind my eyes.

My phone rings as I’m walking back to the suite. It’s Molly. I’ve been remiss in providing her with updates, so I dig out my earphones before answering and am greeted with a petulant lower lip thrust that would put most toddlers to shame.

“Hi,” I say. “I know. I know.”

“Where. Have. You. Been?”

“Busy?” My gaze darts away, knowing she’s about to call me on my bullshit.

“Trishara. Tell me what’s going on this instant. Why do you look so guilty?”

I look around. I’m alone, but I lower my voice anyway.

“We kissed.”

She leans in closer to the screen, scrunching her nose. “Who kissed?”

“Rafe. Me and Rafe—”

Molly lets out a screech so loud I almost drop the phone as she finishes off the final shreds of my eardrums that Whistle Mouth hasn’t already claimed.

“You kissed!”

“Yes. Stop freaking out!”

“Just a kiss?”

“Yes! Why?”

Her eyes grow so wide they fill the screen. “Why?! You kissed. I am so excited!” She screams again, and I flinch. “I can’t believe you stopped at a kiss and didn’t fuck each other senseless with all that pent-up angst.”

“What are you talking about? There is no angst!”

She rolls her eyes. “Tris, you can’t possibly expect me or anyone to believe that you haven’t been into Rafe for years.”

I open my mouth and close it. “What do you mean, anyone? Who else knows this?”