Hot Maui Nights

I haven’t had contact with Sariah in almost forty-eight hours, over two thousand minutes, and they have been the most excruciating moments of my life. My heart has been in my throat the entire time, and as our employees filter into the conference room, my hands sweat.

Braedon is kicking off the meeting and talking about the firm’s current financial position and the strategy for the next five years. Then Linda from HR will talk about employee benefits and the new Roth IRA program. And then I plan to do my standard spiel where I start with a recap of the retreat, announce our quarterly award winners, and end with my big announcement.

Linda stays on stage with me as Gary flips through a presentation of photos submitted by our employees from the retreat. Most are silly. Fun with drinks at the pools, Sariah and Rivka and a couple others pulled up on stage at the luau, brightly colored fish at the reefs of Molokai, groups of employees out at dinner together. Braedon and I have created a great group of innovative and intelligent people, which makes this next part uncomfortable as Linda leaves the stage.

As our employee’s laughter dies down, I pinpoint Sariah in the third row. She’s not laughing with the rest of them. Instead, she’s barely looking at the stage, and certainly not making eye contact with me, which pains me to no end.

“Before we go our separate ways for the day, I have a final announcement to make.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide as she zeroes in on me.

I take the opportunity to talk to her—specifically her—as I address my four-hundred plus employees. “Yesterday, I handed in my resignation.”

There are audible gasps in the room, but it’s the look on Sariah’s face that has my attention.

“Effective immediately, I am no longer managing the day-to-day activities of Taylor and Morvick. Obviously, I’ll still be on the board and will still be involved at some level—I mean, my name is on the building after all…”

A few employees chuckle at my lame joke.

“However, I’ll no longer be anyone’s boss. Instead, we’ll be rolling out a new management structure that will open up opportunities for those of you dedicated to our vision and your career advancement.”

Sariah’s jaw is slack, her eyes teary, but set on me like I want them.

“Does anyone have questions?” I tear my gaze from her to look around the room. A few hands go up.

I point to the first one I see. “Bill?”

“When will the new organizational structure be made available?”

Linda steps forward. “This is very new, and we’re still ironing out the details, but I hope to have it rolled out before next Friday.”

I nod at her and point to someone else. “Mary?”

“Will we have opportunity to apply or are you hand selecting for these positions? And will they be open to outside applicants?”

“All opportunities will be internal only and posted as they come up.” Linda says.

Sariah tentatively puts her hand up.

I nod. “Sariah?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

She shakes her head. “Why are you giving up your position? This is your company, your baby.”

I chuckle and bow my head, shoving my sweaty hands in my pockets. “True. Braedon and I started Taylor and Morvick over ten years ago, and together with all of you, we’ve created an amazing firm—but things have changed for me. Recently, I fell in love, and I had to decide—her or my company title. There was no question, it’s her. It’s always been her. It will always be her.”

Sariah bites her bottom lip, tears streaming down her face. She’s blocked in by four or five employees sitting on either side of her, so when she jumps up and scurries out of the conference room, it’s noticeable, and although everything within me tells me to run after her, I don’t. Outing ourselves now obliterates the entire reason I resigned.

I glance around the room, any other words I should speak no longer mattering. “My email address will still work, and as I said, my name will stay on the building. So, if you want to check in from time to time, my open door policy still stands.” I shove the microphone into Braedon’s hand and step aside, thankful when he immediately dismisses the employees. As soon as a handful of them stand, I attempt to rush out of the conference room after Sariah, but I assume that the clueless employees within our ranks didn’t connect Sariah’s sudden departure to my proclamation of love because too many of them rush forward to congratulate me.

It takes me almost ten minutes to get out of the conference room, and by then, I have no idea where Sariah is.

Back at her desk, maybe.

Out of the office, rushing to anywhere I can’t corner her, probably.

Entering my office, I jump back when a thick packet of post-its smack the wall near my head. Sariah is standing in front of my desk, her hand raised and ready to shoot. What is she holding? A stress ball? Well, that seems fitting.

I glance outside my office, thankful that most people planned to go home after the all-hands, and close my door, flipping the lock. “Why are you throwing things at me?”

“Why did you resign?”