If there's anything my crazy Aunt Milly and I share, it's meditation hours and spa nights. Right now, I could use both. My thoughts drifted to Ms. Fallon, and I couldn't help but worry for her when he asked about her knowledge of the Italian language. I prayed he wouldn't treat her the way he had treated me on our business trip to Italy. The incident that nearly cost me my job happened during my first year with him.
After an important dinner in Milano, he cornered me in the hotel lobby, his frustration spilling over while nervous hotel staff looked on. According to him, I had "ruined" the dinner by violating the dress code—thanks to my newly dyed hair. It had been a silly mistake. Maybe I was simply caught up in the joy of finally being abroad. With a free afternoon in Milano, I decided to get my hair done. That joy and confidence evaporated the second he snapped:
"Cut it off."
That was his solution.
"I can dye it back," I stammered. "The hairdresser—"
"That will only ruin your strands. Just cut it off."
He reminded me—loudly—that I had signed papers agreeing to abide by company rules, despite my supposed background in jobs that allowed me to "dress like a homeless woman." That one stung. My previous jobs hadn't required strict dress codes, but I had always taken pride in dressing well. Ironically, that was how I landed this position in the first place. For him to compare me to a homeless woman—it cut deep.
That was our first real argument, and it happened in public. He was ready to walk toward his suite, dismissing me as if the conversation were over. But I couldn't let it go. I snapped back that I barely slept thanks to his constant last-minute tasks. And because I was already in my feelings, I blurted out something I never should have: that I missed my family. Why I expected empathy from him, I'll never know.
"You have a phone," he said flatly, without turning around. "You can call them."
That was the breaking point. I did something I swore I'd never do in front of him: I burst into tears.
"I'm trying my best," I sobbed, "but you constantly lecture me. About everything."
He didn't so much as glance back. He simply walked toward the shiny elevators and delivered his parting shot:
"If you don't like being lectured, then do your job perfectly."
That trip nearly broke me. I was ready to quit the moment we got back to California. I felt practically naked with my pixie cut—one he made no comment on. I knew I looked terrible with short hair. I was glad he kept his mouth shut about the new style. I desperately wanted to quit. But that was the year my aunt lost her home, and we needed a steady paycheck.
The memory simmered as I collapsed onto my bed. Fueled by a mix of undisputed anger, I drafted an email: I would be leaving Monday, and I would not be tutoring anyone in Italian. Clicking send filled me with a surge of pride. I poured myself a glass of wine from the minibar on my vanity, savoring that small rebellion. But my pride faltered when, instead of an email reply, my phone buzzed with a text. Strange—I expected him to open it in the morning. He was usually asleep by now.
Fabrizi: There are some projects you need to look over about the new lace designs.
I clicked my tongue. I was ten steps ahead of him.
Marcie: Yes, and the presentation for the new lace designs is already complete. The paperwork is on my desk and ready for the upcoming meeting.
Fabrizi: I don't tolerate talk back, Ms. Marcie.
Marcie: Sorry, sir. Only keeping you updated on what's already done.
It took him twenty minutes to respond. By then, I was pouring my second glass.
Fabrizi: Since everything on your side is strategically done way too early, I need you to join me for dinner tomorrow at a new restaurant in Malibu.
I nearly laughed.
I thought he had no time for "experiments."
The timing couldn't have been more perfect. I'd just received another invitation—to a "Welcome to the Team" dinner for Ms. Fallon.I wrote back to Mr. Fabrizi, claiming I wouldn't be able to attend due to "personal tasks" before my departure. Then I turned off my phone without a second thought about inviting him to Fallon's dinner.