They Stole My Project , Now the CEO Is Begging Me Back

Kenneth shot me a glare but stepped aside to clear the aisle.

I stood and walked into the director's office, every pair of eyes in the department following me like spectators at a show.

Edmund gestured for me to sit. I didn't move.

"Mr. James, just say what you need to say."

He flashed me the same fake smile I'd been looking at for nine years.

"The decision to reassign the Cloudridge project lead was made by senior management after careful consideration."

His fingers tapped the desk in that habitual rhythm of his.

"Kenneth has the credentials and the connections. He's a better fit for this project. You've been in this industry long enough to understand how these things work without me spelling it out."

"But I've been on this for a year!" My eyes burned. "Do you have any idea how many doors got slammed in my face? How many people looked right through me? How many nights I worked until dawn?"

"Not a single person in this department believed in this project. I wrote the proposal alone. I coordinated with every agency alone. I drafted every design and drew every blueprint alone. And now that we're about to sign, you hand it to someone else? How is that fair?"

"Ronnie," he said, switching to that patronizing, fatherly tone. "I'll admit you contributed to this project. But let's be honest, it was the company's platform that made it possible. On your own, you couldn't have gotten past the front gate at Cloudridge."

He looked at me, his eyes carrying the weight of a lecture he clearly enjoyed giving.

"You came here straight out of school. All these years, without the company investing in you, would you even have a salary? A design fee? People shouldn't forget where they came from. Show some gratitude."

"Gratitude?"

I laughed. Not because anything was funny.

"My second year here, the company landed a rush project right before the holidays. Everyone left. On New Year's Eve, I was the only person in this entire building, revising design drafts alone. After the contract was signed, you didn't mention my name once at the meeting. No design fee. No overtime pay."

"Two years ago, when Chen's project blew up, I'd just come out of surgery for appendicitis. You called me in to fix the drafts. The strain tore my stitches open and I had to get re-sutured. Afterward, you told Mr. Delgado it was a 'team effort.'"

"And now you want to lecture me about gratitude? Tell me, which one of us actually has none?"

I held his gaze.

"Everyone in this department, yourself included, takes freelance jobs on the side. Have I ever? Not once. Not even a five-hundred-square-foot apartment renovation for a few hundred bucks. Every single project went through the company's books. You told me not to forget where I came from. Have you remembered any of that?"

Edmund's face cycled through shades of red and white before settling into something dark.

"Ronnie! Watch your tone! You want to know why everyone froze you out? Why you got zero votes? Maybe take a look in the mirror!"

"I'll ask you one last time. The designs. Are you handing them over or not?"

"No."

Not a second of hesitation.

"Then I take it you don't want this job anymore?"

"Take it however you like."

He was visibly seething.

"Fine. Don't come crying to me later."

Without another word, I unclipped my ID badge and set it on his desk.

"Don't worry. I won't."

I walked out of the director's office and headed for the restroom.

At the door, I heard Kenneth inside, on the phone.

"Hello, is this Mr. Delgado's direct line at Cloudridge Corp? This is Kenneth Fletcher, the new project lead from Pinnacle Design. I'll be handling things from here on out. Would it be possible to go over some details with Mr. Delgado?"

He didn't have it on speaker, but the restroom was dead silent, and the voice on the other end came through crystal clear.

I recognized it immediately. Alfred Chavez, Mr. Delgado's assistant.

"I'm sorry, we haven't received any such notification. We only work with the designated point of contact for this project. That would be Ronnie Butler."

The dial tone after the hang-up was piercing.

Like a death knell.

Kenneth stood frozen, phone still pressed to his ear.

I walked in. He looked at me, panic written across his face.

"You heard that?"

I smiled, said nothing, and stepped into a stall.