Page 118 of True Colors

Vijay interrupted me too much.

“Sit.” I gesture to the client chair across from me.

She lets out a long, trembling breath and sinks into the chair, anger radiating off of her. My admission of fault leaves her nowhere to hide—because if I was wrong, then she was, too, and she won’t accept that.

“What you see as humiliation, Erin, I see as taking responsibility. I see it as a sign of integrity.”

“That’s not how the corporate world works, and you know it,” she snaps. “Executives don’t apologize. They don’t air their mistakes. You tanked your credibility.”

My father once told me about the Peter Principle, that in a hierarchy, every employee tends to rise to their level of incompetence. Erin has risen to hers. She doesn’t have the EQ to get past this point in her leadership journey.

“No, Erin, I didn’t tank my credibility, I clarified it.”

Her eyes narrow. Her nostrils flare. What I used to see as her determination is now just mule-headedness that doesn’t permit her to accept fault, learn from it, or grow from it.

“You’re being an idiot, Luther. You’re throwing away your career over a stuttering analyst.”

I could correct her—tell her this has nothing to do with Anouk and everything to do with my integrity—but Erin isn’t arguing in good faith. Right now, she’s too angry to appreciate nuance.

“She may be a great lay, but⁠—”

“See, you just crossed a line, two of them, in fact. One, by insulting Anouk, and the other, by insulting my relationship with her,” I cut her off calmly, tamping down the flare of temper that raced through me at how she talked about Anouk.

“You’re letting emotion cloud your judgment,” Erin fires back, telling me that she’s still not getting the point. “That woman is not right for you. She’s not polished, she’s not⁠—”

“Enough.”

She falters, surprised by the tone more than the word.

“Anouk is out of bounds.”

Erin scoffs. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need it,” I tell her. “I don’t need you.” What I require is people like Vijay and Dot who will stop me from letting my insecurities run amok.

Her mouth opens, then closes again.

“I know you think you know what’s going on between Anouk and me. But you don’t. It’s not a fling, Erin. I’m in love with her.” And she was in love with me until I fucked it up.

Surprise flashes in her eyes. “You’re letting the personal interfere in the professional.”

A dry, cutting chuckle slips past my lips. “We all do that. It’s called being human. Just a while ago, you asked me if we could be more than colleagues, Erin,” I remind her. “How professional was that?”

Her eyes fill, and the hardness in her—the anger—crumbles, leaving only hurt behind.

My parents were right. Again.

Erin’s motives were personal. She wanted to erase Anouk because she wanted me. And I allowed it because I was terrified of letting my father see how unprepared I was.

“You’re choosing her over your future.” There’s a slight tremor in her voice, and I hear the subtext, “You’re choosing her over me.”

“I’m choosing myself.”

She stares at me, searching for the version of me that used to defer, to listen, to let her steer the narrative. When she doesn’t find him, her expression curdles. Her lips curl into a smirk, her eyes blazing with irritation. “You’re making a mistake, Luther.”

“Maybe, but it’s mine to make,” I admit.

She shakes her head. “You disappoint me.”