This was how he always apologized—indirectly. Whenever he knew he’d gone too far but couldn’t bring himself to say sorry, he’d offer this kind of half-hearted gesture.
I used to think that was affection. I would even take the chance to tease him a little.
Now I realized, it was nothing but a way to keep me within reach—his little reward to keep me obedient.
So, I replied, [Don’t bother. I've already booked a masseuse.]
As usual, the team was hosting a celebratory dinner for the promotion, yet I used my massage appointment as a polite excuse.
But before I could leave, Yvette grabbed my arm, eyes full of wounded innocence.
“Eliza, do you look down on me for beating you out of the promotion? Is that why you’re refusing to come?” she asked softly. “Anyone else can skip it, but not you. I want your genuine blessing.”
I frowned and drew in a breath to respond.
But the same Sean, who had just agreed to let me go, suddenly spoke up on her behalf.
“Everyone else is going. It wouldn’t look good if you’re the only one skipping,” he said. “Don’t be so petty. As a senior, you should show some grace. Don’t let others laugh at you.” Then he also added, “You can get a massage any day.”