"Drew, how old are you? Seriously, grow up," she said, her tone light and dismissive.
The way she looked at me, I might as well have been a child throwing a fit over nothing.
"Trivial?"
My voice was quiet, but the air in the office seemed to go still.
"In front of the entire company, you peeled shrimp for your assistant. You drank from his glass."
"And you call that trivial?"
Cheryl answered without a shred of concern.
"Douglas hurt his hand yesterday. What's wrong with me peeling a few shrimp for him?"
She stood, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.
"Drew, don't you think you're being a little oversensitive?"
"As for the wine glass," she added lazily, "I just grabbed the wrong one. Since when did you become so petty?"
Cheryl loved getting her nails done. She hated peeling shrimp more than anything.
She was also a germaphobe who never shared a glass with anyone. Not even me.
I knew all of this. My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms.
She was always like this. She could always use that effortlessly dismissive tone to make my feelings sound worthless.
Just then, a soft knock came at the office door.
"Sorry to interrupt. Is this a bad time?"