The Breaking Point

The end of everyone's rope is a little nearer or farther than others'

"Mr. Tennebaum! Orleance is in conference room two. They're waiting for you."

No answer.

"Mr. Tenn-- Jack, get out of the damn closet, I know you're in there!"

A whispered response from behind a tasteful dark maple panel. "Tell them I'm not here! I can't face them like this!"

Dorice sighed. She knew the time was coming, and it pained her. Somewhat. "You can't hide from the client, sir! Get! In! That! Conference! Room!"

An overweight man emerged from the hidden closet. He was wearing a suit that was at least three sizes to small, and his face was covered in tiny red dots applied with a marker. He looked at his executive assistant mournfully.

"See? Okay? Please, Dorice. Tell them I'm not here. Or tell them I'm sick, that's true... kind of. Tell them—"

"Jesus Christ! What is going on with you?! What's all over your face?!"

"Dry cleaning incident? Yes, they must used the wrong chemical on my suit; it just keeps getting smaller! Yes. And I'm apparently allergic to the stuff, too!" He pointed exaggeratedly to his face.

Dorice looked at her boss in horror. He was right, there was absolutely no way he could face the Orleance people like this.. She would have to—

"You do it, Dorice! You know the pitch inside and out. You do it!"

"Sir—"

Jack Tennebaum looked surprised and terrified as he began weep uncontrollably and mumble incoherently. He sat in his chair, slowly coming unglued. It was something Dorice had prepared for, having seen the signs of this breakdown coming.

"Please sign this paper, sir. While you can still save your company..."

"I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Tennenbaum is... no longer here. I'll be discussing your account today," said Dorice, the brand new freshly inked CEO of Nortington's Inc.

NOTES: ▶︎

Word Count: 300
Submitted for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Use the phrase "Tell them I'm not here."

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