Chapter 9
When Kenji Sullivan showed up in the client’s conference room, my heart sank. This job came recommended by a friend; it involved documenting the client’s promotional efforts over the past year. My role was to capture images tailored to the client’s needs, while a colleague handled the promotional tasks. I never expected the model I needed to photograph would be Kenji Sullivan.
Recently, his career had skyrocketed. He had moved from print ads to dynamic commercials, and his face now lit up the LED screens at mall entrances. After saying goodbye to my coworkers one evening, I went to bed early. The next morning, I found Kenji, in the same clothes as the day before, crouched by my doorstep. As soon as I opened the door, he looked at me with a pleading expression.
“Emmeline, have you really given up on me?”
I quickly shut the door. It felt like I’d seen a ghost. Kenji pounded so loudly that it echoed down
the hall.
“Emmeline, I’m your client now. You have to meet my needs! I’m starving; I need food,” he shouted, causing the neighbors to take notice. Reluctantly, I opened the door again.
“Are you finished?”
Kenji lunged forward to hug me. “I knew you’d come around.”
I pushed him away and handed him a sandwich. Instantly, he looked at me with teary eyes.
“You know I’m gluten intolerant,” he complained.
Of course, I knew. I opened the sandwich and took a bite myself. “I can deal with it,” I replied, though it was him I couldn’t handle. His touch made my skin crawl, every part of me recoiling in
rejection.
As Kenji tried to approach, I held out a hand to stop him. “Mr. Sullivan, we’re just working together. If you keep this up, I’ll report you for harassment.”
My serious tone seemed to jolt Kenji. His hand hung awkwardly in the air. “Emmeline, you’ve changed so much in a few months…”
I let out a dry laugh and pushed him out the door again. “Then pretend you don’t know me. That Emmeline is long gone.”
I chose not to go to the office that day. Instead, I asked a colleague to cover for me, letting go
of a six-figure contract without a care. My best friend praised my decision. Kenji, on the other hand, was furious.
On the first day of shooting, he lost his temper at the photographer, slamming their work and insisting the photos made him look ridiculous. After the team reviewed the images, everyone agreed that Kenji had lost his mind. By the countless time he had a meltdown, the project team
went on strike.
The next day, I heard the news. Kenji had been replaced. All the amazing opportunities he had were undone by his own actions.
