“Raina,” I replied back, my voice tight.
“Huh?” He twitched his head like a cocker spaniel.
“Not ‘girlie,’ Raina. And this girl, as you love to call me, brought you thousands of listeners, major sponsorship deals, and an offer for national syndication. Now you want to drop me because I told an asshole the truth?”
“The decision has been made, Ms. Williams.” Tony’s squinty brown eyes held no remorse.
I squeezed the cup in my hand so hard the lid popped. They made me drive twenty miles to get fired? Hell, they could’ve called or sent an email. And fucking Rhonda could’ve given me the heads-up. I shouldn’t be surprised that her by-the-book ass hadn’t bothered to call.
I threw a poisonous look at my ex-producer and took a deep breath to control the angry pulse thundering in my ears.
“We aren’t leaving you empty-handed.” Rhonda finally spoke up. She smoothed the sleeves on her wrist. “If you sign a confidentiality agreement, basically that you’ll not post anything negative about the station or the nature of your resignation—”
“Resignation!” I tilted my head back and laughed. It was hollow, hurt. Damn, but I hated to depend on people. I focused on my hands gripped around the cup, willing myself to keep it together. I would not cry. Not in front of Tony, who viewed me as merely a line item to cross off his to-do list. Or Franklin, who had never believed in me since day one. I used to take great pleasure during our Monday morning meetings when they announced the growing stats from my show. And I damn sure would not cry in front of Rhonda, who barely looked me in the eyes. She knew this was bullshit.
Rhonda slid the manila folder in front of me. I opened the packet and scanned the documents. Blah, blah, blah. Can’t discuss my forced retirement, can’t sue, no negative posts on social or other channels and . . . My eyes stopped and focused. They didn’t want me to discuss my experience as a host on the show for four years. Damn, I couldn’t sign this. My entire book was based off the bullshit stories from my crazy listeners.
After I reshuffled the papers back in order, I tapped the paper stack against the oak table. “I won’t be able to sign this.”
Rhonda bit her lip. “You do understand that this is the only way you can get your severance? We’re offering a month’s pay.”
The hell you say! I slid the pages back to Rhonda. “First of all, I’ve been working here for ten years, and you’re offering me pay for one month? I mean, do you think I’m that stupid?”
Franklin rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Yes.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself, Frankie.”
“Classy, Raina.” Franklin folded his arms across his chest. “Keep it up and you won’t get a red penny from us.”
“Oh, you’ll be giving me lots and lots of pennies. You see,” I cleared my throat, “what you should’ve done is had me sign an NDA when I started, but you were green, just like me, and you didn’t think I’d be as popular as I am.”
An angry red flush spread from Franklin’s neck to his face. Tony looked mildly intrigued and gave me a look a panther would give a mouse.
“Since I’ve been working here for ten years, brought in major sponsors—you’re welcome by the way”—I gave them all a gracious Ms. America smile—“I deserve far more than a red penny. I think I deserve one year, just a tenth of the time I’ve invested in this station.”
Franklin snorted. “You expect us to pay you for a year? You’re out of your mind.”
“Let me make this clear. Jamie’s good. In a few years, she’ll be great. But she isn’t there yet. My listeners are loyal, and they will boycott your ass. So, if you want me to keep my trap shut about the nature of my . . .” I turned to Rhonda. “What did you call it? Resignation, right? Yes, so if you want me to keep my silence, and don’t want me to reach out to the local news, blogs, hell, hire a skywriter that you guys pushed me out because I stood up for womankind, then . . .” I shrugged. “Welp, let’s just say things will get sticky for you.”
“Sticky?” Rhonda asked.
I folded my arms and leaned back in my seat. “Gorilla Glue sticky.”
Tony, who’d been silent during my exchange with his minions, tapped his long, manicured nails on the table. “You want us to pay you based on what? A handshake? I don’t think so.”
“I’ll sign the confidentiality agreement, modified, of course. I’ll agree to refrain from posting negative comments on social media and giving negative interviews. No-go on discussing my experience on the show. As a matter of fact,” I reached for the papers in front of Rhonda, “I’ll just review this with my lawyer”—i.e. Sienna.
Tony nodded. “Review the contract, send your changes, and we’ll go from there.”
“You can’t be serious!” Franklin jumped from his seat.
“She’s right.” Tony nodded to me. “The former owner should’ve had her sign the NDA. I’m not saying I agree to your terms, Ms. Williams, but I’ll review your changes with my attorneys.”
I stood and grabbed the entire tray of green tea bags, because I’m that damn petty. “Gentleman, lady.” I nodded to Tony and Rhonda.
“Rumpelstiltskin.” I winked at Franklin. “Didn’t think I would figure out your real name, did ya?” I said to the troll of a man. “Y’all have a good day. Tell Jamie I wish her good luck.”
I pasted on a smile, gave them a jaunty wave, and twirled on the balls of my feet. My smile didn’t waver, not when I told Sheila that I would no longer work for the station, nor when I said my final goodbye to Greg. Only when I closed the door to my car did I scream.
“Fuck!” I slammed my palm against the steering wheel. I could only pray they’d give me a year’s severance and that I snagged a book contract before the severance ran out. After my hissy fit, I smoothed back my dreads, took a calming breath, and turned the key in the ignition.
* * *
“So?” I paced the floor of Sienna’s living room. Her one-bedroom apartment didn’t give me much space to pace. I bent over and grabbed the vodka tonic Sienna had offered me when I arrived and downed half of it.
Sienna fiddled with the pen cap while she reviewed the NDA. Her legs were crossed, and the heels of her shoes tapped on the bottom of her chaise lounge sofa.
“I’m glad you didn’t sign this.” She flipped to the next page and scribbled something lawyer-y on it. She patted the open seat beside her without looking up. “Sit.”
I slumped into the seat, hands over my face. “Sock it to me.”
She lowered the NDA and pried my fingers from my face. “You have to understand that they ultimately want to protect their rep, their culture, which is fine. But the nondisparage-ment clause in this NDA really ties you up. I mean, you cannot write your book if you sign this. See here.” She pointed to a paragraph and read it out loud. “ ‘You shall not at any time, directly or indirectly, disparage the Company, including making or publishing any statement, written, oral, electronic, or digital, truthful or otherwise, which may adversely affect the business, public image, reputation, or goodwill of the company.’”