Holiday Soirée
The calendar invite called it a Holiday Soirée, which simultaneously felt like a lie and a dare. It appeared in inboxes at 10:11 a.m. on a Tuesday, a month before the party, so no one could rush to submit PTO. There was a graphic in the email: a ballroom photo with text generated by one of those AI sites, complete with multiple em dashes and the little emoticons to highlight the night's logistics. At the end of the email was a quote from CEO Grant Adkins, “Join us as we celebrate another successful year.” The word successful was working overtime in this sentence—as rumors floated through each floor of Axiom Solutions & Consulting.
The Crestmont Hotel was the jewel of downtown; it was all glass and bright lights. The type of place companies rented when they wanted their employees to feel like they worked somewhere important. The ballroom was adorned with chandeliers and golf furnishings that looked tired of hosting the same parties year after year.
The name cards sat on a table outside the door, embossed with gold script, and an assigned table at the bottom. There was a DJ too young for 98% of the company’s payroll and an open bar with five bartenders working for tips.
This was destined to be a night to remember.
At seven o’clock, the careful coworkers who showed up in the same outfits worn to work were seated, holding polite conversations as the servers passed hors d’oeuvres. They talked about holiday plans, who was cooking, who was going to Disney yet again, and chances for bad weather. Even the DJ kept it calm, playing holiday music at a low enough volume for everyone to hear each other.
Tanisha arrived at 7:52 p.m., late enough to be considered early, but early enough for people to have their eyes on her when she entered the door. She wore an emerald green dress that screamed holiday, but also announced she still had it, a line she tiptoed all year— at work, home, and the nightspots she began to frequent in Avery Heights.
Andre saw her before she saw him.
He always did.
Andre from Strategy, her work husband. No one ever said it out loud, but it showed in the way he memorized her coffee order, the lunches they returned from laughing three times a week, and the way he hearted even her most benign TEAMS messages.
“There she is.”
He stood before her eyes adjusted to the light in the room. His chair nearly tipped over. His smile was as wide as his arms.
“Relax. I told you I was on my way.”
Tanisha’s laugh was muted as she hugged him and looked over her shoulder.
“Yeah, but you’ve been ghosting me all week.”
“I’ve been swamped. You know, end-of-the-year reports and stuff.”
This was true and also not true.
Seconds later, a man in a charcoal suit entered the room, reading it like a linebacker. He appeared behind Tanisha, placing his hand at her waist, before locking eyes with Andre.
“Charles, I’ve heard so much about you.”
Andre extended his hand.
“That’s funny. I haven’t heard anything about you.”
Charles nearly broke two bones when he shook his hand.
“Baby, I’ve told you all about Andre. My yoga partner.”
Tanisha felt the tension between the two men. She laughed. A little too loud, then grabbed a flute of champagne from a server and downed it before he could move on. She may have left out a few details about Andre when she talked about lunchtime appointments for yoga or manicures. Charles assumed he was gay, not this Morris Chestnut-looking brother standing in front of him.
Andre pretended not to notice the energy shift, smiling, but he noticed. Charles did too.
Across the room, Denise from Client Success was on her third drink and eying the lines at the bar for the shortest route to number four. She was newly divorced and an empty nester; she decided next year she would live freely, boldly. Her red dress was the opening salvo. She kicked her heels off near the DJ booth like she was claiming her turf for later. Her body remembered the joy she tucked away years ago as she danced like someone reclaiming something.
“DENISE!”
It was a loud whisper from a nearby table comprised of management, but she either didn’t hear or ignored the plea. Her hips were rocking, and her head rolled back; her closed eyes took her into another dimension as Rihanna encouraged her to work.
“Y’all ready to turn this party up?”
The DJ asked a room that was absolutely not ready.
Elijah stood near a bar in the back of the room, staring into a whiskey sour as if it would talk to him.
Thirteen years. That’s how long he’s been at Axiom. Thirteen performance reviews dotted with words like team player, solid, and dependable. Thirteen years of staying late because everyone else had plans. Thirteen years of cleaning messes made by people above his pay grade. Thirteen years and two promotions.
His phone buzzed with a reminder he set in August and forgot: Write resignation email.
He opened a new email:
Dear Team,
After careful deliberation...
He deleted it. Took a long sip of his drink. The burn reminded him he had work to do.
In the women’s bathroom, the line for the stalls curled into a small hallway, and women crowded the mirrors, applying and reapplying lipstick. Someone—no one seemed to know who she was— took a long pull from a vape pen near the air dryers. It smelled like something sweet, cutting through the perfume and lemon drops in the air.
“You can’t do that here.”
Had to be someone from HR.
“There’s no smoke. It’s a vape.”
The woman smiled and took a deep drag.
Women in the mirror watched her, their eyes part horrified, part inspired.
Back in the ballroom, Kami from Enterprise Performance watched everything over the top of her glasses, a glass of red wine in her hand. Ten years. She trained half the people in the room, and some now make three or four times what she makes. She learned too late that a good job is never rewarded with money, only more work.
She watched Tanisha laugh too loudly at something Andre said. Watched the veins in Charles’ neck bulge. Watched Denise grind on Tyler, the intern from Data and Analytics, who looked intrigued and terrified. Denise, arm wrapped around his neck, laughing into his chest, hips moving like Megan Thee Stallion controlled them.
“Someone should stop this.”
Someone whispered.
HR would pretend not to see it while seeing it.
Speaking of HR, Paula Reynolds, VP of Personnel, stood near the emergency exit, ice melting in her drink, scanning the room the way a principal watches students during recess. To her, the holiday party was a lawsuit fest with a playlist.
At 9:40, Mr. Adkins clinked his glass with a fork, and the rest of the leadership team followed suit. The sound silenced the room, even slowing Denise’s hips.
His grin was wide, and his eyes looked a bit off-kilter.
He was holding a microphone.
“If I could get everyone’s attention for a moment. I promise to keep this brief. As impossible as that may seem.”
There were a few polite laughs, a groan or two from the dance floor, light applause; a couple of phones were placed face down onto tables; a few were positioned to record the chief executive officer.
“I just want to say how proud I am of the team at Axiom Solutions and Consulting. We’ve had record profits this year, despite the challenges we’ve faced. It’s all because of the people in the room. Please join me in raising a glass to Axiom. We did this together.”
Together did a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.
Grant raised his glass.
“Here’s to another year of innovation, resilience, and...”
At 9:45 p.m., one phone buzzed. Then two more. Then there was a chorus.
A glass dropped at the table reserved for management.
“What the fuck?!?”
It came from the back.
Kami checked her phone, and her face turned to stone.
There was a scream from the ladies’ room.
Elijah watched the panic spread through pockets of the room.
Kami read the email once. Then again.
SUBJECT: Organizational Realignment – Effective Immediately
Tears rolled down Tanisha’s face.
Andre placed a hand on her elbow.
Charles stared at him, finally understanding what all those late nights at work were really about.
Grant’s smile was frozen on his face. Paula from HR looked like she wanted to disappear.
“Uh...everyone...please. Let’s pause. A second. Please.”
Grant lifted the mic back to his mouth but couldn’t form a sentence.
No one was listening anyway.
Someone was crying hysterically near the coat check. Someone else called their wife. A guy with a Santa hat ordered a double of tequila. Two interns recorded it all like they were hired to document the action.
Paula grabbed the microphone from Grant, and he staggered a few steps toward a table.
“That email was sent in error.”
There was a firmness in her voice, honed through many training sessions and self-talk in the mirror every morning.
The room went silent.
She swallowed.
“It should’ve been scheduled for January eighteenth, not December eighteenth.”
Murmurs started to her right. She heard someone say, Tell us anything from the back.
“The leadership team is still exploring options. Still...still trying to work things out.”
The excuse didn’t hold under the chandelier light.
“So, we’re not fired?!?”
Denise yelled from the dance floor.
“We are assessing each member of the Enterprise Performance team as part of the review process.”
Denise sank into a chair that appeared out of nowhere. Suddenly sober, someone from HR placed a chair around her shoulders.
“This is bullshit! Grant just said there were record profits.”
The guy was so new that no one knew his name yet.
Kami finished her wine. Ten years. A month too soon or not, the end was here.
Elijah returned to his email.
Dear Team,
After much consideration, I’ve decided to leave Axiom.
He pressed send.
People crowded near the bar, trying to recalculate their lives with liquor. The DJ began packing up. The cake sat untouched. Remnants of a massacre.
Tanisha and Charles rode the escalator in silence. Andre sat at a table, staring at his phone, wondering what was to come.
Kami left without a word.
Grant discussed what went wrong with the leadership team. Except for Dennis Sele, Vice President of Enterprise Performance. He received the email, too.
There would be carnage on Monday. January would bring its own battles, but tonight, Axiom Solutions & Consulting had shown its hand a full month early—under chandeliers, beside a shrimp tower, in front of a room full of witnesses who hadn’t consented to remember it this way.