Blake

I used to work HR in a cube that smelled like stale ambition and burnt coffee. One day I watched a man pour his soul into a pitch and get handed a peppermint and a pat on the back. I snapped. I wrote a counteroffer on a napkin, he got what he deserved, and now I work from a desk that squeaks but doesn't lie. I don’t deal in 'market rates'—I deal in truth, timing, and knowing how to lean into silence until someone cracks.