There was a custody battle at the end of my first divorce. It was nasty even though it turned out “in my favor.” That’s a phrase I hate because there are no winners in custody fights. I was 29 and single with two kids, three and seven years old, and I looked over my shoulder for the next fight with my ex every moment.

During the last weeks of the battle, I landed a new job for a high-profile company led by an international businessman-turned-politician. The salary was a big increase from my current job, which was welcome at that point in my life.

The workload was well beneath my capabilities, but the chance to be in meetings with leaders in the city and learn a new way to do business was intriguing. It was an office that required professional business dress. I worked for the president of the company as his executive assistant, so I was often his representative at board meetings. I was in charge of his calendar.  

It had been a successful company, but it was now in transition. While its CEO was on special assignment in Europe for four years, the hotheaded young president ran the show. The U.S. economy had entered a tough phase for the industry. This led to a lot of down time for the president as one deal after another fell flat.  

There was a strange dynamic in this small company between the men and the women. Each small nod of respect that men showed their female peers was accompanied by a “thanks, honey,” as she handed him his cup of fresh coffee before a meeting. It was the late 80s and a turning point for women and their careers. It was all very hard for me to understand.

I had not intended to work. My goal since childhood was to be a wife and a mother, which is the model I’d had from my own mom. Things worked out differently for me. Post-divorce, my career goal was to provide for my children. That’s it.

In this new job I was underworked and trying to find a niche in this passive-aggressive office. I was newly single and scarred from the battle but energized by the freedom. I went to work every day in this office full of men with great reputations atop one of the tallest buildings in the city, and tried to figure out what my job was. I struggled to establish a routine with my boss, setting meetings to review priorities and schedules. He would gaze at me across the desk, smile and say, “You’re doing fine, honey. Just take care of me.”

At the end of one of those meetings he asked if I was open to coaching. When I said yes, he replied, “You can do this job with one hand tied behind your back. I believe you can be a role model for the women in this company. You carry yourself well and you dress professionally. There’s only one thing: You need to wear high heels.”

I let out a surprised laugh and said, “I’m wearing heels.” I pointed to my 1 ½ inch black pumps.

He shook his head and said, “No, they have to be at least 3 ½ inches. They’ll make your legs look better.”

The office building was new, part of downtown development that included the convention center, a hotel and a shopping mall. Many days during lunch I would walk through the mall and across the street to Castner Knott, the only department store still open downtown. The president was so bored he would jump up from his desk to accompany me, once maneuvering me into the shoe department of Castner Knott. There he recommended one pair after another, pointing out the three to four- inch heels.  

Things went downhill fast as I dug in my short heels against his daily “coaching.”  

“Your suit is very nice, but your shoes are so ugly nobody will look at your legs.”

Daily comments like that take root fast. Within weeks, I found myself standing in my closet, shaking as I tried to pick out something to wear that wouldn’t elicit a remark. He didn’t like it when I wore slacks.

Christmas came quickly. I was excited at first when I opened an envelope from him containing a gift certificate to the mall downstairs, until I saw the writing in the margin: “Good only for the purchase of shoes with a 3 ½ inch heel or greater.”

I was infuriated.

I bought blue jeans.

The full-scale assault started soon after that.

“Hannah, there is an important conversation I want to have with you about your future at this company. You are going to be crucial here. There is unlimited potential for you. But we need to spend a good deal of time discussing this in a place where we can really relax. It’s a long conversation. Needs to be the right place. Pick a night when we can schedule dinner. Any night you choose.”

I had two small children in a day care that closed at 6:00 p.m.

I dug in again. Since I managed his calendar I knew he had practically nothing to do, especially in the dead of winter, so insisting that I have dinner with him was purely manipulative. Every time he would bring up the meeting I would point to several two-hour blocks of time on his calendar during the business day and he would reject them.

They were tight with the governor so one afternoon we attended a roundtable event at a local university, followed by a cocktail party at the governor’s mansion. Since the social part went well after work hours, I planned to attend the business portion, then get the kids and head home.

He was incredulous. He stomped behind me as I walked to my car, demanding that I meet him there, that I get somebody, anybody, to pick up my children. I kept saying that wasn’t possible, but he did not give up. His last words were, “Go handle it and meet me in 45 minutes. I will be waiting for you.”

Now shaking with fear and anger, I did not know what to do. This was before mobile phones were common so I had no choice but to pick up the kids and drive home.

Things were cool in the office the next day.

In Tennessee we don’t get much snow, but it started about noon a few weeks later, which sent most people in the office into a tailspin. I’m not afraid to drive in the snow so I offered to cover the phones and the front desk if they wanted to send everyone home for the day.

The president was surprised and said, “Hannah, that is so generous of you. Since you are willing to do that, we’ll have that meeting today from 3 - 5:00. But you have to promise me that if we start the meeting, we will finish the meeting.”

He let everyone go and promptly at 2:45, grabbed his coat and hat and walked out into the biggest snowstorm of the year, with no explanation. He walked back into the office at 5:00.

I was seething as I followed him to his office to start The Meeting. I sat on the couch as he lowered himself into a chair. Just as his ass hit the cushion he jumped up and exclaimed, “This isn’t cozy enough. Let’s go downstairs to Miss Daisy’s Tea Room.”

My mind worked overtime as I went to my desk to gather my things. He bounced around shrieking, “No! Just leave your things! We’ll come back up!”  

I kept insisting I would just take them with me. Which is what I did. We walked down the deserted mall to the restaurant. He was excited that he was finally getting his way, and I was furious at his manipulation.

We settled into a table and ordered hot tea. He began to tell me how important I was to the business, what a role model I could be to the other ladies in the office and how bright my future was. The same things he’d said for weeks. This rambling went on for 15 minutes until he finally stopped and said, “What do you think?”

I took a deep breath and I said, “I appreciate the things you said, your faith in me and the opportunity you are giving me. But I need to put some thought into this, so I want to take a little time before I respond. And right now, my mother is on her way to my house to have dinner with me and my children. I know this is going to make you angry, but I am going to leave right now.”

As I started gathering my things he erupted, “But you said that if we started this conversation we would finish it!”

I snapped. “And you said that we would start at 3:00. I know you are angry, but I am leaving. Right now.” I walked out and left him sitting at a table, alone, in Miss Daisy’s Tea Room.

Three weeks later he fired me.

I have worked for some dishonest people through the years. For instance, there was the murderer. I worked full time for his business and went to his house every Thursday night to babysit his infant daughter. Then there was the embezzler who groomed young women, slept with them and entangled them in his doings.  

I’ve received flattering compliments and discreet invitations from married men, and direct lewd solicitations from others. I’ve been the target of comments meant to marginalize by the blowhard running the meeting. But I have never felt as manipulated and demeaned as I did by this Bible-thumping, married, upstanding businessman who used his position of authority to make me feel threatened at the most vulnerable time in my life.

I don’t know why subtle manipulation from one man can be more hurtful than a direct insult from another, but I do know this: In my case, the definition of sexual harassment was the absolute knowledge that if I didn’t dress to please him, he would fire me.

As a gesture, I was given a long notice period with the opportunity to work and maintain my benefits for a few weeks. But I found a job within a couple of days and walked out of his office on the spot and without ceremony, leaving him dumbfounded.

My new boss was the embezzler who handpicked new-hires and groomed them, personally shaping them into his girlfriend and accomplice. Somehow he never came close to me even though I was the closest to his personal business. Over the next seven years I was given increasing responsibility, which included explaining the books to the auditors who’d finally figured him out. I’d seen him execute his plan on the latest girl, but I never felt threatened or even that horrified by his behavior.

It took me years to understand why I felt so differently about these men. Although the embezzler was a bad guy, he was pretty straight up about it. He never pretended to be anything else. On the other hand, the abuser presented the illusion of trust and faith while he demeaned, harassed and manipulated women. The dissonance was maddening.

With the abuser I was trying to believe a lie, and that will drive you crazy.

He’d said that I could be a role model, and as it turned out, I was, but not in the way he intended. Through the months I worked for him, I learned to identify abuse of power, and that has stayed with me through the years. When I had the chance to start my own business, I committed to building a place where transparency, trust and respect were paramount and where abuse in any form was never tolerated.

Sexual harassment in the office, just like domestic violence at home, often begins subtly through a period of seduction. At work this takes the form of compliments about your performance and your potential if you play your cards right.

The next phase is tension building. The compliments are backhanded: “You dress professionally but your shoes are so ugly nobody will look at your legs.” And finally the explosion, an obvious embarrassment or outright threat where others see him cross the line. Then there is remorse, followed by seduction.

It’s a lie so deep and convoluted, you become lost in it.

And the cycle repeats.

Unless we stop it.