ONE
“Ms. Holloway,I’m afraid we are letting you go.”
“What?” I leaned in, furrowing my brows in disbelief. I had been called into the senior manager’s office under suspicious pretenses, and since then, my day had only gotten worse. A pit formed in my stomach. I knew nothing good could come from the meeting, but I didn’t expect to be fired.
Mr. Whelms continued after clearing his throat, “Due to recent budget cuts, your employment here has been terminated.” Cold, pebble-shaped eyes peered at me through the most hideous pair of glasses that ever had the misfortune to be created. His office wall was littered with degrees and pictures of his family. Most of his children were grown and wisely decided to move far from him.
At least, that’s what I gathered from his wife’s drunken rambling at the annual Christmas party last year.
“But I’m the best accounting assistant this company has,” I sputtered, staring at him with my mouth agape, trying to understand how this could be happening.
His words swirled somewhere above my head, making me dizzy with confusion. Unlike him, I only had my associate’sdegree. But I had spent three years working my way up the company ladder, forcing myself to improve—only to befired?
He scrunched his face and chuckled, “I think you’re exaggerating a bit, don’t you?” An unfortunate Batman bobble head nodded at me, adding to my frustration. LedgerLine Associates had a high turnover rate, but this was coming out of nowhere.
Steam threatened to spew from my ears as my eyes narrowed.
“Since I’m the one who created the new system for data processing, no,” I said flatly. It wasn’t hard, but it took long hours that no one else was willing to work.
Mr. Whelms leaned back in his office chair. “Please turn in your ID on the way out.”
“I work overtime, I come to all the volunteer weekend events, and I keep us from going in the red every other week!” I yelled, my voice rising an octave as I shot up from my chair.
My frustration had bubbled over like a volcano, and before I could put a cap on it, my hand made contact with the mahogany desk with a resoundingsmack. Mr. Whelms blubbered about my “rudeness” and used his sausage fingers to contact the front office.
Holding the button down on his intercom, he gritted out, “Jamie, please send for security to escort Ms. Holloway from the premises.”
“This is ridiculous!” I sneered. I hadn’t done anything wrong!
“And I’m sure you can tell your therapist about it later.” A smug expression clouded over his face as he watched my eyes widen with rage. His grin only served to highlight the extra fat in his cheeks.
Why get rid of me and not Brandon two cubicles over who watched porn during meetings? Or Susan who mysteriouslydisappeared to the bathroom for twenty minutes each day? Why would they firemeout of allthe mediocre employees in our department?
Then the realization came crashing down. “This is because I know about the affair you’re having with Jamie, isn’t it?”
Mr. Whelms blinked several times at my statement before putting on his best attempt at a poker face, barely concealing the turning gears underneath. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said stiffly.
“I’m talking about me seeing you screwing your secretary over this desk while your wife went to Tahiti for the weekend.” My voice leveled, and I refused to touch the smooth surface of the desk again, now contaminated by the illicit affair. I was only in the office after hours to pick up paperwork I forgot in my drawers and got an eyeful in return.
Mr. Whelms held his stance, though his jaw ticked slightly.
“Despite whatever heinous story you’ve created to cope with being fired or perhaps blackmail your way out of the unemployment line, I can assure you that I love my wife.” His wrinkly lips twisted into a grin.
I shook my head in disgust. “You’re a sick?—”
“Now, Ms. Holloway, there really is no need for a temper tantrum,” he scolded, leaning back in his office chair.
Considering his defenseless position in a compact room with an enraged woman, one might assume he would be aware of the danger he was putting himself in. His wife, while a handful after a few glasses of spiked cider, didn’t deserve to be stuck with a man like him.
“Bastard,” I gritted out, shaking my head. And to think I’d given so many years to this place.
He drawled back, “Yes, but last time I checked, I’m also the boss while you’re a replaceable number puncher.”
That stung. I scrunched my fingers into a ball so tight they ached by my side. “I worked hard to be here,” I reminded him, my voice laced with venom.
Mr. Whelms waved his hand as if dismissing all the overtime I put in on holidays and weekends. “Who do you think everyone will believe? The man who signs their paychecks or the girl who hides away in her cubicle and holds no authority?”
He said it so easily, like my livelihood was worth nothing.
