“That’s going to put me and the rest of the staff—your colleagues—in a very difficult position at one of our busiest times of the year. Do you consider that’s fair, Spencer, after everything we’ve done for you?”
Had she simply accepted his resignation and left things there, he might have gone quietly. But to dare play a sympathy card pushed him well and truly over the edge.
“Fair? How can you preach to me about fairness? And what the hell have you done for me? Lumbered me with menial tasks, left me to clean up other people’s messes, given me an insult of a financial incentive to assume a managerial role, and worse still, given me no credit for doing a damn good job since I did take over. And where is the promised bonus for me landing the final interview forCollective? Don’t even think about lecturing me about fairness, when you have never shown me any.”
“I see. Well, if that’s the way you feel—”
“It is. And for the remaining days, I’ll be reverting to my junior editor duties. Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to pay me the one per cent bonus incentive you promised at the beginning of November when I took on the additional duties. But I do recommend you get someone to step into the manager role as a matter of urgency. Have you considered calling Madeleine Morrison from Peerpoint?”
“I think I know more than enough about this industry to manage without a third-rate recruitment agency. Thank you, anyway. If that’s all, Spencer, may I suggest you get back to work and allow me to return to mine.”
But Spencer hadn’t finished. Muriel had begun to reach the lid of her laptop.
“And that’s it?” he asked.
“That’s what?” asked Muriel. “I thought you’d made your position perfectly clear?”
“Two years, I’ve worked for you. Can I ask you something, Muriel?”
“I can hardly stop you now, can I?”
“Why have you never liked me?”
Muriel snapped the laptop lid back down. She leant back in her chair, her hands together beneath her chin, the trademark moue forming.
“Until you came along, my son had been completely focused and driven. And then somehow or another, not a few weeks after you joined, all he seemed to be able to talk about was this new junior recruit, who openly flaunted his sexuality around the office. And when you eventually foisted yourself upon him—”
“Is that what he told you?
“He didn’t need to. I know my son. He changed a few months after we took you on—”
“If you had bothered to ask him—and if he’d been in the rare mood to tell the truth—he would have confessed thathepropositionedme. Not the other way around—”
“My son would never waste his time and energy—” A red-faced Muriel had come the closest Spencer had ever seen to losing her temper. Instead, she caught herself and drew in a breath before continuing. “After that, I sensed you might be trouble. I should have listened to my instincts before you infected those around you. But I left things too late and was strongly advised against ridding myself of you by an employment law specialist—yes, I did consult one. Had I known the trouble you would cause, I would have terminated you during your three-month probationary period.”
Spencer had heard enough. He pushed away from the table and stood up.
“I never stood a chance, did I? My mother said as much. You were never going to acknowledge my worth. What an absolute waste of my life, you dreadful woman.”
“Be careful what you say, Spencer. Have you never heard about burning bridges? I’ve no doubt you will be expecting a favourable reference from the magazine.”
“Muriel, if I received a favourable reference from you, Ed Coleman would probably withdraw my offer of employment. And a good friend once told me that every now and again a person has to burn a few bridges in order to stop theundesirables from following. I think that applies perfectly in this case.”
“And I think you should tidy your desk and leave.”
Spencer had to take a moment to let the words sink in.
“You want me to leave right away?”
“If you’re not prepared to help with the transition of a senior editor, I would rather not have you in my office. We’ll pay you until your official departure date, but I think it would be for the best for everyone if you leave today, don’t you?”
“Suits me fine.”
Muriel lifted the lid of her laptop and began typing, her attention back on the screen. Her voice came across annoyingly calm.
“Human Resources will be in touch with you regarding your final salary and other details. I trust I won’t need to call security, trust you know how to find your way safely out of the building.”
After staring in disbelief for a moment, Spencer turned and marched out of Muriel’s office. On the way back to his desk, he snatched up an empty box from the floor. Hardly anyone was around to witness him. First of all, he stood over his desk and replied to a couple of emails before shutting down the computer. Fuming still, he began throwing things into the box, a bulky thesaurus paperback his father had bought him that he rarely used, photos of his family, a couple more textbooks, pens and a paperweight—barely enough to fill half the box. Two years’ worth of his working life.
