“I can see you don’t understand. Let me be more clear. You’re fired.”
I almost laugh because this has to be a mistake. I’m early for my shifts. I do what I’m told and never complain even when the staff is rude or demeaning. And I always do a great job because I never cut corners. What in the world could I have done to upset him?
Unless he doesn’t like me because of Miranda.
I swallow. “Yes, sir. I heard you, but I’m confused. Why am I being fired? This is my last week on staff since I was told Archer wouldn’t need any temps during finals. Do you mean my temp position has ended early because of staffing needs?”
“No, you’re fired. You do know what fired means, correct?”
To my great shame, my eyes fill with tears. I cough and blink and stammer. “Yes, sir, I understand what being fired means. I just don’t understand why you would fire me. Especially so close to the end of my contract.”
He sighs like talking to me is the greatest inconvenience of his life as he leans away to grab a file off his credenza. After he slaps it on his desk, he pulls out a stack of papers.
“Do you remember signing your contract?” he asks sarcastically.
I grab the stack with trembling hands. “Of course.”
“And do you recall the clause pertaining to moral turpitude?”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper.
“Then can you explain why photos of you partying with the football team are all over the internet?” He grabs another folder and flings it across his desk, and several sheets of paper slide out and float to the floor.
As I pick them up, it’s as if that other shoe drops.
Yesterday, I felt guilty that I’d gotten off somehow after the guys got in trouble.
Now it’s my turn.
The first photo is of me hanging over Rider’s back at that party. Along with several others I’ve never seen before. Of me and Rider dancing chest to chest, with his giant hands practically covering my ass. Of him looking down at me so we’re nose to nose.
Think, Gabriela. Defend yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong. Not really. This might not look great, but it’s not as though you murdered someone.
“With all due respect, Mr. Barstow, I’m twenty-one. It’s not illegal for me to have a few drinks at my boyfriend’s house after a football game.”
“The clause states that you will not do anything that might reasonably be considered immoral, deceptive, scandalous or obsceneorthat will incur, tarnish, damage or otherwise harm the good reputation of Archer.”
“And you think I’ve tarnished Archer’s reputation? Simply by being at that party?”
“Those athletes are in the middle of a horrific scandal, especially for a community our size in the heartland of Texas. Your photo got flashed on television not ten minutes ago. Everyone, and I meaneveryone, will get a good eyeful of these images in the next few days. You pose too great a liability to keep you on staff as a result.”
Oh, God.
I scramble to think of something. “But my name hasn’t been attached to these photos or this alleged scandal. I live across the street from those guys. They’re all my friends, and while I realize those photos don’t look great, they’re good men. Rider is a wonderful father. He mows the lawn of his elderly neighbors, for heaven’s sake. This whole thing is getting blown out of proportion.”
“Regardless, this is not the kind of… situation… we want connected to our prestigious institution. What am I supposed to say when a parent sees this and recognizes you?”
“That I was simply enjoying an evening out with my boyfriend, and those images are taken out of context.” God, were all of those photos on television or did he get these new images from Miranda?
He squints. “You keep using that word.Boyfriend. But from the press conference I just heard, Rider Kingston is single.”
I shake my head. Mr. Barstow must be confused. “We’ve been dating almost since Halloween.”
“Really? Then someone should inform him.”
The haughtiness and disbelief in Mr. Barstow’s voice snaps the last shred of my composure. “Is this because your daughter used to go out with Rider? Because if you’re concerned about your image, just yesterday she showed me a video from this summer of her hanging all over him in her barely-there bikini.” One in which her ass cheeks played a starring role.
His jaw tightens. “Sheis not my employee.Youare. Or you were.” He stalks to his door, and as he opens it, he hammers the final nail in the coffin. “And don’t waste my time applying for that job in the fall.”
