It’s related to calculating gains and losses. Or at least that’s what Azar told me.
“Your professionalism is admirable, Miss Rivera.” Callahan pulls the wrist of his shirt up and turns it until the watch is facing him. He taps on it once. “It’s ten at night and we’re at a party for this company. Do you truly think this is the right time?”
Saliva burns in my throat and then dries up. I’m dehydrated or thirsty or in a coma.
It has to be one of the three because I feel my cheeks burning up and I’m stuck in one place.
A corner of my smile quivers. I don’t dare look into his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Vuk.” My smile washes away and slithers its way up to my eyeballs where it’s burning to fall out.
There’s nothing kind in the way his stare burns down on me.
Earlier, I ached to dance to the music. Not even a year of physio can help relax my muscles.
I feelhumiliated.
“You’re not my employee,” he draws out slowly but nonetheless hard. “I wouldn’t notice your absence.”
Callahan’s disappointment curves into my skin like shackles and I’m completely bound.
“I agree, Mr. Vuk.” Two other employees—Michael and Joshua—appear beside Callahan. Michael’s overly styled hair brushes back against his scalp and I hope when he wakes up tomorrow he has a receding hairline or a growing bald spot. “I never understood the appeal of florists,” Michael continues talking. “They give us flowers only for them to die. A bit of a waste no? It’s kind of like they’re the reason for climate change.”
Joshua laughs into his glass.
Callahan Vuk remains the same as ever. He doesn’t acknowledge them, but he also doesn’t stop the men from degrading my entire career.
My throat burns.
“Cal,” the thick gruffy voice silently warps through us in exaggerated swirls. The deep timbre of his voice penetrates into my skin, and I find myself looking at the origin.
Dean stands with his hands to his side, his face doesn’t hold a slither of expression, but his jaw clenches while he looks at his brother.
“Mr. Vuk,” the two other men rush to extend their hands for the man to shake. But Dean doesn’t look down at it, he merely glances at them with a bored expression before they retreat their greetings.
“Apologize,” he grunts.
I blink rapidly. “Of course, I’m sor?—”
“Not you,” he cuts me off. “Them.”
Michael and Joshua look at each other, then at Dean with disbelief.
Whatever they see on his face has them saying, “I’m sorry, Nova.”
“Are you friends with her?” He asks them.
They shake their heads.
“Do you know her personally through someone?”
They shake their heads again.
“Then I don’t see any reason for you to be addressing Miss Rivera by her first name.”
My chest oddly constricts.
Michael stampers over his words, “Y-you’re right.” He looks at me and even though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes and it looks like he’d rather pull his eye sockets out, he says, “I’m sorry, Miss Rivera.”
