“It’s his loss,” Fraser said.
Harper nodded in agreement. “Your kids have more love here than he could ever give them. I know it hurts now. You’ll always want him to be worth the love you once gave him. You’ll always want him to change. But some people just aren’t right. Some people just need to go and digest a cactus.”
They both laughed at that, Eiley far harder than Fraser. Hysterical peals fell from her until she was gripping her stomach. “Digest a cactus!” she repeated incredulously, tears streaming down her face.
It was hard to tell whose laughter was whose in the end, as they sat there around the table and thought up ways to make a shitty man suffer.Fraser was so full of love in that moment that he might have been bursting with it.
Love. Shite. Was that true? Did heloveHarper?
All he knew was that Eiley usually ended nights like these crying. That night, there was no room for sobs in her chest.
Because of her.
23
Harper was still half-asleep when she plonked down in the cabin’s front room the following Monday morning, at her brand-new writing desk. She rested her half-drained mug of tea on one of Fraser’s wooden coasters, blinking groggily at her laptop screen. Her inbox had been empty for weeks, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because she hated replying to emails and had always worried that she used too many exclamation points with clients and co-workers. A curse, because now that her days were no longer structured for her by whatever lay in her inbox, she was floundering in freedom. She could – in theory – write as much as she wanted to, with nobody to tell her when or what or why. If she could – in practice – stop procrastinating.
So why on earth was her former boss’s name appearing in bold at the top of her screen now?
Anxiety trickled through her, unpleasant but not unfamiliar. Her stomach cramped with the same dread, and it was like she was sitting in that stuffy office again, with co-workers who gossiped quietly in break rooms,and tasks she had to miserably slog through until the day finally ended when she was too exhausted to do anything for herself.
She considered not opening it – even switched tabs back to her open manuscript. She’d churned out fifty-thousand words of her novel now. With Fraser busy babysitting yesterday, she’d curled up in bed, the rain her soundtrack, and typed until her wrists ached. It was becoming an instinct, something she didn’t even have to think about before she started.
She rubbed her eyes, eager to dive back into the fantastical world she’d been living in. Yesterday, she’d been certain of what would come next in the story.
Today, she stared at the last line she’d written and found her brain completely devoid of any words that weren’t in the subject line of that email.
New job opening?
She couldn’t ignore it. It would press into her mind like a bruise until she found out what her ex-employer wanted.
Drawing herself up, she closed her manuscript and returned to her inbox. Her fingers shook as she clicked on the new message.
Subject: New job opening?
From: Chris Bailey
To: Harper Clegg
Harper,
I hope this email finds you well.
“All the better now I don’t readthatsoulless line twenty times a day,” she muttered.
While I am sure you have probably already found a new position following your regretful departure from Brentworth Furnishings, there has been an unexpected opening for the role of Marketing Director that I believe would suit your skillset well. If you would be interested in rejoining us, I would like to invite you to interview for the position. Naturally, the managerial role offers a higher salary and greater responsibility than your previous title, but after working with you for several years, I am confident that you have the potential to perform well under pressure.
“Oh, that’s very nice of you to say – afteralready letting me go,” she quipped sourly.
I would be interested to hear your thoughts.
If you would like to book a meeting, please do let me know. My schedule is open for interviews the week beginning November 18th.
Many thanks,
Chris
She should have been happy. Chris clearly regretted his choice to make her redundant, and waltzing back into that office would show everybody at Brentworth that she was worth more. Chris would see she wasn’t just a worker ant to swat away, but a person who was needed to help the company thrive. She could even make him grovel.
