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“No.” The word is as final as a closed case.
“I was just asking in case sometimes people on the outside looking in can see things we don't see inside.” The light note in her voice takes all the anger out of me.
“I guess.” But I'm not convinced. “If he talked about how much he hated somebody for an hour on our date, I wouldn't assume he loved her.”
She makes a hissing noise as if she's drawing a breath between her teeth. “You talked about him for an hour? What else did you guys talk about?” Somehow, she sounds amused, but there’s nothing funny to me about this situation.
“Well, that's pretty much all we talked about,” I say, before amending my statement, “all I talked about.”
“Well, that makes his stance a little more understandable. I'm not saying he's right, but I'm saying I get it. You guys were on a date to get to know one another, and all you did was talk about another man.”
There's no way she's on his side, right?
What is it with people and not seeing dates as a support system? I shift uncomfortably in my seat, wondering if I'm the one who's in the wrong.
Before I can dig in too deeply, there's a beep in my ear. I glance at my phone, seeing that my boss is calling.
“Katie, I'm sorry to end our talk like this, but my boss is calling.”
“You better answer. Love you. Bye,” she says, before hanging up.
With my heartbeat thumping rapidly behind my ribs, I answer Anton’s call.
“Hello, Emma.” he says. “I hope I'm not calling too late.”
My eyebrows come together in confusion. He's called me much later on occasions about cases. “No, not at all. How can I help you?” I frantically search my mind for something I may have forgotten or didn't do. Was there some caseload or work or forms that I left unfinished? I'm pretty good about making sure I dot every i and cross every t, but I’m only human.
“We need to talk.” And as he utters the most soul sucking phrase in human history, my anxiety increases. He sounds so cold and distant and unlike the fatherly, warm man I'm used to working with.
“Sure, I have time. What's going on?” With my heartbeat and my throat threatening to cut off my air supply, I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he asks, his voice shifting from calming, old-world charm to anger.
I blink, stunned. “About what? I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” What did I do to make him so upset?
“Don’t play dumb with me, Emma. You went to my son’s house. You confronted him. You yelled at him and insulted him.” Anton sounds furious to a degree I’ve never heard before, and I sit back in my seat, still unable to process how the man I’ve seen as a kindly father figure can be so angry with me over seemingly nothing.
“Excuse me?” I whisper, taken aback by the entire conversation. I guess Clifton didn’t tell him how he’d kissed me, twice. As I think about those kisses, I feel the tickle of his thumb brushing the corner of my lips and tingling warmth spreading across my face.
“What gives you the right to do any of that?” he asks.
“I was trying to get him to stop treating you so terribly.” My throat feels raw as the words scrape painfully out.
“That’s not your job.” He practically yells the words in my ear and I’m dumbfounded. All the times he’s talked about his son, cried on my shoulder at his son’s behavior, and begged the universe to help Clifton see reason, and he’s mad at me for standing up for him? I just don’t understand.
“I know that's not my job, I was just trying to help you.”
But before I can get all of the words out, he cuts me off. “You weren't trying to help me. You're trying to make your job easier.”
I hesitate, trying to figure out how he made that mental leap. “How would telling off Clifton make my life easier in any way, shape, or form?” I ask, not seeing the connection.
Instead of responding and explaining his stance, he shuts down entirely. “Come by tomorrow and empty out your desk.”
He's firing me?
“Why are you firing me?” He needs me. Clifton needs me.
“You can leave your notes and files with my secretary.”
