And that’s when the idea starts to take shape.
Chapter 8
VIOLET
UNFORTUNATELY—OR FORTUNATELY, DEPENDING ON how you look at it—I think I might be drunk.
I’m trying to block out what happened earlier in the evening, when I grabbed Finn’s arm and spilled my secrets to him. I’m not sure what possessed me to do it (the alcohol), but I know I’ll be mortified in the morning. The thoughts are fleeting, quick, and I can’t seem to keep hold of them, anyway.
A drink will help with that.
As soon as the thought finishes, Alba hands me another gin and tonic. She has her devil eyes out tonight and I can tell she’s scheming.
What were you and the brother talking about? She asks me, nodding her head towards where Finn is now sitting with Alistair. I flush.
Jesus Christ Alba, honestly, I have no idea. I can’t remember that far back in the evening. The memories hit like bullets: I’ve never had a boyfriend. I take another long chug of my drink.
You seemed cozy over there, you had your hand on his arm and everything.
Probably trying to reassure him after I said something insane, no doubt. I honestly don’t remember, so let’s forget about it.
Suit yourself, she says, before barrelling onto the next line of questioning. So what happened with your job in Toronto?
I feel queasy at the question, and I know this time it’s not the alcohol.
What is this, an interrogation?
I want to know why you left. You loved that job. She pauses for a second, and when I don’t say anything, she adds, Please tell me it wasn’t something to do with your family.
Alba has made it clear over the years that she thinks my family asks too much of me. But it’s not even that they ask—it’s the default setting. I’m the one who cleans up the messes. I’ve spent my entire life cleaning up messes that aren’t even my own.
I didn’t leave. My voice comes out flat. I really don’t want to talk about this right now, with my head spinning.
Alba stares at me hard, reading too much into everything.
Tell me he didn’t, she says, almost menacingly. I know who she means. My boss, Gabe. Former boss. Right. Former. God, my head hurts.
I nod once in reply.
That motherfucker—
What is it? Florence has appeared beside her cousin. I saw Alba had her someone will die face on, and knew I was missing something.
Gabe, is all Alba says, a look passing between them.
So, is he the reason you left Toronto and moved back to Victoria? Florence asks. She and Alba, I swear, can have entire conversations without words.
He fired her, Alba says, rolling her shoulders with rage. I know if we were at a bar in Toronto instead of rural Cape Breton, she would have already stormed out of here, on the hunt for Gabe’s blood.
Florence gasps. He what!
I am mortified about this—that I was fired, at all. I’ve never been fired from anything in my life. But to be fired from a job where I’d worked for eight years, where I’d done so much.
Florence puts her hand on my arm. Violet, this isn’t a reaction to you. There is nothing you could have done to warrant being fired, I can promise you that. That guy had been taking advantage of you from the start. That business, all of its success, was entirely to your credit. That he made whatever excuse to let you go is because he felt threatened by you, I guarantee it.
I can only shrug in response. God, it’s been a rough couple of years.
I really have to pee, is all I can say in reply before essentially running to hide in the bathroom. Unfortunately, Florence isn’t right. I did deserve to be let go. And I was hardly the one building the empire; that was all Gabe.
