She had jumped off the couch the moment the door shut behind us. “Isa! Oh my god. How are you? Ryan! How areyou?” she rambled off, racing over to us. I couldn’t do much more than shake my head and lock myself into my room. I left Ryan out in the living room with her where I can still hear their low voices now.
I still want to cry. But I also don’t think I have anything left to give between last night and this morning. I grab the first professional looking outfit that I find from my closet and throw it on. A black pantsuit. I would laugh about how it fits the mourning vibes if I had any ounce of humor left in me. I pull my hair into a high ponytail because I can’t be bothered to do much else with it. Using my fingers, I comb my bangs into some semblance of submission. I do my five-minute makeup routine before I give myself a last once over.
The woman looking back at me is a wreck and looks nothing like the strong, confident woman I’m used to seeing. There are dark circles under puffy bloodshot eyes, all of which are a combination of the stress, tears, and lack of sleep. My shine is dulled.
With a resigned sigh, I lift my chin, channeling a confidence I don’t quite feel, and step out into the living room. Ryan and Jordan immediately stop speaking. She rushes over to block my path to the front door.
Grabbing my hand in hers, she gives it a squeeze. “Maybe it won’t be bad news?” Her small smile carries so much hope in it that it’s heartbreaking for me to look at her for long.
I drop my gaze to the scuffed loafers on my feet.
I wish I was wearing my sneakers.
“Jord,” I start, voice quiet but flat. “You know it will be. Your wishful thinking is appreciated but misplaced.” My eyes sting but no tears fall.
She gives my hand one last squeeze before she releases it and steps back. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”
I lift my eyes to hers and give her to the smallest of nods, the only response I can manage at this point. Then I flick my eyes to Ryan. “Let’s get this over with.” And with that we’re both heading back out of the building to where his car is parked.
He follows me around to the passenger side and opens my door for me. I offer him a watery smile in thanks. I expect him to close the door once I’m in, but he surprises me by grabbing my seatbelt and leaning across me to click it into place. With a chaste kiss to my forehead, he closes the door and rounds the car to his side.
For a Monday morning, we make record time to the office. I’m fifteen minutes early for my meeting and trying to do everything in my power to not hyperventilate as I stare at the nondescript office building that’s about to upend my entire life.Ryan’s hand rests on my thigh where it’s been since he started the car back at my building. His thumb traces circles over my inner thigh.
“Do you want me to wait here for you?”
Yes.“No, it’s fine,” I lie. “I’ll call Jordan or catch an Uber. You can head out. I’m sure you have your own media shitstorm to deal with.”
Do I want him to wait for me? Yes, absolutely. He calms me. Comforts me. His presence is the whole reason I haven’t burst into a full-on panic attack yet this morning.
But I also know that this conversation is going to be about the mistakesI’vemade. With him. And I don’t know what kind of mental state I’ll be in when I walk out. What seeing his face will do. Will I finally break?
He nods, but I can see the defeat in his eyes. “Okay. I—” He cuts himself off. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
I nod before I switch on that false confidence again and drag myself from the car.
It’s time to face the firing squad.
Walking through the front door of Boseman Production Security, the first thing I notice is the number of people who completely stop everything they’re doing to stare at me. Which is everyone. And of course, almost everyone is in the office first thing on a Monday morning.
I nearly let them get to me. Almost let my steps falter. But I can’t let them see me crumble. I push forward, installing my own personal set of blinders, pretending I don’t see them as I head straight for Mr. Boseman’s office.
I’m still a good ten minutes early and yet both him and a woman from HR are both already settled in his office. Waiting for me.
“Ms. Rossi, thank you for coming in on such short notice,” Mr. Boseman says. His voice is even and gives no indication ofhow this is about to go, but I don’t need him to release the hold on his poker face for me to figure it out.
“Of course,” I answer with a curt nod. “It wasn’t a problem.” Mr. Boseman wordlessly gestures for me to take a seat in the only free armchair positioned around his desk, which I ease myself into.
“I’ve asked Joan to join us this morning,” he says, gesturing to her. She gives me a closed-lip smile and nod of greeting. “I’m sure you’re aware of why I’ve requested this meeting?”
I gulp, likely loud enough for the entire room to hear, and give him a shallow nod in confirmation. No point in lying now that it’s plastered across the internet.
“Great. Let’s get straight to the point then.” He shuffles some papers around on his desk before he finds what he’s looking for. He passes it across the desk to hand it to me. Taking the papers, he continues, “I’m sure you’re familiar with your employment contract?”
“I—Yes, I am.”
“Good. Can you read out the highlighted portion from page seven for us?”
I flip through until I locate the page and section he’s referring to. But I didn’t even need to see it to know which clause he wanted me to read.
