I follow him, and the front door bursts open with Clair and Jenson chuckling, but neither Stephen nor I turn to acknowledge their arrival. Stephen’s office is unlocked, and I’d been tempted to sleep on the couch inside, but had decided itwas too inappropriate. He strolls behind his desk and looks out of the window.
“Take a seat.”
I do, dropping onto the chair in front of his desk. The sofa is a few meters behind me, looking inviting with its pillows and the thick blanket draped over the back.
I frown at the blanket until Stephen clears his throat.
“What can I help you with?” Stephen asks. His eyes dart as he takes me in, sitting on the chair, failing to resist the urge to lean down and pull at the bottom of my jeans. Liam told me that during his police training they were taught about nervous tics to look out for, and apparently that’s one of them. I’ve done it my whole life, from being nervous in the classroom at the thought of having to speak aloud in front of everyone, to now, alone with my boss in his office and about to address one of the reasons I’ve been stressed for the past few months.
“I bumped into Andy not that long ago.”
“Andy Creed?” he asks.
I nod. “And he explained why you fired him . . . and why you fired Jess the month before him.”
“And what did he say the reason was?”
“For not following a strict SOP on the filling machine, for writing on the paperwork a step had been completed before it physically had. He said you’d reviewed footage inside the manufacturing hall and had seen him pre-empt preforming a task and it was enough for you to fire him.”
Stephen rubs his chin, contemplating, but doesn’t speak.
I continue. “Jess was fired for the same reason, and I just . . . there’s been a lot of firings in the last six months.” I drop my head. “And their mistake is also one I’ve made. One I make. There’s never enough time to do the processes and fill out the paperwork, and sometimes it’s easier to do it in chunks evenif . . . even if you have to lie and say a step has been performed before you get around to doing it. I know I shouldn’t, but . . .”
“I understand,” Stephen whispers.
Butunderstand what?I’ve just given him a reason to fire me. It feels freeing in a sense but terrifying in another.
“I know I’ve let a lot of people go the last six months, and although I can’t go into details and specifics, I can tell you it was for more than just pre-empting a task.” He drops his gaze. “I’m aware the SOPs are outdated, and sometimes minor corners need to be cut, but Freddie, you’re a good hard worker, and it’s only this misdemeanour . . .” He gestures to my neck with a smirk. “That’s ever put your commitment to this company in question.”
I exhale a long breath then ask the question that’s been torturing me since I saw Andy. “Are you going to fire me?”
Stephen rocks back on his heels. He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’m not going to fire you, Freddie. You’re loyal to this company, to me. One of my best workers.”
I drop my face into my waiting hands, and mumble against them, “Thank fuck.”
After a few slow breaths that puff against my palms, I lift my head, then get to my feet. Stephen gives me a small smile then goes back to looking out of the window.
I make my escape then hurry down the corridor to join the team.
Surprisingly, the day goes quickly. Maybe it’s relief that rushes it by, but as we approach eight o’clock, I begin to think about my sleeping arrangements. Nobody knows. Nobody suspects despite the bags beneath my eyes. They all think my lack of sleep is to do with the marks on my neck and have ruthlessly teased me. My work colleagues are work friends, not one of them overlaps withFreddieoutside of the factory, and I’m endlessly grateful for keeping that distinction. It’s not that they’re badpeople, I like them, but there’s something comforting about getting along with people who know the bare minimum about you.
There’s no pressure, and conversation is light and fun.
I try to be the last to leave, but Stephen waits for me by the front doors. He’s looking out in the same manner he had been in his office, like he’s lost in space, but at my approach, he says, “Have they had any luck yet?”
I cock my head, about to ask him what he’s talking about, but then I see them outside. Ryker and Liam. They’re both in their uniforms, and although Liam’s is more strikingly obvious, Ryker still has Arby Fire Department printed on his tight brown T-shirt, and it’s clear what both do as a profession.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“You better get out there,” Stephen says. “The police officer looks like he’s thinking about strangling me for keeping you too long.”
Yes, Liam is intensely glaring, but Ryker . . . Ryker’s not even looking at me. Before I’m aware of what’s happening, I’m outside and Stephen is locking up behind me. He waves to me before heading over to his car. He’s swapped his Porshe for a green Ford Ka and catches me frowning at the car with the ten-year-old plates and a dent in the back door.
“It’s in the garage,” he calls.
I nod and turn my attention back to the two men in front of me. They’re both leaning against Ryker’s 4x4 and both are staring at my neck, admiring their work.
“We need to talk,” Liam says.
