I was a hard worker; I increased profits year after year for my division. I’ve worked endless hours to meet unprecedented timelines, and this is what I get?
An email hits my inbox, and I forward it to my personal email. I know how Dermdes works. I won’t have access to any company information by the end of the day.
Before I’m locked out, I send over a few more contacts and information to my personal email.
I won’t touch the severance pay, not if they’re illegally firing me. Fueled by spite, I find the lawyer who handled my mom’s will and have him look over the package along with the details of my firing.
Once that’s all done, I just sit there for a long moment, pissed off and full of rage. It’s only four in the afternoon here, and there's no way I can explain this to Birdie when she gets back.
How fucking embarrassing? Fired? I’ve never been fired in my life, and they do this to me now when I’m an ocean away and there’s nothing I can do about it?
I sniffle and shake my head. Oh hell no, I’m not crying over them or anything else. I’m getting the fuck out of this room and not letting myself wallow in pity.
I grab my jacket and go down the stairs.
Effie is there, setting some scones on the table in the lounge.
“Hello, dear. Are you headed out today?” she asks. Of course, the woman knows that I’ve been locked up in the room most days while my sister goes and enjoys the small Highland town.
“I am actually. Do you have a recommendation for a good bar?”
“Oh. Well, yes. Greer’s has a bar attached to its restaurant. It’s the best in town.”
“Thanks, Effie,” I say, stepping out of the B&B, realizing I didn’t ask for directions. I decide to just head toward the cafe. If I don’t find Greer’s, maybe I’ll find something else.
The whole walk there, I’m still trying to come to terms with what just happened. They really fucking fired me, and they waited until now to do it.
I’m seething mad, probably stomping more than walking until I’m greeted by a big golden sign written in a Celtic font that reads Greer’s.
The place sits on a corner with an aged stone facade, a few large windows in front showcasing the warm glow of the place.
I take a deep breath and push through the front door and head right to the bar.
Is it the healthiest option? No, definitely not. But what else am I supposed to do? There’s nothing else I can do, and I feel completely hopeless. It’s not like I have the comforts of my home to soothe me, either. So, it’s either drink and numb this feeling or have a catastrophic breakdown.
I choose alcohol.
“What can I get you?” a deep voice says, and I glance up, through watery eyes that I can’t hide no matter how much I try.
The bartender is gorgeous. It seems like every man who stumbles upon me at my lowest has to be ridiculously hot. He has red hair, a beard to match, alabaster skin, deckled in freckles. He’s gigantic, definitely an Alpha as he tilts his head, staring at me, his forest green eyes filled with concern.
“Can I get you something?” he asks again.
“Oh. Hmm. What do you recommend?” I say, slinking my jacket off my shoulders and placing it on the back of the chair.
“Well, depends on what you like? Looking for something sweet, strong, or?—”
“Strong,” I interrupt.
“One dram coming right up,” he says, grabbing a small glass and filling it with whisky and sliding it across the bar.
I give him a grateful nod and look around. I’m one of three people at the bar.
“Quiet afternoon then?” I ask, taking a sip of the whisky and doing my damned best to not make a face or spit it out.
The bartender sees right through it, but doesn’t call me out as he looks around the bar.
“Things will liven up a tad more when the sun goes down. Rory is coming tonight to sing,” he says.
