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She gasps. “Poor thing! Well, take that little worry right off your plate. You can crash with me.”
I blink away the tears threatening to stream down my face. “Really?”
She nods. “It’s nothing elegant. But the couch is a pull-out. You’re welcome to it.”
I clap my hands. “Yes. Thank you. Anything’s better than Option A, which was a Central Park bench.”
“You poor thing. I’ll text you the address. It’s not far away. In Tribeca.” She tsks and shakes her head. “Now, let’s see. Did they say why they’re letting you go? Because all I’ve heard, from everyone, is how you’re killing it.”
From the look in her eyes, I get the feeling she thinks she can get me my job back. That’s not happening. But it’s nice of her to want to try. “Thanks, but—”
I freeze when I hear the elevator doors ping, and a familiar, breezy voice, comes from the hallway, greeting the receptionists.
My face falls.
Oh, God.
Oh, God, no.
I look around desperately, for a cubicle wall to dive behind. When I don’t see one, I wonder what my chances are if I dove out a window, from fifteen stories up.
Meanwhile, Mara tilts her head. “Juliet? You okay?”
Too late.
A second later, Olivia appears, fresh-faced and invigorated. She sweeps toward Caleb’s office, a number of department heads behind her, in V-formation, like migrating geese. As the brigade approaches, I hear her barking orders at random. Call this person. Get a press release drafted. We need to do this all ASAP.
Ignoring us, she goes right up to Caleb’s office and reaches for his gold nameplate on the door. Digging her finger underneath it, she lets it ping away, then fall to the ground with an unceremonious thud.
I stare at it, then at Mara, as they file into the office once belonging to Caleb.
Then they slam the door.
“Whoa,” Mara says, swallowing hard. “That was intense.”
I can’t help it. I creep closer and listen in. Olivia’s voice, louder than all the others, is clear as day. “I want this transition to be a smooth one. No blips. We must initiate damage control immediately and shape the narrative on the company, post-Caleb, right away. I want it on my desk right away.”
The company, post-Caleb.
My gut tangles. Do I want to work at Sterling Cross, post-Caleb?
No. I don’t want to be anywhere near this place. Ever again. The sooner I can get out, the better. I go back to my desk and hug Mara. Then I lift the cardboard box in my hands and prepare to leave, thinking that if I can leave in the next couple of minutes, I might be able to do so with my dignity intact.
But so much for a clean getaway.
Because before I can take a single step, Caleb stalks into the office, jaw set, eyes more intense than I’ve ever seen them. As he heads for his office, he doesn’t look at me—at least, I don’t think he does, until he thrusts a finger right at me.
“Don’t move,” he barks. “You’re not going anywhere.”
