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“I’ve got good footwork,” Orion says smugly.
Far from being upset, Shawdae looks even more pleased. He drapes his arm around Shawdae’s shoulder and J and the boyfriend continue to shoot sarcastic little quips back and forth until the lights flicker indicating that the dinner is about to start.
Together we head towards the tables. As it turns out, Shawdae and Orion are only a table or two away from us. I pull out Julia’s seat for her, the Williams are already settled at their plates, when Shawdae yells out one more time.
“Hey, Justin,” she calls, and J tilts his chin, indicating that she should continue.
“I meant what I said. He looks good. You did a good job.”
I double-take at that, glancing back and forth between them. I’m not the only one. Most of the people around us are following their conversation as well. Hard not to, as they are talking over all of our heads.
“I told you I’d take care of him,” Justin tells her. His voice is steady as a rock and his eyes are boring into her from two tables across.
What? When?
“See that you do,” Shawdae says with a bite to her tone, then settles herself at her table, putting an end to an interlude that must have started long before tonight.
19
JULIA
May…
I’m late. I’m so late. I was supposed to be in a meeting with my supervisor five minutes ago, but I made the mistake of taking the short way to the conference rooms, which happens to pass right in front of the break room, and someone was using the microwave to warm up leftovers.
I’m well aware that, in the grand scheme of things, I’ve had an incredibly ideal pregnancy. I’m also familiar with the pregnancy symptom of an overactive sense of smell. What I didn’t expect was for the smallest scent to send me running pell-mell to the bathroom to puke my guts out.
I’m deep into the second trimester now, too. If I were going to be sicking up in every direction, shouldn’t it have taken place during the early weeks of pregnancy, where morning sickness belongs?!
But no. Here I am, twenty-five weeks along and five minutes behind schedule because I had to stop and throw up.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I babble as I push my way through the conference room door. I have one hand holding a paper towel to my nose to save myself from any more unfortunate smells and the other fumbling my grip on my tablet and portfolio, so I walk through the doorway backward, using my hip to twist the handle down.
“I walked by the breakroom when someone was warming up fish or something. I had to make a detour to the toilet,” I laugh, expecting Ronnie to join in. She’s spent the last four months regaling me with horror stories from her two pregnancies. She was so sick the first time she lost thirty pounds.
She doesn’t laugh, though, and I stumble to a stop when I finally look up to find the conference room brimming with people other than my supervisor. Ronnie looks haggard with bags under her eyes and her hand fisted on the table. She meets my gaze and immediately yanks her fist out of view and into her lap.
“Thank you for joining us, Mrs. Williams,” Todd from HR says, rising from the table. He indicates a chair already pulled out, with a pen and a bottle of water sitting off to the side. Nausea rises in my stomach again, and my bladder muscles clench, making me worry that I might pee and puke simultaneously. “Please, have a seat.”
There are five people on the other side of the glass, four sitting and one of the security guards standing in a corner, leaving me alone in the seat closest to the door. I only recognize three of them.
Whatever this is, it can’t be good.
My hands shake when I place my belongings on the table.
"On the end we have Mr. Dorsey from legal, and beside him is Ms. Ehrenburg. You know, Ronnie, of course."
Legal.
I debate for a moment about drinking the water that's been provided. Part of me wants to ignore it on principle. Part of me wants to rip off the lid, toss it in their laps and then spray the water all over their faces. But my mouth is as dry as the Sahara, so I reach for the bottle and pry the lid off with trembling fingers. It takes me twice as long as it usually would, and I spill a dribble of water down my chin when I bring it to my lips.
“We’ve asked to meet with you today regarding a violation of the employment contract that you signed with The Gardner Group at the start of your at-will employment.”
Oh gods.
I'm an ideal employee. I don't even steal office supplies. Even that day Justin and I fooled around, I did it off the clock and in the restroom of the coffeehouse next door! My heart thunders into my throat and already I'm on the verge of hyperventilating. I don't handle confrontation well.
“Violation?” I demand. You can only hear a slight quiver, thank goodness. “What sort of violation?”
