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If he has, I’m out of a job.
My stomach grips with something close to fear, but I push the emotion away before it starts to form. Ican’tbe fired. My articles have brought in close to one hundred and fifty thousand new viewers. No matter what card he just played, there’s no way on earth they’re letting me go.
I walk past the cubicles that lead to the senior editors’ offices, most of them occupied by fellow junior editors. I notice that they all pretend to be intensely focused on their screens while I walk past them.
Whatis going on? I’m not particularly close with anyone in the office, but I am used to far warmer welcomes.
I wonder whether to stop by my cubicle before going on to see my boss, but I decide against it quickly. If I’m going to be fired, I’d rather not bother to set up for the day first.
“SURPRISE!”
I jerk around, fear wrenching a scream from my throat. My formerly stiff co-workers are peeping over their cubicle walls. Danielle, the woman who occupies the cubicle next to mine, is grinning at me, seemingly ecstatic about something.
“What is going—”
I don’t finish the question before Danielle jerks her head toward my desk. I glance at it as I take a step back. Covering the length and breadth of my table is an oversized bouquet of blue roses.
It dawns on me that I’m likely not getting fired, and I am blissfully relieved. But then, I glance at the bouquet again, and my breath catches in my throat. It’s thatbeautiful.
“Wh—?” I start and catch my breath, unsure of what to say. It must be a delivery mistake.
“There’s a note,” Danielle says, filled with glee. “You should open it.”
My brows furrow, and I look at the knowing smirks on everyone’s faces. They knowwho it’s from. They want to keep the suspense alive.
I lean forward and pluck the note from under the massive bouquet, certain someone made a mistake. I flip it open.
I’ve always wanted to meet a woman who would tell me what others were afraid to.
Thank you,
Brandon
“The Stawarski officedelivered it this morning,” someone coos. “Isn’t it great?”
I'm flooded with outrage as a wave of emotion washes over me. I let the note slip from my grasp but pause before I step on it with my heel.
There’s a rational voice in my head telling me that I should be glad about this. But I cannot bring myself to feel the glee.
How dare he?How dare he send a note thankingme for criticizing him? How could he not see that I wanted to piss him off? How dare he rise above it and be the bigger person?
How is it that heisn’t livid?
“He’s a great guy,” someone says, and when I turn around, I see Hayley. “Maybe you should lay off him for a while.”
Of course,I think darkly, now reaching for the bouquet. Brandon is playing a sick, sad game. One where he pisses off a lady, but his slate is wiped clean because he sends a couple of hundred roses to her.
It takes both of my arms to pick up the bouquet. I stand up and turn away from Danielle and Hayley.
“Where are you taking them?” Danielle asks, sounding worried.
“To the trash,” I say, my mind already running with the possibilities of my next article about the Stawarskis. It needs to be something downright scathing, something that tells him never to attempt to send flowers to this office ever again.
Danielle’s eyes grow wide, and my coworkers gasp in disbelief. “What the hell? Gigi, he’s trying to thank you for helping him see his faults, and—”
“Well, he’ll have a lot more to thank me for when I write my next article,” I say.
“I’m not going to let you just chuck them out,” Danielle says, sounding irritated.
