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“You’re fired, Addison.”
My mouth fell open, and I took a sharp breath in.
Damian disappeared down the hall without another word.
I leaned against the workbench, feeling like I’d been punched in the gut. In a daze, I slumped down on the floor and held my head in my hands as I cried.
I looked around at the thousands of dollars’ worth of flowers around me.
Fuck it.
I was going to finish this project. I was going to finish these damn fucking florals, and I was going to go to this event tomorrow, and pitch myself to all the other rich assholes and go do florals for them.
I shoved my headphones back in and turned on female rage music, and angrily threw flowers into vases, not really caring what they looked like at the moment.
After going for a while longer, I finally checked the time. It was well past nine. I needed to wrap this up so I could get home. I was emotionally exhausted and ready to call it. I looked out of the conference room and down the long, dark hallway. All the automatic lights had gone off, and I wondered if I was the last one in the office. I looked around and realized how quiet it was and suddenly felt creeped out.
I need to hurry up and get the hell out of here. I shivered.
It was well past the office hours, and I knew the door up to the roof automatically locked after seven, so I had it propped open with a vase. No one was able to access the roof after hours, so I had to be careful not to lock myself in, especially if I was here alone. Otherwise, I’d be trapped in the stairwell until morning.
I picked up the first vase and carried it up the stairs, setting it against the wall at the top, next to the door opening onto the roof, huffing and puffing.
Maybe I should have let Damian help me when he offered earlier.
Fuck Damian and his stupid bracelet.
I shook my head, thinking about what he had said. That I could have easily gotten three times more. Who spends thirty grand on a bracelet for someone they just met? I stomped up the stairs, feeling more and more pissed.
I zoned out, taking one vase after another up the concrete stairs, slowly but surely getting more and more exhausted as I inner monologued an argument with Damian in my head. I looked at the vases along the wall. Only a few more to go.
When I had all but one more vase left, I looked down the dark, empty hallway and shivered.
Almost done.Then I can get the hell out of here.
I carefully picked up the final vase and gently let the door rest against the frame, so it was still open by a crack, and I’d be able to get back into the building. I hurried up the stairs with the vase in my hands and the bouquet blocking my view. As I hurried up the steps, I continued grumbling to myself, thinking about Damian.
Distracted and in a hurry, I suddenly and missed my footing.
With my hands full, I flailed, trying to catch my balance as I started to fall down the stairs. As I tipped backwards, I screamed out, letting go of the vase in an effort to catch myself.
As I tumbled backward, the glass shattered around me on the concrete steps. Each bruising crash down another step sent the glass sinking into my body. Groaning, I finally came to a stop, catching myself halfway down. My flats went flying, and my hands scraped the steps as I tried to catch myself, and when I finally stopped falling I felt searing pain in my hands.
I cried out, looking down, seeing the blood mixing with the water, as it pooled down the steps below me, in a horrifying puddle looking like a crime scene.
Suddenly, Damian was bursting through the stairwell door.
“Addison!?” He launched himself into the stairwell, the door slamming against the inner wall and then swiftly swinging back.
“Damian–” I couldn’t get the words out fast enough, and it was too late. The heavy door swung shut with a chilling CLICK.
Damian looked at me with a horrified look on his face, and then back at the door, and pushed on it. “Fuck.” His eyes darted frantically around as he looked at the blood on me and the glass pile I was sitting in. He quickly made his way between the sharp shards of glass on the stairs, up to me.
He kneeled beside me, taking my wrists in his hands and turning my palms over.
“Shit, Addison.” He grumbled, going into crisis management.
I looked down at my hands. There were thin shards of glass embedded in my palms, and they were bleeding a fair amount. I tried to sit up, but cried out when I put weight on my feet, realizing the bottoms of my feet were embedded with glass as well. One of my flats was a few steps down, and the other was nowhere to be found.
