Page 22 of The Office Guest

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“Honestly, I think I’m in love with him,” Jessica says, avoiding my gaze. “We’re moving in together and we wanted to tell you earlier, but—”

“You’ve been working late every fucking day for two months straight now and we haven’t had the time.” Dante finishes her sentence. “But, now we do. I bet you haven’t even noticed that we moved our stuff out last week, huh?”

I swallow.

I don’t have a comeback for that because I honestly haven’t.

“Exactly.” He rolls his eyes at me and helps Jessica into her coat.

“That doesn’t make what you did okay.” I manage. “I thought you were my friend, Jessica. Of all people, you know how much I hate my job and have been trying to get a better life balance.”

Jessica sighs and picks up her purse. “Do you know how many times you and I spoke to each other in November? You can add in the first few weeks of this month into your calculation if you like.”

“The number doesn’t matter.” I shake my head. “I would never sleep with your boyfriend, and I would never betray a friend while she was simply trying to better herself at work.”

“Cut the shit, Georgia.” Dante scoffs. “The only reason you have a job is because your boss wants to fuck you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, but it is.” He steps closer. “You’re terrible at your job, and everyone in that building, you included, knows it. You’re a sympathy hire, and you probably want to fuck him, too.”

I glare at him, and he laughs coldly.

“Thanks for saving me from an awkward ‘I’m not coming home with you’ conversation,” he says. “I’ll let you call your grandmother and tell her that you’re not worthy of a future billionaire businessman like me.”

I roll my eyes as the two of them walk past me.

They slam the door shut so hard the entire apartment shakes.

Minutes later, a knock sounds at the door.

Assuming they forgot something, I hesitate a long while before opening it.

It’s not either of them.

It’s Dominic.

“Are you going to invite me in?” he asks.

“No.” I shake my head. “Right now is not a good time, and I’m technically off work.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Feel free to argue with my door when I shut it.” My voice cracks. “I can’t take any more bad news today.”

“Then I hate to be the person to deliver another dose.” He pulls an envelope from his coat pocket and holds it out for me.

“What’s this?”

“Your termination letter,” he says. “You’re officially fired.”


“You didn’t give me a chance to say everything I intended to say at the office, and I wanted to make sure I delivered the news in person.”

My mouth is hanging wide open, and like the clear asshole that he is, he joins me on the top step and gently presses my lips shut.

“I assigned someone to clear out your desk, but you’re more than welcome to stop by anytime and check to make sure they got everything,” he says. “Oh, and before you ask, yes. You will receive averygenerous severance package.”

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