Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
I felt like a naughty schoolgirl summoned to the principal’s office to get punished.
“Shut the door,” Neil said from his position at the head of the table.
I followed his command while apprehension simmered in every fibre of my being.
“Sit,” was his next instruction.
I approached the table, slid out a chair two spaces from him, and dropped into it. I stared at my hands in my lap, unable to take the ferocity of his unflinching gaze.
An age seemed to pass before he spoke. “Tell me, Amelia, is it usual practice in this company for a junior worker to present a report to senior staff?” His voice was even, deliberate, and had the texture of velvet, making me shiver.
“No,” I said, biting my lip.
“I didn’t think so.”
“I can explain?—”
“I’m sure you can. You must have a brilliant explanation as to why and how you went about impersonating another staff member with a similar name.”
He was patronising me, looking down at me with an unsettling fixation.
I lifted my chin. “I didn’t do it on purpose! It just sorta… happened.”
He fixed me a sardonic sneer. “Why are you here, and where is the real Amelia Crook? No, don’t tell me. Let me guess. She got made redundant, and you did not.”
“That’s right!”
“Yet, I distinctly remember making you redundant and keeping her on. Isn’t that strange?”
My heart dropped. “What?”
His tone turned a shade harsher. “Don’t play dumb with me, Amelia. You must have known there had been a mistake. Why else would you be here?”
“I thought I was being helpful… I didn’t know…”
“It didn’t cross your mind that perhaps the letter intended for Amelia Crook went to you, and she received yours?”
He had me in a metaphorical chokehold, and his grip was tightening around my throat, inch by inch.
“Of course it did! But I hoped it wasn’t true.”
“That’s not good enough, Amelia.”
“In my defence, someone had to present the report. David said it was important, and no one in the marketing department would hear me out—they’re too busy with the launch of the new product line. I felt like I had to go along with it, just this once.”
“I’m not interested in your flimsy rationale.”
“I never lied. Not once.”
“But you didn’t bother to tell anyone. How is that not dishonest?”
“I have an official letter saying my role remains. Of course, that’s what I’d believe.”
Neither of us spoke for a minute. He observed me while I avoided eye contact. Then he loosened his navy tie and massaged his neck. “Look, Amelia, a mistake was made, and I apologise for that, but like most mistakes, it can be fixed, and that’s what I intend to do.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“I’m going to call Ms. Crook, apologise profusely, and ask if she wants her job back.”
“What’s going to happen to me ?”
The corners of Neil’s mean lips twitched, and he made a noise which was half exasperated sigh, half evil laugh. I knew I wouldn’t like what was coming next.
“You’re fired,” he said.
The words echoed in my head like he had shouted them into a cavern.
“Sorry?”
“You heard me. Pack your things and leave. Right now. Unless you want to keep working over your notice period. It’s up to you. You’ll get paid whatever you’re owed, regardless.”
I stood up, hands fisted at my sides, flooded with outrage. “You can’t do this. I need this job!”
“More than Ms. Crook needs hers?”
I looked away. “I don’t know.”
“No, you don’t. Now leave. This meeting is over.”
“But—”
“Go quietly, and I’ll cover up your transgressions. Kick up a fuss, and I’ll have no choice but to make sure everyone knows what you did.”
He was dead serious. I was fired. Terminated. Just like that.
An avalanche of hot tears threatened to burst through the banks of my eyelids. I didn’t want him to see me cry, so I hurried out the door before I could break down in front of him.
That cruel man. How could he fire me over a mistake that wasn’t even my fault? No lenience. No grace period. Nothing. And now I had to go and humiliate myself, pack up my things, and leave in front of my colleagues who knew nothing about what was going on. How would I explain myself?
My stomach twisted and turned while uncontrollable tears leaked from my eyes, leaving wet streaks down my face. I couldn’t go back to my desk like this. I marched to the women’s bathroom instead.
The twentieth floor had a much fancier bathroom than the rest of the building, but it hardly registered in the whirlwind of my emotions. I traipsed to the nearest cubicle, slammed the door shut, twisted the lock, and collapsed onto the closed toilet lid with my head in my hands.
I only had time to heave one shaky sob before I heard a noise from another cubicle. A long, pained groan.
Oh great. I come here for a private sob, and someone’s having tummy trouble next to me.
I wiped my wet cheeks with a piece of toilet paper and stood up, planning to go elsewhere. As I opened the cubicle door, another groan rang out, this time laced with palpable agony. I was wrong. This person was suffering from much more than a run-of-the-mill upset tummy. Worried now, I tapped on the closed door of the occupied cubicle. “Excuse me. Are you okay? Are you sick?”
A lengthy pause ensued before the muffled reply, “I think my baby’s coming.”