Chapter 4
Monday, December 3
Anita’s habit of repeatedly pressing the snooze button on her alarm clock meant she got up late Monday morning, ran around the apartment trying to find her bag while pulling on her clothes, and dashed from the house with a half-toasted sesame bagel in her hands.
Not wanting to open the third box of my Advent calendar without her—it would be one of the last ones Anita would be here for—I decided to wait until evening. After clearing up the kitchen she’d torn through like a tornado, I dressed in the suit I’d laid out the night before and drove to Whitlock & Blake’s office on the west side of town.
As soon as I stepped out of the elevator on the second floor, Hazel waved at me from our cubicle, her mahogany eyes full of worry. “An email about a finance team meeting came in,” she said, absentmindedly twirling her thick, dark blond braid around her fingers. “We’ve all been summoned to the small conference room at nine. I tried to find out why but didn’t get anywhere.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” I said, putting my bag next to my chair.
As I looked around, I realized Hazel—a huge holiday fan—must’ve arrived early because her cluttered side of the cubicle was now decorated with blue-and-white garland. Her gigantic stacks of paper, overflowing plastic trays, and full-to-the-brim pen pot had been shoved to one side, making room for a mini Christmas tree with tiny multicolored balls and lights. Her wall, already three layers deep with notes, internal memos, and photographs of Mikey, had a brand-new drawing of a grinning Santa, which I presumed her son had made.
Organized chaos was how she’d once described her workspace when she’d taken six empty mugs back to the kitchenette, and I’d laughed because I couldn’t concentrate unless everything on my side was in its place. Things being in order was exactly why I was so passionate about accounting and bookkeeping, always deriving a deep sense of accomplishment when the numbers balanced.
“Did they say what the meeting’s about?” I asked. “Do you think it’s got something to do with Jennifer?”
“Has to be.” Hazel lowered her voice. “She’s not here, and her desk’s definitely empty.”
“We need to strategize, because if Grant—” I looked up and stopped talking when I saw Oliver hovering outside our cubicle, immediately bracing myself for the shot to the heart I’d been so used to experiencing whenever our paths crossed.
Thankfully, it was more of a pinch nowadays. It still wasn’t easy seeing his impossibly chiseled cheekbones, blue eyes, and shaggy blond hair, compounded by the fact that he’d worn the dark gray shirt I’d gifted him to celebrate our move to Fallbrook. More than that, I was hit with the sad truth that my only relationship had spectacularly failed. Being near my ex always made me feel awkward, not to mention wary of why he was standing here now.
“Good morning,” Oliver said with a gentle smile.
I replied with a quiet “Hello,” but Hazel stayed silent, leaning back in her chair and crossing her impossibly long, lithe legs as she stared at him. When she’d found me sobbing in the restroom the day after Oliver left me, she’d scooped me up and had taken me out for ice cream. In the months that followed, she’d combined comfort food with wise counsel, and if anything needed to be dropped off upstairs, she’d always gone so I didn’t risk bumping into my ex.
While I may have forgiven him for breaking my heart, Hazel, whose partner had walked out on her before their son’s first birthday, had remained my staunch protector. She’d told me it had been two years since she’d been on a date, which I could hardly believe because she was such a catch—bright, funny, not to mention beautiful. Both of us being dumped by the people we’d believed were The One had strengthened our friendship even more.
“Can we help you?” she asked Oliver now, her eyes narrowing.
He glanced at me. “I’d like to speak with you privately, please, Callie.”
I signaled to Hazel that I could handle this and followed him to the empty kitchenette, closing the door behind us. “Is everything all right?”
Oliver’s eyes darted around the small room, and I could tell he was nervous. “Can we sit?” As I slid into the orange plastic seat across from his while wishing I was at my desk, he added, “There’s news, and I’d like you to hear it from me before anyone else tells you.”
I realized Oliver must’ve learned about Jennifer’s departure and had come to give me the heads-up. “I appreciate you looking out for me,” I said. “Don’t worry, I already heard, and it’ll be fine.”
Oliver’s jaw dropped. “You know ? How did you find out?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, unwilling to risk landing Hazel in any trouble. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t love the idea, but I’ll get over it.”
He let out a long breath, looking as if he was about to collapse onto the table. “Callie, I’m incredibly grateful. Thank you for being so accepting.”
“Not much choice, is there? Funny, I didn’t think you’d be this concerned.”
“Of course I am. Just because we’re not together doesn’t mean I didn’t care how you’d feel. I was really worried.”
“All right…” I said slowly, frowning at the intense delivery of his words, the renewed seriousness of his expression. “Honestly, I’ll be fine. I mean, I’ll miss her.”
Oliver stared at me, his face going blank. “Sorry…what? Miss who?”
“Jennifer,” I replied, wondering at which point I’d lost him. “She’s been a great boss. I could’ve learned far more from her if she’d stayed.” When Oliver continued looking at me, I let out a nervous laugh. Why did it seem as if he had no idea what I meant?
“I don’t know anything about Jennifer leaving,” he said carefully, his words making every single hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “Callie, I came to tell you about Sarah and me. She moved in this weekend. We’re…we’re getting married.”
—
“They’re what ?” Hazel’s voice boomed around the supply room, the place I’d fled to as soon as I’d managed to force out a stilted “Congratulations” to my now-engaged ex. She’d arrived twenty seconds later, face full of concern.
“Getting married,” I whispered, blinking hard as I willed myself not to cry. There’d been enough tears of anger and anguish shed over Oliver and Sarah—his fiancée —since the breakup. I wouldn’t let there be any more.
“How can they be engaged?” Hazel said, her voice lower. “They’ve been together five minutes.”
“Six months.”
“You were a couple for ten years.”
“I know , but he never proposed.”
“Callie.” Hazel’s voice was gentle, almost tentative. “I thought you’d never take him back, even if he begged. You said you’d moved on.”
As I leaned against the shelving unit filled with photocopier paper, pens, and sticky notes, I said, “Yes, from him . Not from what happened. Not from how much it crushed me.”
“Can you explain what you mean?” Hazel asked, her tone motherly and warm. “Maybe I can help you sort through your emotions. What’s upsetting you the most?”
“The fact that he’s moving on with his life whereas I’m stuck.”
“It’s because he’s with someone and you’re not?”
“No, not exactly.” I exhaled. “How could I even attempt being in a relationship when I have this much baggage and all these trust issues? There’s too much wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Hazel replied, her voice stern now. “You’re beautiful, clever, and hilarious.”
“Not beautiful, clever, and hilarious enough, apparently. Oliver upgraded.”
“Not true at all, Callie.” She put her arm around me. “You can’t let the end of this relationship define you. Trust me, you can’t let the relationship define you.”
I stifled another sob trying to escape my mouth. “I want to get rid of all this pain, but it isn’t done with me. I feel awful. Like a total and utter loser.”
“You’re not a loser, Callie,” Hazel whispered. “You’re you , and you’re extraordinary.”
I pressed my eyes shut. “I appreciate the pep talk, I truly do, but all I’m feeling right now is extra ordinary.”
“Oliver’s an asshat,” she muttered. “I’ve said it before, but you’re better off without him. I know you’ll look back at this at some point in the future and think you had a lucky escape. I certainly did after Mikey’s dad left, even though it was hard. It may take a while, but you’ll get there. I promise.”
I took a deep breath and fanned my hands in front of my face. After wiping my fingers under my eyes, trying to ensure my mascara hadn’t run halfway down my cheeks, I plastered on a cheery half-smile, hoping nobody else would see through the brittle facade. “Thank you. I guess we should go, or we’ll be late for the meeting.”
“You’ve got this,” she whispered, opening the door.
I followed her to the small conference room at the far end of the second floor, where someone—probably Hazel—had decorated the artificial Christmas tree in the corner with silver ornaments, plaid bows, and enough gold tinsel to span the globe.
My gaze scanned around the table, which was occupied by our three finance team colleagues. Hazel gestured to the empty chairs on the right, and we took our seats as Tim the CEO bustled into the room with Grant McGregor close behind.
“Good morning, everyone,” Tim said as he remained standing, taking a second to adjust his already perfectly straight tie. “Don’t worry, I’ll try to make this brief, not boring.”
He paused as a few chuckles traveled around the room. Tim was a good boss, a kind man a little older than my dad, who’d taken over the family IT staffing company twenty years ago, successfully expanding it into three more states on the East Coast. Both Hazel and I had a ton of respect for him, but he traveled frequently to the other locations and wasn’t often in town.
“There have been many internal discussions over the past little while,” Tim said. “Effective immediately, we’re bringing the finance team under the Operations department’s wing, alongside administration, human resources, and IT.”
Hazel and I exchanged a worried glance as a ripple of murmurs went around the table.
Tim held up a hand. “Our finance director, Jennifer Partridge, parted ways with Whitlock & Blake this weekend. She made great contributions to our firm, for which we thank her.” He paused again, probably allowing us a moment to digest the news. “Following this change,” Tim continued, “this team will report directly to Grant.”
“Balls,” Hazel muttered, and I looked at her, my eyes wide. We’d known this was a possibility, but we’d both hoped it wouldn’t come true.
“The floor’s all yours, Grant.” Tim held out a hand.
Grant—as always dressed in a pressed charcoal suit, white shirt, and purple tie—stepped up. He was in his late thirties, and while Oliver seemed to get along with him, rumor had it my new boss’s ambition—and the fact that he was Tim’s son-in-law—tended to make him somewhat power-obsessed and overbearing.
“I’ll start with some reassurance.” Grant’s chin drifted a little higher. “Finally bringing all the back-office departments under my direction will allow more synergies for everyone. We’ll have the opportunity to take our accounting processes and procedures to the next level.” He paused, arms bent at the elbows, fingers steepled. “Trust me when I say we’ll generate lots of value-add and opportunities to win.”
When I felt Hazel’s shoulders shaking next to mine, I bit the inside of my lip to stop myself from giggling at her reaction. She’d long pointed out how Grant never tired of using corporate clichés, preferably stringing them together as much as possible. If he mentioned his favorites, “low-hanging fruit” or “dovetailing,” Hazel might lose it completely.
“This isn’t the only change,” Grant said, taking a virtual flamethrower to my speck of cheeriness. “We’re relocating the finance team to the third floor.”
“What?” I blurted, and everyone turned to gawp at me. “I mean…why move us?”
Grant gave me a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “ Synergies . By reassigning the seats upstairs, we found the necessary five spots for you all. Everyone’s expected to relocate by Wednesday morning. You’ll find a copy of the new layout and seating chart in your inbox.”
Along with everybody else, I whipped out my phone and opened the attachment Grant must’ve prescheduled to send. I searched for my name, thankful when I saw Hazel and I would still sit together and Oliver would be a good six cubicles away. Not a total disaster, but not great, especially considering the wedding bombshell that had exploded in my face minutes ago.
I started to panic, my mind racing. Perhaps I needed to search for another job after all. However, if an interviewer asked why I was leaving Whitlock & Blake, I couldn’t say Because my ex-boyfriend works there, he’s getting married, and it’s so awkward .
Besides, I remained unwavering in my position that I wouldn’t let Oliver slow down my career development here. Although what would that look like now that Jennifer had left? Unable to come up with an answer, I tuned back into what Grant was saying, which for some unfathomable reason was about getting ducks in a row.
“Thanks, everyone,” he concluded, giving us all a tepid smile. “Remember, teamwork makes the dream work.”
“Dream?” Hazel whispered in my ear. “This feels more like The Nightmare Before Christmas .”