Chapter 20
MOLLY
The clock on the office wall ticks loudly, the rhythmic sound gnawing at my nerves.
I glance at the time. It’s already six forty-five and I should be long home by now, tucking Autumn into bed, listening to her ramble about whatever cartoon she’s obsessed with this week and all the fun she’s had at daycare and then with her nana.
Instead, I’m sitting at my desk, waiting for Joshua to call me into his office.
He hasn’t even given me a reason to stay late.
It was just a clipped, "Molly, I need you to stay late tonight. We have some work to go over." It wasn’t a request either, it was an order, but I knew when I took on this job that there would be times I’m expected to work late, and I had cleared that with my mom in advance.
And to be fair to Joshua, it’s not like he knows I have a toddler to get home to.
Even though Joshua didn’t give me a reason for us working late, I’m pretty sure I know exactly why he wants to talk to me, and I suppose I should be grateful that he’s waited until we are the only people left in the building.
My stomach twists as I run through every little mistake I’ve made in the last few weeks.
The double fuck ups with the drinks for the board members.
The missed memo about the rescheduled meeting.
And the worst—accidentally locking myself out of my computer and not being able to deliver a report that was needed for a client meeting before that client arrived here.
It was an honest mistake, but still, it was one that had earned me a look - the kind of look that made my blood turn cold.
I grip my cell phone tighter and glance down at the screen where I have a new message.
"She’s fine," my mom has texted me just a few minutes ago. "Stop worrying." I know she means stop worrying about Autumn and I do, I know my mom is more than capable of looking after her, but as for not worrying about why I’m here. Well, that’s easy for her to say - she doesn’t have a boss who looks like he was carved out of marble and radiates disappointment with just a glance.
I can’t help but compare this powerful CEO to the carefree Joshua I met in Vegas three years ago.
When he told me then that was his last blow out before he had to grow up, he really wasn’t kidding.
It’s like he became an adult overnight. And not just any old adult either.
The kind of adult who can run a billion-dollar company.
The kind of adult who can command a room with one word or even a look.
And the kind of adult who can make me want to crawl into a hole and die when I let him down.
Joshua’s voice echoes out of his open office door, like me thinking about him made it happen.
"Molly, can you come in now please," he shouts.
I jump, nearly knocking my coffee cup over.
Great. Just add one more thing to my list of failures – one soaking wet keyboard.
Taking a deep breath, I stand up and I smooth my skirt down and wipe my sweaty palms against it, I run my fingers through my hair – apparently, I want to look well-groomed for my firing - and then I cross the hallway and go into his office.
Joshua is behind his desk, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his tie slightly loosened. He looks up, his piercing brown eyes locking onto me.
He nods to me and then gestures to the chair across from him. I go and sit down, with my hands clasped tightly in my lap, and my foot bouncing under the table. He studies me for a moment before speaking.
"We have a few things to finish before tomorrow," he says, indicating a thick folder on his desk. "One of our top clients has requested an urgent report and he wants it by tomorrow. I’ll dictate, and you type. Do you think you can handle that?"
I blink.
"Uh, yes. Of course," I say.
I’m shocked. There’s no lecture, no speech about professionalism. And most importantly, no termination letter. Just work. Joshua pushes the keyboard towards me and picks the folder up.
I can’t believe it’s genuinely just work that’s needed fast that’s caused us to work late.
The relief I feel is making my hands shake slightly and I try my best to stop them as I reach for the keyboard, pulling it a little bit closer to me.
Of course this is me though and it seems I’m not happy unless I’m causing myself a problem, and my fingers brush against the silver colored pen holder on Joshua’s desk, and in slow motion horror, I watch as it tips over, and falls onto the desk with a loud bang, sending an avalanche of pens and pencils scattering across his desk and onto the floor.
I freeze. The room is so silent after the bang of the pen holder falling that I swear I can hear my own heartbeat.
"I’m so sorry," I blurt, scrambling to pick them up. My fingers fumble as I grab at the pens. Of course, some go rolling under his desk and I stretch out, trying to reach them. "I—I didn’t mean to. I?—"
"Molly," Joshua says, and his voice is calm, steady, not angry. I stop, looking up at him, my face burning. "It’s fine. Just leave them, I’ll get them later."
"But I …" I start to say.
"It’s fine," he repeats, leaning back in his chair. "You’ve been on edge all afternoon. What’s happened?"
I clutch a handful of pens, gripping them so tightly that my knuckles turn white.
I force myself to slacken my grip – the last thing I need is one of them bursting and spraying ink all over me.
"I thought … I mean, I was worried that …
" God Molly, get a grip I tell myself. I swallow and then I blurt it out.
"I thought that you were going to fire me this evening. "
His eyebrows lift slightly, as if the thought had never even crossed his mind.
"Fire you? Why? What have you done?" he says. His voice sounds serious, but I swear I can see a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"I’ve been making so many mistakes lately," I say, deciding against reminding him of each specific one.
I realize I still have a handful of pens, and I lean over and right the pen pot and then I drop them back into it before I go on, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I thought maybe you asked me to stay back so you could fire me without embarrassing me in front of everyone. "
"Molly," he says, his tone softer now. "You’ve made a few mistakes. Yes. But in the grand scheme of things, they’re minor. I’d prefer you not to make them, but they’re hardly grounds for firing."
I blink at him, surprised.
"Really?"
"Really," he says and then he grins. “And if you do ever do something bad enough that I need to fire you, don’t expect me to do it privately so you’re not embarrassed.”
Something in me uncoils. I let out a breath, nodding slowly.
“Got it,” I say.
"Good." He smirks slightly. "Now, are you going to get up off the floor?”
I feel myself blushing as it hits me, I’m still on my knees. I push myself up and sit back in the chair and ready myself to start typing.
“Can we get to work now then? Or would you like to knock something else over first?" Joshua says.
I let out a small, nervous laugh.
"I think I’m good to start," I say.
He laughs, shaking his head, then he leans forward, tapping the folder.
"Let’s start."
The next few hours are a blur of dictation and typing, my fingers flying over the keyboard as he speaks.
Once I relax, I fall into the familiar rhythm of his voice, his precise words, the way he occasionally pauses to gather his thoughts.
By the time we finish, it’s nearly eleven o’clock.
I told my mom it wouldn’t be too late. I hope she thinks this is acceptable.
Joshua stands up, stretching.
"Alright. Let’s get out of here," he says.
I go back to my desk and gather my things, feeling lighter than I have in weeks.
Joshua waits for me to slip my jacket on and then we walk to the elevator together.
We get in and go down to the lobby. As the elevator goes down, my mind instantly goes to the last time I was in an elevator with Joshua and what happened next between us.
It’s a delicious memory, one to be savored, but not while I’m standing in a small, confined space with Joshua. I force the images away.
The elevator reaches the lobby, and we step out and head across the large, open space. We reach the main door to the office building, and Joshua presses the handle down - and nothing happens. He frowns and tries again. The door doesn’t budge.
I stare at him.
"Is it locked?" I ask.
His jaw tightens.
"It shouldn’t be. Security knows we’re here."
He pulls out his cell phone, and taps the screen, and then lets out a quiet curse.
"There’s no service in the damned lobby," he says.
I dig my own cell phone out of my purse and check it. Nothing. My stomach sinks.
"What do we do?" I ask, suddenly feeling very aware of how empty and silent the building is around us.
Joshua exhales, rubbing his jaw.
"Well, it looks like we’re stuck here for a while,” he says. “We’d best go back upstairs where we can get cell service, and I’ll call for someone to let us out.”