22. Chapter 22
Jasmine
Iglance at the clock, realizing three hours have passed and I’ve barely seen or heard from anyone on this unusually quiet Monday morning.
Todd typically stops in and says something off-putting to start my week out, but I haven’t seen him yet today.
Perhaps my luck with my job here at Jorgensen & Munson is turning around.
Maybe people have finally taken notice of what I contribute to the company and are giving me the respect I deserve.
With that nice thought, I decide to reward myself with another cup of my favorite elixir this morning.
I replace the files I’ve been working on back in my drawer, then head to the break room.
My lucky streak seems to have broken when I walk in and find Todd standing beside the coffee machine, a smug smile on his face.
“I figured you’d be in here sooner than later,” he says, his voice slightly singsongy. “Jasmine Baker sure does love her coffee.”
I nod in way of greeting. This man doesn’t deserve my words.
“So,” he continues, clearly wanting to have a conversation. “Did you have a good weekend?”
I open the cabinet in search of a mug. “It was fine.”
“Did you go anywhere?”
My spine straightens, thinking he knows about Inferno, but I tell myself there’s no way he would know I was there. I attempt to relax and hope he didn’t notice. “I picked up some groceries.”
It isn’t a lie. I had to grab the essentials yesterday when I realized I was out of my favorite creamer.
“Hmm,” he hums. “So a nice, quiet weekend at home then, huh?”
I stare at him as he stands in my way. He reluctantly steps to the side when he realizes he’s not going to get a response.
When I grip the handle of the coffee pot, Todd stage-whispers. “A nice weekend at home with Dario Caruso?”
Dark, hot liquid splatters across Todd’s shirt as the coffee pot hits the countertop and the lid flies open after it drops from my hand.
“You clumsy ass bitch!” he shouts.
I rush to the sink, ripping some paper towels from the roll and running them under the faucet. I wring them out a few times, then toss them at Todd. He does his best to clean up the damage I’ve done, but glares at me as he tosses the towels in the trash, knowing it’s a worthless effort.
“It was an accident,” I seethe, more concerned about his accusation than the names he called me. “What makes you think Dario Caruso was with me this weekend?”
Todd’s face twists up in an evil grin. “Don’t play the dumb-blonde card. I know he was there with you this weekend.”
He tosses the soiled paper towels in my direction as he turns to leave. When he reaches the door, he tosses one more comment over his shoulder. “And so does Mr. Jorgensen.”
Fired. I can’t believe I got fucking fired.
When Mr. Jorgensen called me into his office at the end of the day, I expected to be reprimanded, sure. I expected him to have questions. I expected him to listen to anything I had to say.
I should have known better. There was no opportunity for me to explain why Todd Delaney had voiced concerns about my professionalism here at the office, along with the relationships I hold with my clients outside of it.
I wasn’t given the chance to stand my ground and state my side of things.
Hell, I wasn’t even given a straightforward answer when I asked what I was actually being dismissed for.
No, I hadn’t been pulled into Jim Jorgensen’s office for a hearing.
I was there for an execution.
Shamefully, I pack up my things from the office I barely got to call my own. My hands run over my degrees in their golden frames—degrees that were revered and respected back home. My heart tugs when I pack up the photo of me and my best friends from when we were all out here together.
While I’m still gathering all my things into the one box I was graciously given, a knock sounds at my door. I look up and groan when I see Todd standing there, a smarmy smirk on his face.
“I just heard the terrible news.” His voice drips in sarcasm, and I wonder what I did to make the man feel so threatened.
“Go away, Todd.”
“I’m only here to offer my condolences,” he continues, stepping into my space, or what’s my space for at least the next half hour. “It’s one thing to lose your job. It’s a whole other thing to know your boyfriend is the one who made it happen.”
My head snaps up to look at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Did Mr. Jorgensen not tell you?” He laughs as I stare at him. “Your boyfriend called him up and asked him to get rid of you.”
I continue to stare, and Todd snaps his fingers in my face. “Hello? Did you hear me? You gave your little boy toy what he wanted this weekend, and now he’s kicking you to the curb.”
My body stays frozen as I try to process Todd’s words, but my eyes track his movements as he walks closer to me. His fingers skate down my bare arm, and my own itch to slap them away. “I know it’s tough and you’re wondering what you’ll do with no job and no man, so I’ll make you an offer, okay?”
My eyes flick to his, but I remain glued in place as he leans in and washes his stale breath over me. “If you’re feeling empty and need someone to fill that fat cunt of yours, you can give me a call, and if I’m not busy, I can help you out.”
His words release the paralysis that’s had a hold over me, and I shove his body away. “You fucking pig!”
Todd backs out of my office with his hands raised, an evil smirk dancing across his lips.
When he’s in the hall, his face changes as though he’s on Broadway, and he speaks loudly.
“There’s no reason to speak that way with me, Miss Baker.
That’s the type of language we don’t accept here at Jorgensen & Munson and could very well be the reason you are out of a job. ”
I storm over, slamming the door in his face as he gives me another greasy grin.
He can say whatever he wants about me. It doesn’t matter anymore.
There’s no one in this firm I care enough about to worry over their opinion of me.
But my mind starts thinking about the one person I met because of this job, whose opinion I have come to care about.
Are Todd’s words true? Did Dario ask Mr. Jorgensen to fire me from the firm? He didn’t seem angry about me kicking him out the other day, but maybe he’s really good at masking his emotions.
My mind races, but I somehow manage to finish packing my belongings. As I step onto the elevator, I realize I won’t have any more moments in them with Dario Caruso.
When I step out and hand my card over to Lindsay, whose sweet soul gives me a sympathetic smile, I realize I won’t have to ask her to ward him off for me any longer.
As I place my box in the trunk of my worn-down car, I realize I won’t ever feel the soft leather seats of Dario’s red Porsche again.
And somehow, all of those things hurt more than the fact that he may have gotten me fired.