Yes, that would be the male stripper – "Doctor Feelgood" – who'd been egging me on with a smile. This would've been glaringly obvious if a certain weasel hadn't conveniently cropped out his face.
Stuart demanded, "Then who did?" When I tried to reply, he cut me off. "Forget it. The buck stops withyou, period."
Period, huh?Stuart did that a lot – made clichéd pronouncements which he ended with that familiar P-word. Normally, I found it endearing.Not today.
I whirled to look at Toby, who was still recording me with his phone. But he wasn't looking in my direction. He was looking at Evan Carver as if the guy hung the moon.
That's when I realized something. Toby wasn't theonlyperson who'd set me up. It was a tag-team effort if I'd ever seen one.
Through the buzzing in my head, I heard my boss telling Evan Carver, "We'll be taking swift action, I promise."
My stomach dropped.Swift action.It was the thing theyalwayssaid just before someone got the old heave-ho.
Obviously, my career at Thatcher-Hale was coming to a rapid end – and not the kind with a signed greeting card and cake.
No, this would be the other kind – involving security and a box for my things.
I'd always hated injustice.Perversely, this was why I'd given Toby a break. Nobody deserved to be fired over a typo – or for burning popcorn in the microwave, which was how we'd lost our best graphic designer, a really nice woman with a deployed husband, two kids, and a mortgage.
Monica had gone quietly – not that it had done her any good. The company had tanked her career anyway, using the Chicago grapevine to guarantee she'd never work in corporate again.
For popcorn.
Those fuckers.
Something inside me snapped.Screw this place.Maybe I'd have to go, but unlike Monica, I'd be damned if I'd go quietly.
2
Bridge Burning for Beginners
Tessa
I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I didn't pick up the clicker and lob it at anyone's head – even though I was sorely tempted.
Instead, I looked to Stuart with a scoff. "Swift action, huh?" I gave him a thin smile. "Shouldn't that be 'Swift action,period'?"
Someone in the back snickered, and Stuart's face went beet red as he gritted out, "I suggest you gather your things."
"Oh, yeah?" I forced a laugh, not caring that it sounded half-crazed. "Which things are those? My five years of unpaid overtime? Or that stash of popcorn I keep in my desk?"
He swallowed. "Popcorn?"Funny, he hadn't mentioned the overtime. But then again, they never did.
And now I was on a roll. "You know whatIdo at night, when you're off with your family and friends?" I leaned toward him. "I burn the shit out of that popcorn.On purpose!"
This wasn't quite true.Like a good little team player, I hadn't brought a single kernel into the office after that anti-popcorn policy had gone into effect.
No joke.The policy was real – and in writing, too. Thatcher-Hale was known for its polished presentations, which was why our conference rooms were so lavish while our health benefits were so cheap.
Of course, to be fair, it's hard to sell polish when the boardroom smells like a flaming snack. But I was in no mood to be fair.Theyhadn't been fair to Monica, who'd been fired on a Tuesday afternoon without so much as a warning.
Absently, I wondered if they'd be issuing a new policy related to bridges, because my own bridge – the one I'd spent years building – was going up in flames.
But my snide comment about popcorn?
Yeah, that had been for Monica, who, last I heard, was waitressing to make ends meet.
I whirled to face Toby. "Youaregetting this, right?" But of course, he was, because the phone was still there, trained in my direction, like I was the dancing bear at a corporate circus.
