He stands abruptly. “These Valentine’s numbers. They’re not good enough.”
I narrow my eyes to a glare. “What do you mean?”
“They’re too low.” He steps away from my computer and sniffs repeatedly, each drag of air thinning what little patience I have left. “I expected more from you, Calliope. This isn’t good enough.”
“Are you kidding me?” I snap suddenly. “We’re already over what we made last year.”
“And in this climate, it’s as good as half,” he responds just as sharply. “I need you to do better if we’re to have any hope of saving this department. Compared to the stores, you’re really showing yourself up.”
“Are you kidding me? If I had the stock I requested, if you didn’t keep making me take shit off the website and add it back, if I didn’t have to deal with your accusing this department of stealing sales andconstantlyhaving to cancel customer orders because you can’t work out how to balance in-store and online, we would be booming!”
“Don’t you dare raise your voice to me, Cal,” Jimmy snaps, pointing at me with a pudgy finger. “And I make the hard business decisions you can’t.”
“I can’t, can I? Was it me who fucked up the onyx bracelets and over-ordered because you thought the in-store interest would be as high as online? No, that was you. Was it me who couldn’tmake up their mind about whether or not to even sell the Valentine’s stuff online? No, that was you, and you changed your mind twice.Twice! How you even make a decision to get dressed in the morning is beyond me.”
“Caliope!” Jimmy yells, bringing my panting tirade to an abrupt halt. “How dare you!”
A sudden knock at the door brings our argument to a halt, and I turn around, finding a strange man in the doorway clad in a black suit with a white shirt that carries a hint of stain near the lapel. He clutches a shiny briefcase in one hand.
“Can I help you?” I ask tiredly.
“Calliope Locke?”
“Yes.”
“Could you come with me ,please?”
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“Chris. I’m one of Amber Limited’s lawyers, and we need to have a discussion, if that’s alright with you.”
The knot in my stomach turns into a rock, one that increases in weight as, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse Jimmy smirking.
What the fuck is going on?
Without a word, Chris leads the way toward the elevator and we glide down several floors. “Sorry about the…” He brushes his fingers over the subtle stain on his shirt. “Sushi.”
I don’t reply. My gut aches, my heart is pounding, and my mind is complete mush. Chris leads me down another corridor andinto a room with a metal table in the middle, a single chair on either side.
“Please, take a seat,” he says, holding out his hand toward one chair.
I oblige but sit on the edge as if prepared to flee, one leg bouncing as I place my hands on the cold table. “Can you tell me what this is about?”
“Certainly.” Chris sits and draws a file out of his black briefcase. “We’re questioning a few people of interest in relation to some troubling errors that have come to light.”
“Errors?” My mind races, trying to recall every single thing I’ve ever done while working here.
“You’re a single mother, correct?” Chris clicks his pen and looks up at me.
“Uh… yes.”
“And you live with your mother?”
“Tem—temporarily, yes.”
“Your father passed away about seven months ago?”
“Yes. How is that relevant?”
