She brought in files. She took notes during the Lisbon video call in her spare pair of panties, her skirt just the right length, and her long legs gracefully crossed at the ankles. She smiled politely when her contact made a joke about the unseasonably good weather.
At 3:00 p.m. sharp, an email appeared in her inbox. Her dismissal letter, a shining recommendation, and a severance package generous enough to feel like a pay-off for ‘Services Rendered’. Like she was his dirty secret. Which she was in some ways. She was like a multifunctional home appliance that was about to be upgraded to a newer model. Off with the old, on with the new.
Under "Reason for Departure," one phrase stood out in bold type: REDUNDANCY.
Rune let her mouth twitch in a wry smile. Appropriate in more ways than one.
For the first time since she started this job five years ago, Rune finished at five and walked through the door without asking if there was anything else that required her attention. She missed the last bus more often than not, and he didn't deserve her loyalty to the extent that she was willing to walk two miles in the rain to catch the next bus.
The next morning, she had arrived at 8:00 a.m., not 7:00 like she used to. No more 5 a.m. alarms and rushing to the office without breakfast. No more standing shivering at darkened bus stops in cheap shoes that looked posh but gave her shoe burns while juggling transfers across the city in the biting wind just to arrive well before Dorian Albury made his way into the office.
Today, she took her time. And wore comfortable shoes that was going to make Dorian’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline –one more little rebellion.
The walk was more leisurely. The bag in her hand had Dorian's usual breakfast: a classic bacon, egg, and cheese bagel from Bekki Bagels. Toasted just the way he liked it. No sauce, no frills. Just food to fuel the morning.
As always, she stopped at the breakroom and got to work on the stubborn coffee machine. She could've let Sara in housekeeping do it. But Dorian insisted she do it and old habits die hard, at least for the next two weeks of her notice.
She selected the black cup, Dorian's favourite, a slate matte ceramic with no handle. She filled it with black coffee, no sugar, no milk. Theway he insisted all his staff drink theirs. "Clarity in, clarity out," he used to say.
Today, Rune added milk and two sugars to hers anyway. Let him judge. Her mouth took on a bitter twist as she recalled how pitiful she was yesterday night.
Waiting for the axe to fall hadn’t been easy but when it actually happened, she had felt like the walking wounded. Not even to herself did she admit that in her heart of hearts, she had hoped Dorian would not disappoint her yet again.
The moment she stepped through the door of her apartment, her knees had given out, and she'd collapsed just inside the threshold. There was no warning in the form of controlled sobs, no slow buildup to the total collapse of her soul. The mask she'd worn all day had slipped and shattered to a million painful shards as she let her control go. Her shoulders, trained to stay upright, had finally slumped and started shaking.
The sobs tore out of her, harsh and gasping. Ugly and barely human.
A good cry, she decided after the first fit had died down. She deserved that much, didn’t she? Just for today.
She had wandered to the kitchen in a daze and opened her freezer mechanically. She selected a Tupperware container from the stack she'd prepped the previous Sunday. A Sunday that hadn't been consumed by Dorian or spreadsheets or damage control. She’d microwaved it like an automaton while buttered toast crackled in the toaster. She wasn't hungry, but she ate anyway. She kept it down, even though nausea curled in her belly like smoke struggling to escape.
Later, she had squeezed into her tiny shower, water echoing off the cold, chipped tiles, and let go again. Of the shame. Of the fantasy. Of the ridiculous, beautiful dream of ever being enough for Dorian Albury. A dream that had consumed most of her lifetime was now dust.
She cried until the tears ran clear and her eyes were swollen. Then she scrubbed herself until she felt her skin would peel off. Then she wiped the fogged mirror to examine her ravaged face and whispered to herself, "This is the last time. At least until I'm safe and away from here."
Chapter three
Chapter 3
So, the next morning, Rune stood before Dorian's desk at 8:03 a.m. And to her surprise, he was already there.
That was unusual. Dorian had a clockwork routine. He arrived at 8:30. Not a minute before or after. The man who had once reprimanded her for arranging documents vertically instead of horizontally was sitting now at his desk twenty-seven minutes early.
It unsettled her, but she didn't let it show. She carried on like he wasn't there. She first laid a coaster and then a table mat. Set his coffee down perfectly centred on the coaster. Then she placed the bagel next to it, just so. The angle had to be right. His desk, as always, was a study in precision. Four pens, perfectly aligned and black. Four paperweights, evenly spaced. Even the decorative carved dice on the sideboard were arranged in a group of four, with the facet for four facing up and lined up like soldiers ready for battle. The large meeting table across the room had sixteen chairs, eight on each side.
Dorian liked his numbers to behave.
He stared at her as she adjusted the final placement of the coffee cup.
"You're late," he said. His tone was detached, like he was working on a project to freeze hell. Flat, cold, and utterly bored.
Rune straightened a fold on her pants while artfully avoiding his eyes. "I decided to stick to my contractual hours. Eight a.m. sharp. Would that be a problem, Mr Albury?"
He didn't answer right away. He seemed to consider her, as if he was rolling her words around in his mind like marbles. His eyes lingered on the warpaint she had applied so carefully. If he was taken aback by the flatness in her voice which had been professional but still warm and attentive a day ago, he didn’t let it show. His eyes travelled over the chunky sweater, comfortable chinos and bright red lipstick with barely disguised distaste. This new Rune didn't fit the curated image of his Rune in his head. It felt a little like the dog he had trained from puppyhood had dared to bark at him.
For a moment, just a fraction of a second, he looked like a man who wasn’t sure about how to proceed.
"No," he said finally as if losing interest, before looking back at the screen of his laptop. "No problem at all, Ms O'Connor. Let me know when the candidates are here."
