Mr. Foster doesn't do sarcasm, so I take the compliment as genuine. "Thank you, sir."
I'm biding my time, hoping that he'll remember each and every day I stayed late so he could rush home to his wife and daughter. I need him to keep in mind that I trekked through a blizzard less than six weeks ago when the city had virtually shut down under a blanket of two feet of snow. He was in Italy and needed me to find a file for him and I did it without hesitation even though all I wanted to do was stay in bed that cold, Saturday morning.
"Nicholas Wolf called me last night just as I was leaving the office." He sinks into the chair next to me. "He had a lot to say."
"So I heard," I begin as I cross my legs. "I met up with him after your conversation. He told me you two spoke. I'd like a chance to explain things to you before you fire me."
He shoots me a look that's a clear mix of surprise and sympathy. "You don't need to explain anything, Sophia. I've made up my mind."
"You've made up your mind? You did that without hearing my side?" I rub the bridge of my nose. "You can't fire me. I didn't do anything."
"Today is your last day working as my assistant."
I inhale sharply trying to catch my breath. I feel like I've been punched square in the stomach. "You can't do this. I didn't steal anything from him. He's wrong. I would never do that."
He straightens and leans back in the chair. "I believe you. I have no doubt that he's mistaken."
"Really?" I fist my hands together on my lap. "If you believe me, why are you firing me?"
"Where's your phone?" He glances toward the closed office door. "Did you leave it on your desk?"
Did he leave his mind at home? What the hell does it matter where my phone is right now? I'm in the middle of a career crisis. "I did. Why?"
"Did anyone call you this morning?"
My mom did. It's typical. The morning after she meets with her book club she calls me, usually before I start work to tell me if the book her club read is a thumbs-up or down. She knows I have a very mild interest in fiction. After last night, I doubt I'll read another book again. At the very least I'll steer clear of detective novels written by crazy hot men with trust issues.
"My mom," I confess because I'm confused as hell and just as tired. I barely slept. Instead, I fought the heartburn from the vinegar bathed salad Cadence served me before she whipped up the pasta dish. "She always calls me after her book club."
He smiles. "I was hoping you'd received a call from Sasha by now."
Sasha Berga.
She's the self-proclaimed Queen of the design department at Foster Enterprises. She skipped past retirement age more than a decade ago, but she's clinging to her job with both of her well-manicured hands. I've only shared one conversation with her and that was focused on Arilia's winter fashion line from a year ago. She asked my honest opinion about it while she was waiting for Mr. Foster to finish a meeting. I gave my unvarnished view of the mess that it was and she arched both brows, scowled and never said another word to me again.
"I haven't talked to Sasha." I have no desire to. The only person I want to talk to right now is sitting next to me. He already said that he didn't believe Nicholas so it makes zerosense for him to send my ass packing. I make a mental note to call Zoe Beck, the only attorney I know, to help me launch a lawsuit against Foster Enterprises for wrongful dismissal.
"You should, Sophia. I assumed you would spend the day with her."
Why the hell would I spend my day with a woman who took offense at my candid critique of the hideous items she personally chose for that collection last year? In her eyes, I'm akin to the dirt on the bottom of her Louboutins.
"I'd rather talk to you about my job. I need this job, Mr. Foster."
"No, you don't." He stands.
I beg to differ so I stand too. I rest my hands on my hips in a failed effort to look intimidating. "I do. I really need this job."
He reaches across his desk to pick up his laptop, turning the screen toward me. "You have a job. We're launching a new line for the fall. Our target audience is women your age who have a limited budget for fashion. There's a spot for you on the design team if you want it."
I gaze at his face briefly before I glance down at the computer. "That's my website. You've seen my website? How did you find it?"
"Nicholas told me you two were meeting Claudia Stefano for dinner last night. When I finally got a word in, I asked why and he told me she was considering selling some of your designs in her stores."
I quirk a brow. I've had it all wrong. Mr. Foster isn't firing me. He's giving me the opportunity of a lifetime. "You like my designs, sir?"
"I like them enough to start the hunt for a new executive assistant to replace you. You may be the most talented designer on staff. Sasha is waiting for you in her office. If you want the job, just say the word."
I don't. Instead, I let my actions speak for me as I dart out of his office and head straight for the elevator that will take me two floors down to the design department and my new boss, the one and only, Sasha Berga.
