Monica retreats to her desk and sits, the leather creaking loudly in the silence.
“Sit.”
Woof!
I shuffle over to one of the acrylic chairs across from her.
Her eyes narrow into slits. Anger exudes from her like Chernobyl-level radiation. “What’s my one rule about working here?” she asks.
One rule? Did she mean one thousand rules?
I don’t know how to answer that, so I shrug. Better to look apathetic than say the wrong thing.
“Leave your personal life at the door,” she says.
Huh, that’s one I hadn’t heard before.Maybe it was sandwiched between her other rules. From no casual Fridays—we’re supposed to be professional at all times—to onlyMonica is trusted to use the postage machine. She sees all outgoing correspondence and inspects it with a fine-toothed comb to catch one of us screwing up. She loved tattle-tailing to Paul. I’m sure whichever lucky senator replaces him will get an earful from her about who really runs this place.
Monica’s hungry smile resembles shark teeth.
“Imagine my surprise when the President called me this morning. He asked me for a favor and wanted me to fire his daughter to prove a point.”
Dad did what?
“Excuse me?” The words slip off my tongue like slime as bile coats my throat. No, Dad wouldn’t…
Oh, he would.The nagging voice in the back of my mind taunts me.
“The President of the United States wants me to fire you, Daphne.” Monica scrunches her thin brows so tight that her pointed nose lifts in disgust. “I don’t know what is going on between you and your dad. I don’t give a shit. What Idoknow is I’m not about to say no to the most powerful man in the country.”
She wouldn’t… would she?“But, you can’t. Monica, that’s… wrongful termination.” Somehow, my brain finds those words despite the haze clouding my mind.
“You think I can’t?” Monica hisses. “Daphne, I can find reasons. Typos. Missed calendar entries. Discrepancies on travel invoices. Anything I can scrape up that you so much as looked at, I will pin on you and your incompetence. I will forge whatever bullshit documents I need to if it means getting Grover fucking Fox off my back. I will not say no to the President.”
“So, you’re just going to fire me? No warning?”
“Correct.” Monica’s nose settles as her lips pressin a firm line. “You were a good scheduler. I’ll give you a reference if you leave quietly. Leave your laptop. You can hand over your badge now.” She holds out her hand.
I hand it over, my smiling picture gazing up at me from Monica’s manicured clutches. Younger eyes still full of hope that maybe this job won’t be so bad.
With a dismissive wave of her hand, Monica silently orders me to leave.
I get up on shaky legs, still in a state of shock. No job means no money. Not speaking to Brent means my parents cutting me off, which means no money.
Disbelief hollows my stomach like bugs gnawing away at a tree trunk.
Dad won.
I’m going to have to see Brent again.
Tristan
Your location says you’re home early. Are you sick?
Yeah,okay. It’s weird that he’s following my location when I never shared it with him, but it’s sweet that he cares enough to check on me. And that he knows I'm home at one o’clock isn’t normal.
Daphne
Not sick. Unemployed.
