God, the way my heart is starting to beat for him.
Emily is sitting in a chair, drinking some water, when Ienter the rehabilitation room. She’s drenched in sweat, and her therapist is off to the side, taking a break as well.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I wanted to speak to you about something.”
“Absolutely. Come in.” Emily waves me over, and I take a seat in a chair beside her. I regale her with the rug incident and who I strongly suspect did it. I also tell her about what happened while she was away because I don’t care enough about these people to exact revenge. I don’t care what happens to them either.
“You never said anything,” she comments.
“Most of the time I didn’t have proof it was them. I also didn’t think much about them. Truthfully, I didn’t want to start drama or have them create more disruption and scenes. It was easier to fix their sabotage than anything else, and I kept telling myself I’d handle them, and to a certain extent, I did. I managed the difficult situations they created, and I’m proud of that. The palace ran smoothly, everyone did their jobs, but the things they did this morning to get me fired went above and beyond to the point of malicious and destructive.”
“Yes,” she states, wiping her forehead with a towel. “I agree, and that’s unacceptable. What they’d been doing likely would have resulted in some discussion, but not anymore. Imagine if the queen had walked in there and inhaled the strong scent of bleach? Or if someone had gotten hurt because of their carelessness?”
“I should have done more. I know that. I don’t know for sure who changed the menu order. After I changed my password on the iPad, it didn’t happen again because they weren’t able to get access.”
“Which was smart thinking on your part, but they could have killed someone, and they need to go. All of them. Text them and ask them to come in here. We’ll do it now, and we’ll do it together.”
“Thank you, Emily. You’ve been endlessly supportive of me since the moment I arrived, and that’s not something I’ve had a lot of in my life.”
“You’re young, Marcella. This was your first time truly managing people, and much of that is a learned skill. It’s not easy to call out colleagues on their behavior. But you learned a lot, and that’s what’s important.”
She squeezes my hand, and a few minutes later, Larry, Mo, and Curly walk in, each with anoh shitexpression while trying to be incredulous or irritated. It’s a cute look on them. Emily nods to me, which sort of shocks me, but I guess I’m the interim head of house, so here we go.
“I wanted to let the three of you know that, effective immediately, your services are no longer required in the palace.”
“What?” Marsha asks, not understanding.
“You’re fired,” I simplify. “All three of you.”
“What?” That’s Raul this time, and his comes with some venom attached along with a snarl.
I go through the laundry list of crimes and misdemeanors I know they committed.
“You’re a lying fucking bitch.” Raul again.
“We never did any of those things!” Marsha.
“It was all you. How dare you try to pin your incompetence on us?” Esme.
“We have video, fingerprint evidence, and this comes from His Majesty.”
Now they turn into owls, and it’s just kind of sad. I was plotting their deaths, and they’re not worth much more than a small conversation. Clearly the life lessons I’ve been taught aren’t ones to follow. I should have spoken up about them earlier. I should have asserted myself better. As Emily said, lesson learned.
Accusations are thrown. Nasty words are slung. In the end,two attendants come and escort them to retrieve their belongings and make sure they leave the palace.
One issue is dealt with, and admittedly, that was the easiest of them.
I still have no clue what to do about everything else. And that’s what’s most troubling.
32
MARCELLA
My bedroom door shuts behind me, and I twist my back to work out the kink that just won’t seem to go. Even my hot shower didn’t help. My shoulders are bunched tight, and no amount of deep breathing or mental pep talks will unwind them.
Then there are the things sitting on my bed.
Jesus, Rowan. Really?
