Shelley’s shoulder. “Why don’t you write down your home number? I’ll call you as soon as I find out what happened.”
“Oh, thank you.” Shelley grasped and held Gillian’s hand with both of hers. “I just knew you would be able to help me. You always know what to do.”
“Please d on’t get your hopes up.”
“Can I give you a hug? You’ve always been so nice.” Before Gillian could back out of range, Shelley pulled her into a tight clinch.
Like a child clinging to her mother. That’s how she views me . Gillian patted Shelley’s back then eased out of her embrace and escorted her to the door.
An hour later, after climbing into the suit she’d worn to work that last day—how ironic was that?—Gillian pulled into the parking lot at the back of the building. She nodded at Gerald, the building security guard, and he waved nonchalantly at her as she entered the elevator. He didn’t seem to think she was out of place, so perhaps Nick hadn’t told him she was no longer on staff.
She pushed open the outer double doors to the office. No one sat at the reception desk, and the area they called the bull pen was ominously quiet. She walked slowly down the aisle past the now-silent cubicles that had so recently been occupied, the voices of their occupants a quiet counterpoint to the ringing of phones, indicators of work going on between the account executives and the homeowners’ associations they managed.
Nic k’s door was closed. As Gillian approached, she heard his voice rising as he angrily vented to someone. She knocked. He stopped talking. Another knock. Silence.
She was about to knock a third time when the door opened and Nick Talmadge glared at her, his hair looking like he’d been running his fingers through it. The leavings of his lunch lay on his desk along with a paper bag and a paper cup, its straw crumpled nearby.
“What do you want?” he demanded. He turned his back on her and slumped into his desk chair, knocking the paper bag to the floor.
Manners dictated that she remain civil. “Good afternoon, Nick.” She leaned down and picked up the bag then tossed it into the overfull trash receptacle under the window. “I came by to ask why Shelley Kramer’s final check—the one in her severance packet—bounced. Taylor never said we were short of cash when I asked him for it.”
Gillian ’s first clue that Nick was about to explode occurred when he stood up abruptly, his brow deeply furrowed, his eyes squinting in her direction.
“How’d you know about that?”
“Shelley came to see me. When I called the office, all I got was a voice message. A new one.” She remembered when she had recorded their voice message. Obviously erased and replaced by that dreadful one she’d heard. Not friendly. Not helpful. Just cold.
“I’m closing the doors,” he announced.
Her heart clutched. “Just like that? What about all the clients?”
“They’ll have to muddle along without me.”
And everyone else, too, it seemed. “Did you fire everyone, Nick?”
“ Why are you asking? Are they all coming to cry on your shoulder?” he thundered at her. “Like they always did before I fired you?” He reminded her of a bull preparing to charge when he took two steps in her direction.
She backed toward the door, hoping he wouldn’t follow her. “I’m sorry to hear that, Nick. I never dreamed things were so desperate.”
When he turned away from her, she took it as her cue to leave.
In her car, the doors locked, she sat for a moment, trying to catch her breath. The office was closing? He’d never given her a chance to ask about her own severance check. She looked up when she saw Nick trot out of the building and stride rapidly up the street. She waited a few minutes then drove home and called Shelley to tell her she wouldn’t be receiving a replacement check and to apply for unemployment if she hadn’t already done so. Fat lot of good that would do if Nick truly was closing the
“Oh, thank you.” Shelley grasped and held Gillian’s hand with both of hers. “I just knew you would be able to help me. You always know what to do.”
“Please d on’t get your hopes up.”
“Can I give you a hug? You’ve always been so nice.” Before Gillian could back out of range, Shelley pulled her into a tight clinch.
Like a child clinging to her mother. That’s how she views me . Gillian patted Shelley’s back then eased out of her embrace and escorted her to the door.
An hour later, after climbing into the suit she’d worn to work that last day—how ironic was that?—Gillian pulled into the parking lot at the back of the building. She nodded at Gerald, the building security guard, and he waved nonchalantly at her as she entered the elevator. He didn’t seem to think she was out of place, so perhaps Nick hadn’t told him she was no longer on staff.
She pushed open the outer double doors to the office. No one sat at the reception desk, and the area they called the bull pen was ominously quiet. She walked slowly down the aisle past the now-silent cubicles that had so recently been occupied, the voices of their occupants a quiet counterpoint to the ringing of phones, indicators of work going on between the account executives and the homeowners’ associations they managed.
Nic k’s door was closed. As Gillian approached, she heard his voice rising as he angrily vented to someone. She knocked. He stopped talking. Another knock. Silence.
She was about to knock a third time when the door opened and Nick Talmadge glared at her, his hair looking like he’d been running his fingers through it. The leavings of his lunch lay on his desk along with a paper bag and a paper cup, its straw crumpled nearby.
“What do you want?” he demanded. He turned his back on her and slumped into his desk chair, knocking the paper bag to the floor.
Manners dictated that she remain civil. “Good afternoon, Nick.” She leaned down and picked up the bag then tossed it into the overfull trash receptacle under the window. “I came by to ask why Shelley Kramer’s final check—the one in her severance packet—bounced. Taylor never said we were short of cash when I asked him for it.”
Gillian ’s first clue that Nick was about to explode occurred when he stood up abruptly, his brow deeply furrowed, his eyes squinting in her direction.
“How’d you know about that?”
“Shelley came to see me. When I called the office, all I got was a voice message. A new one.” She remembered when she had recorded their voice message. Obviously erased and replaced by that dreadful one she’d heard. Not friendly. Not helpful. Just cold.
“I’m closing the doors,” he announced.
Her heart clutched. “Just like that? What about all the clients?”
“They’ll have to muddle along without me.”
And everyone else, too, it seemed. “Did you fire everyone, Nick?”
“ Why are you asking? Are they all coming to cry on your shoulder?” he thundered at her. “Like they always did before I fired you?” He reminded her of a bull preparing to charge when he took two steps in her direction.
She backed toward the door, hoping he wouldn’t follow her. “I’m sorry to hear that, Nick. I never dreamed things were so desperate.”
When he turned away from her, she took it as her cue to leave.
In her car, the doors locked, she sat for a moment, trying to catch her breath. The office was closing? He’d never given her a chance to ask about her own severance check. She looked up when she saw Nick trot out of the building and stride rapidly up the street. She waited a few minutes then drove home and called Shelley to tell her she wouldn’t be receiving a replacement check and to apply for unemployment if she hadn’t already done so. Fat lot of good that would do if Nick truly was closing the
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