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Nodding, I head for the exit. My mind already shifting to the rest of the day.
“Leaving already, Mr. Godoy?” the valet asks as I flag him down to bring my car around.
“Yes, I need my car. Quickly.”
He nods and quickly disappears into the car park. Glancing at my watch, I see it’s ten to seven. If there was a farewell party for Mrs. Evans, I’m sure it’s over by now. I’ll head to the office anyway. Maybe I can find her address and personally apologize for being the worst boss ever.
When I step onto my office floor, the silence is deafening.
Of course, you idiot. What were you expecting? It’s Friday night. Everyone is gone.
As I head toward my office, Mrs. Evans materializes out of nowhere.
“Oh, Mr. Godoy, right on time.”
Where did she even come from?
I’m about to apologize for missing her retirement celebration, but as I take a closer look, I notice she seems frazzled—a first in the ten years I’ve known her.
Her white hair is still coiffed to perfection, not a single hair out of place. A hint of pink blush and lipstick adorn her face, making her blue eyes pop. She’s always dressed to the nines—crisp white shirts paired with vibrant skirts. She’s classical elegance with every step of her lean and fragile body.
But today, something is off.
Ever since her husband passed away years ago, the light in her eyes dimmed. They never had kids, and I can’t even begin to imagine how lonely her life is.
Maybe it’s just dawning on her what she is going to do with all the time she’ll have on her hands now that she has retired.
“Mrs. Evans, is everything okay?” I ask as I approach.
“Of course, you forgot,” she says with an exasperated sigh, grabbing my forearm.
My shoulders sag. I don’t think I’ve felt this embarrassed in a long time. I treat all my employees with respect, but I don’t generally care what they think of me. Mrs. Evans, however, is special.
“Today’s my last day, Mr. Godoy. I’m retiring.” She rolls her eyes, and it takes everything in me not to chuckle.
“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m here,” I say, slipping into my no-nonsense boss tone. But her raised brow tells me she sees right through it.
“It’s okay, Mr. Godoy. I was expecting this.”
With another exasperated sigh, she leads me toward my office. I follow, still dumbfounded.
“I took the liberty of getting myself a retirement present—with the company card, of course,” she says.
I shake my head, half in disbelief. Of course she did. She’s always been the one to buy presents for my family and friends on my behalf, so this is right up her alley. But I do feel like shit.
What kind of arsehole boss makes their assistant buy her own retirement gift?
“You’re not an arsehole boss, Mr. Godoy,” Mrs. Evans says, as if reading my mind. “But there is room for improvement, that’s for sure.”
A deep, unexpected belly laugh bursts from me. Few people in the world can get away with talking to me like this.
She has been my sounding board for years and has never questioned me. Instead, she has helped me build the confidence to explore new business ventures. If anyone has earned the right to call me out, it’s her.
“So what do you have for me?” I ask, sitting down and grabbing a bright red folder on my desk. Once I open it, I find my weekend schedule printed on paper. My brows furrow. Whywould Mrs. Evans print this when everything is synced to my digital planner?
“I printed your schedule for the next couple of days since your parents arrive this evening.”
A blank stare is all I can manage.My parents are arriving tonight?How could I have forgotten?