Page 1 of Devil in the Details

Olive

“ Y ou’re fired. Get the hell out of my office.”

The sound of Felix Brookwood yelling at me—firing me—had my blood running cold but my face heating. I could feel everyone staring at me, humiliation slamming into me.

I will not cry. I will not cry.

I blinked rapidly to try and stave off the tears. Bursting into a mess in front of everyone would only serve to make this even more mortifying.

I opened my mouth to say something, yet I had no idea what that was. But Ben Shilling, marketing manager at Brookwood Financial Holdings, had a firm jaw as he shook his head, warning me not to say anything.

So I didn’t.

I left stunned, embarrassed, and broken over what happened.

All over that I’d brought up the fact that one of his clients kept insisting on seeing him despite Mr. Brookwood wanting to reschedule.

I’d been fired for something that had been out of my control. But then again, Felix Brookwood reacted first instead of trying to realize the things he did were erratic and drop of a hat.

As I walked by the cubicles and headed to my desk, I could feel everyone staring at me.

I had absolutely no doubt they’d heard Mr. Brookwood scream at me.

And although it wasn’t like they didn’t know the type of man he was, there was nothing worse than being a spectacle for everyone’s viewing pleasure.

And no doubt everyone said a silent prayer of thanks that it wasn’t them who’d just gotten canned.

I stopped by my desk and looked down, the thing pretty barren aside from actual work stuff.

I’d only been working here for a couple short weeks, and from what I heard from everyone else, being here that long—or short, depending on how you looked at it—had to be some kind of world record for a secretarial position for Felix Brookwood.

Someone walked by and whistled under their breath, muttering, “Another one bites the dust.” I glanced over at him, thinking his name was Hank or Harold, or something that started with an H.

He gave me this pained, forced smile but kept moving.

I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly, being humiliated all over again, like a turntable that just wouldn’t stop.

Another one bites the dust.

I guess it was inevitable.

I grabbed my purse and jacket, even my cup of coffee that I’d gotten just this morning. It was cold by now, but a shot of caffeine might really go a long way in helping my mood.

I made the long, tedious trek past all the cubicles again, walked by the meeting room with the four windows on one side of the wall, feeling everyone staring at me, knowing what they were thinking.

Maybe they felt bad for me.

Maybe they thought I deserved it.

Either way, it didn’t matter. I just needed to get it out of my head and move forward. But it sucked. Not just because I liked the job, but because I was actually earning a decent amount, and living in the city, it was hard enough to find a good paying position.

Once I was outside of the building, I felt those tears start to rise up again, but I refused to let them fall. Oh, I wanted to break down right then and there, but why should I let a man like Felix Brookwood control me like that?

I walked to the curb and lifted my arm, hailing a cab.

Once in the back with the door shut, I leaned against the weird-smelling leather seat with the numerous tears in it and breathed out.

The cab driver was this young guy with piercings all over his ears and face and tattoos that snaked up his neck.

He looked over his shoulder at me with an expectant expression.

“West 42nd and Bowery, please.” I heard the dejection in my voice but gave him a smile regardless, my half-attempt for trying to act like things were fine.

I had no idea what I was going to do for work. It had taken me a lot of frustrated time just to find that secretary position.

I reached in my purse for my cell, digging around inside until I felt it brush against my fingers.

My purse was a damn Buick, but no way I was going to leave the house without having a spare stick of deodorant, some lotion, gum, tampons, pads, and anything else I might need if I ever got stranded anywhere.

I brought up Michael’s contact, hit New Message, and started typing.

Me: Yeah, so the shittiest of shit things happened to me today.

Michael was my best friend since childhood, and I swore my mother thought we would get married one day, but when he came out gay, that put a stop to all incessant questions about us dating.

Although I knew he was gay early on, until he was the one to come out, I just kept my mouth shut and smiled when anybody asked if we were together.

I watched as those three gray little dots popped up.

Michael: Why are you texting me right now? Are you on break or something?

I internally groaned.

Me: Well… I actually got fired today.

I saw the dots pop up again and shoved my phone in my purse. I’d talk to Michael later. Right now, I just wanted to wallow in my depressive state, and then after I was done feeling sorry for myself, I’d figure out what the hell I was going to do.

“He is one massive asshole,” Michael said from the kitchen, and I heard a couple cupboards being shut then the sound of glasses clinking together.

He came out to the living room a second later, holding up the wine bottle and the two glasses and wearing a goofy grin on his face. “Let’s get drunk and forget about today.”

I was sitting on the couch with my legs propped up on the coffee table, having stripped out of my work attire as soon as I got home. I was now in a pair of yoga pants and a ratty old T-shirt from my high school colorguard days.

“Try not to feel so down,” Michael said and sat down beside me, opening the wine bottle and pouring us both a glass. He handed me one and leaned back, his arm pressed against mine, his legs now propped up on the coffee table as well. “You’ll find something.”

I looked over and gave him a skeptical look. “You know how hard it is to find work in the city. It took me forever just to find that job. And I can probably kiss a recommendation goodbye.”

“What a prick,” Michael said again. He reached out and patted my leg. “It sucks, girl. I’m really sorry.”

“Well, that’s life, I guess.” I looked over at him and smiled before bringing the wine glass to my mouth and taking a long drink from it. I swallowed and hummed in approval. “Thank God, you brought over the good stuff.”

He wagged his eyebrows at me and grinned, lifting up his glass so I could clink mine against his. And then we sat there, finishing our alcohol, talking about life in general, and not delving into how shitty things could get at the drop of a hat.

Michael told me about the new guy he started seeing, how he had a brother, and maybe we could all get together. I was shaking my head before he finished.

“I’m not even about to go on a blind date.” I shook my head again as if that was the worst idea imaginable. “That would be like adding the cherry to the shit sundae of my day.”

Michael nudged me in the arm and made a sound of protest. “I mean, David is super hot. So it bodes well that his brother is attractive as well.”

I snorted. “Uh, yeah. No. Do you not know how genetics work? Your guy is probably the hot one, while the brother, the one you’re trying to set me up with, is probably at the other end of that spectrum, especially if he’s not taken and you’re trying to hook me up with him.”

Michael snorted. “David said he’s just busy with work. I think he’s some hotshot.”

That was a big red flag for me. “Thanks, but no thanks. Last thing I need is another Mr. Brookwood in my life.”

“Well listen, let me talk to David. Let me get some deets on him. What’s the worst that could happen? A free dinner and a couple hours of conversation?”

I was still shaking my head.

“Hey, you might even get laid.”

I narrowed my eyes and glanced over at him.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” I repeated what he’d just said. “I can think of about a million and one different shitty things that could happen.” I exhaled and rested my head back on the couch. “But I’m too tired to argue, so I’m just going with the flow.”

“That’s my girl.”

I tipped my glass to Michael before finishing off my wine. At this point, I was just going to pray the shit didn’t continue to hit the fan.