Page 3 of Hate Me Like You Mean It

“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t see that you had those in.” She gestured for me to take the other out as well. “I know it’s Friday, but sounds like Cory needs to see you in his office before you leave.”

Taking a small step backward, I pried my jaw open and asked, “Did he say why?”

“No, I’m sorry. He did say it was urgent, though.”

She looked confused. Maybe even a little worried. There were only a handful of reasons why your boss’s boss’s boss—a man you’d met once in fleeting and had barely otherwise spoken to—needed to speak to you privately at the tail end of a Friday afternoon with no prior warning. None of them were good.

I kept my smile intact as I walked the plank, managing to maintain it until I was standing in the middle of Cory’s drab, cluttered office, my ears ringing while he explained the situation with feigned sympathy. He wassounbelievably sorry to have to do this. It wasn’t in his hands. He was just the messenger. He’d heard how much effort I’d been putting in. He’d fought for me, escalated the issue to his VP.

There was nothing any of them could do. They’d tried. Believe him, they’d tried. “Budget cuts, you see. Last one in, first one out. It’s a broken policy, but we’re working on it. Frustrating. Very frustrating. But I tried. You must understand.”

No, I didn’t.

I really,reallydid not understand. It didn’t make any sense to me whatsoever.

Seven jobs in fifteen months. I’d startedsevenjobs since leaving Charmed a year and a half ago, and not one of them had survived day fourteen. It was like clockwork.

“Is anyone else being let go?” I kept my voice even.

Once was chance. Twice was luck. But seven? Seven was a pattern.

Cory cleared his throat and rose to his feet, rounding the desk with purpose. “I’m not at liberty to disclose the employment status of your former peers.” He gestured to the door, attempting to herd me out of his office. I stayed put. He clearedhis throat again. “If you have any additional questions, Human Resources will be happy to answer them.”

“Will they be able to tell me the real reason I’m being let go?”

Cory seemed to have a lot of phlegm clogging his throat. He swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand, casting continuous glances toward the door.

“Like I said, they’ve cut our labor budget. I’m sorry to do this, Alice. Janice and Corinna have been singing your praises all week, and I still consider your father a great acquaintance; he’s a lovely, lovely man, and this brings me no pleasure. If I had any other options…”

Someone knocked. “Sir, your five o’clock is here.”

“Perfect, thank you, Louis.” Cory adjusted his tie, his watery gaze darting over the disorderly state of his office as though noticing it for the first time. He busied himself right away, shuffling papers into haphazard piles, gathering half-empty mugs and hiding them from view. “Miss Cloutier, I’m afraid I’m running a little behind schedule. Louis will take you to HR. Rest assured, they’re well equipped to provide whatever additional information you may need.”

You know what? “No.” This wasn’t happening. Not again. “I’m not leaving until I get a real answer.”

His laugh was an awkward, huffy sound that scraped at my last nerve. I set my purse down on the floor and settled into one of the vinyl chairs facing his desk. If he wanted me out before I got a real answer, he’d have to call security.

“I don’t understand what I did wrong,” I insisted, frustration simmering under my skin. “I’ve shown up early every day, stayed late to complete my training well before the modules were due, and haven’t received any complaints about my performance from my direct supervisor.”

There had to be a trigger. A common denominator I wasn’t seeing.

He dabbed at his forehead with a salmon-colored handkerchief. “Yes, well, I’m afraid the company can terminate your employment without cause.” The fresh crispness of his tone implied he was running short on patience with me. “You’re still well within the initial ninety-day threshold.”

“But—”

“Miss Cloutier, you can direct the rest of your questions and concerns to HR. I won’t ask again.”

The low simmer snapped into a violent boil. I clenched my jaw, gripping the chair’s handles hard enough to carve permanent prints into their cheap vinyl. But before I could reinstate my demands, we were interrupted by a distinctly muffledcrunchof something being crushed.

“Oops,” a man drawled in a deep, mocking tone. “My bad.”

My breath snagged.

I’d have recognized his voice blindfolded, with my head held underwater, drowning in the deepest depths of my worst nightmares. There was a moment of stillness, right before the pull of gravity shifted.

Keeping my movements calm and collected, I turned my head and looked down at my purse.

The black oxford resting on top of it twisted, digging deeper into the soft, hand-stitched leather. My sunglasses crackled one last time. Then they were dust.