Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
She seemed plastic, having been poured into a corporate mold, allowed to harden, extracted, polished, and then placed in the conference room, with her rigid smile and by-the-book hair. A kind of generic mass-produced middle manager.
The two men sitting on either side of her had come from the same factory and wore identical expressions of dutiful concern for the office drone they were about to cut loose. A united front, in case there were issues.
“In light of these developments, we’ve had to make some difficult decisions.”
The corporate we. Fun thing about polished plastic—it tended to be slick. Nothing stuck to it, responsibility included.
“We’ve decided to go in a different direction, Maria.”
First name basis, designed to provide the illusion of a caring professional relationship. We are all family here. Surely you understand. Nothing personal, Maria.
“You’ve been an asset to our team; however, we must reduce our overhead obligations.”
You are not a person, Maria. This was badly handled. Painfully drawn out, full of empty platitudes. Just abysmal.
“We’ve chosen to let you go.”
Finally.
“Try not to see this as a setback, but rather a new opportunity to learn lessons and apply them in your future endeavors.”
No, not just badly handled. Gloriously badly handled, as if they had made it a point to check every box of what not to do when firing an employee. Now tell me you will walk me to the door…
“Cory will walk you to the door.”
And we have a home run.
“Good luck, Maria. We are rooting for you.”
The temptation to golf clap was almost too much, but it would’ve been irresponsible under the circumstances. Arrangements like these came with certain expectations, and they had to be honored.
The box they offered was too large for the meager possessions living on the desk. Sweeping them into the box under Cory’s watchful gaze took mere seconds. An elevator ride followed, the mirror inside offering a reflection of Cory, stone-faced in a Brooks Brothers suit, looming over a woman in her thirties, olive-skinned, dark hair cut into a bob, a blouse from Torrid a size too large, the consequence of stress-induced weight loss. Quite the contrast.
The trek across a wide lobby was next, complete with pitying glances from former co-workers, at once sympathetic and wary, as if instead of a defeated woman in business attire they had spied a leper in filthy rags and worried the disease might spread.
The glass doors of Callas Tower swung open, offering freedom and overcast daylight. Cory walked out and planted himself in front of the door, ready to put his life on the line to protect the firm’s secrets in case the ex-employee decided to assault the building.
Too little, too late.
It was time for a dejected walk down the street and out of sight.
The city was going about its business, oblivious to the small tragedies of firings in the name of corporate agility. Thick grey clouds clogged the sky, promising prompt rain, common to Houston in April.
A gunmetal-grey BMW SUV slid closer to the curb, its electric motor nearly silent, and the rear passenger window slid down, revealing a woman’s face. She was beautiful in a quiet way. Light brown eyes, flecked with gold and framed by naturally long eyelashes. A lovely face. Chestnut hair, braided in a kind of updo that would have been too soft and romantic for the HR trio in the conference room.
Diana Harrison, Prime and the head of House Harrison. She’d cut her hair and changed her hair color. It suited her better. Her usual icy blonde always felt soulless somehow. Too cold.
Diana tilted her head. “May I offer you a ride?”
“Do we know each other?”
She smiled without parting her lips. “Not closely, but it’s about to rain and your office is at least twenty minutes away.”
Oh. She knew. How?
There was no point in playing coy. “In that case, thank you. I’ll join you.”
A driver emerged, took the box, and opened the back door on the other side. Getting in took only a moment. A large red Doberman sat in the front passenger seat, strapped in by some strange seatbelt contraption, her gaze alert and watchful.
The dog could’ve picked up the scent and alerted, but not through a closed window. How had Diana known?
The car slid back into traffic.
Letting go was like a light, imaginary stretch. A brief effort, followed by a slight lessening of the load.
Gone was the olive skin, the short dark bob, the blouse, and the utilitarian black slacks. He was tall again, his regular persona firmly in place, familiar like an old glove. His true self still remained hidden, yet the new illusion was a tweak rather than an entirely new disguise. Like taking off a sweater but keeping the T-shirt on.
He stretched for real this time, working a kink out of his shoulders. The hunched posture had taken a bit of a toll.