I blinked, my mouth gaping open. I pressed my clammy palms together in my lap, fingers wrapping tightly around my wrists, my heart rate and body temperature rising rapidly with my anger.
I wanted to strangle her. Grab her throat and shake. There was no way I heard her right. Laid off? I blinked again, snapping my limp jaw closed. It fell open again when I thought I had a verbal response to everything I’d just heard.
Nothing.
I had no words.
It snapped shut again.
I just stared at her, blinking in a stunned silence.
“I feel terrible about this, Hannah.”
Bullshit.
It was the only word I could conjure in my shocked state of mind. She didn’t even look a tiny bit distraught about delivering such terrible news to me on a Friday afternoon.
Numb. Cold. Calculated. That’s how she looked. Maybe a little annoyed that I was still sitting in her office, not making a move to leave the black, leather chair my butt had been planted in since I was called in to see her.
And why would she look any different than her normal self? It wasn’t her getting the axe. It was me. It was my career—my life—that had just gone up in flames in a matter of seconds. What the hell am I going to do?
“I’m happy to write you a recommendation letter. You’ve been a great asset to our team. We hate to see you go.”
Then why let me go?
“Unfortunately, we’re having to make budget cuts across all departments,” my boss—I mean ex-boss—continued to respond to my silent questions.
This time, she’d had the decency to look halfway sympathetic as she said the last few words. Most likely she was just relieved it wasn’t her being sent home with a laughable severance check, a half-hearted apology, and a measly thank you for all your hard work.
My head bobbed up and down slowly, as if everything she was saying made perfect sense. It made zero sense. Surely there was someone else they could lay off, like…Amber. That woman was always the last one to work and the first to leave. I had it on good authority she was screwing someone in HR during lunch every day, too. Probably the reason she still had a job, and I didn’t.
We stared at each other for a few more uncomfortable seconds of silence until she attempted to dismiss me with the clearing of her throat. Breaking our staring war, she glanced at the early-edition TAG watch that hung off her boney wrist. Another subtle hint I wasn’t willing to take.
“Well”—she gave a swift double tap of her red, manicured nails on the desk—“unless you have any further questions for me, you are free to go, Hannah. Please make sure to leave your employee badge with the front desk before leaving the building.”
So, that was it. After eight long years of hard work, all I got was basically a don’t let the door hit you on the ass. Oh, and the mediocre severance package, of course.
Fine.
I stood confidently— mostly—in my peep-toe stilettos, flipping my long, blond locks over my shoulder, my chin held high. Screw this. Screw her. Screw all of them. I was Hannah freaking Montgomery. I didn’t need this place. I’d show them! And I’d make them regret ever letting me go.
I turned on my heels, stomping proudly out of my ex-boss’s office, fisting my hands at my sides to keep from giving her the double bird. Only because I did need that recommendation letter. But that was it. I didn’t need them, otherwise.
Damn.
I really needed that job.
I glanced down at the bills sprawled across the table, taking another large gulp from the bottle of wine I’d picked up on my way home from the job that was no longer mine. I swallowed hard, then cringed, squeezing my eyes closed, hissing through my teeth from the bitter aftertaste the cheap wine left on my tongue. Being broke was going to suck.
My phone rang in the distance, where I’d left it on the kitchen counter along with the wine glass I decided to forgo. Feeling a light buzz through my body as I stood, I dragged my pathetic butt over to answer it. I closed my eyes, taking in a deep, calming breath before picking it up to answer.
“Hey, Lottie! How’s life in the sticks?” I attempted to sound my usual optimistic self, only to come out sounding like a drunk toddler.
She was slow to respond. I could picture the wheels already spinning in that pretty little red head of hers. “What’s wrong? You sound…weird. Are you drunk?”
I took another swig from the bottle, walking back to the table where all my troubles printed on letter-sized sheets of paper were mocking me. Flopping into the chair, I sighed as I pulled a bent knee to my chest. “Aren’t I always?” I huffed my sarcasm. “And nothing’s wrong. Just a minor road bump. Nothing for you to worry about. How’s the wedding planning coming along? How’s Tucker?”
Despite her being my best friend who I told almost everything to, there was no way I was ready to tell Lottie I’d been let go from our previous place of employment. She’d only blame herself, thinking it was because she’d quit a few months earlier, leaving me there with no buyer to assist. It was in no way her fault. Plus, she didn’t need to be focused on that. She needed to be focused on marrying her soulmate. Lottie finding him again, finding happiness, was worth losing my job.
They’d been high school sweethearts, and after returning home for her mom’s funeral, they reconnected after twelve long years. I hadn’t blamed them for not wanting to waste any more time and having a short engagement. Tucker had proposed as soon as she made the decision to move from Seattle to Billingsley, Texas, to be with him and help raise his niece, Lily.
“Great. Everything’s set. That’s what I was calling you about actually. Did you get your flight booked?”
You mean, the flight I can no longer afford? “Yep. All booked. I’ll be there early next week.”
“Did you need a ride from the airport?”
Initially, I’d planned on renting a car, but looking down at all the bills that’d be due soon with no paycheck in the foreseeable future, I decided passing up a free ride was no longer an option. Sure, I had some savings, but I’d need to stretch that until I could find another job.
“You know what, yes actually. That’d be great.”
“Really?” She didn’t even attempt to hide the disbelief in her voice.
“Yeah, really,” I snapped defensively, rolling my eyes with another pull from the bottle, the bitter burn still present as it slid down my throat. You’d think the wine would start to taste better at some point, numbing my taste buds, disguising my depression.
“Okay, okay,” she surrendered. “Just a little surprised by your response is all… Are you sure everything is okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She paused, her silence telling me she was debating whether to call me on my lie. Nobody was ever fine when they used that word to describe how they were. She sighed. “If you say so… I’ll have Billy pick you up from the airport.”
Wine sprayed from my mouth, burning my nostrils as I coughed and choked on the swallow I’d just taken, sputtering out, “No. Absolutely not. Forget it. I’ll get a car. I don’t need a ride.”
“I’m messing with you,” she responded, barely able to get the words out through her laughter. “I won’t send Billy.”