Gasps from outside the office ricocheted through cubicles, followed on the heels by murmurs and whispers.
Oh, great. Now Scott was a new link on the company gossip chain. Damn it.
“B-but you’re not firing Dynamic Creative, are you?” Remy asked, beads of sweat emerging on his reddening forehead like a diamond-encrusted headdress. “What if we just transferred you to another team leader? Another entire team, perhaps? I could even be the team leader. You’ll be my V-VIP client. My Very Very Important Client. Please, Mr. Fletcher, give us another chance.”
Todd tilted his chin toward Scott. “I will if you fire this asshole.”
Remy nodded. “Done. Scott, I’m sorry, but you’re fired. You’re still within your three-month probation with the company, and after new information has come to light, it would appear that you and Dynamic Creative are just not a good fit.” His enormous Adam’s apple jogged in his throat, and he mopped up his forehead with the bottom of his tie. “I’ll need you to pack up your things immediately.”
Scott’s jaw was clenched so tight, he wasn’t sure he’d have any molars left after all was said and done. There was so much that he wanted to say, that he needed to say, but now was not the time.
McGregor was still digging, and Liam wanted to compile all the evidence they had against Todd in one organized, easy-to-read (and convict) package. And he needed time to do that.
But fuck. Scott hadn’t anticipated he’d lose his job over all of this. Probation, maybe, but his job?
Goddamn it, Remy was a weaselly little tool.
Todd lifted his brows. “Well, Dixon, better get a move on.” He turned back to Remy, who looked like he was about ready to shit his pants—or already had. “Unless you’d like me to escort Mr. Dixon out to his vehicle.”
Remy swallowed again. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Fletcher. Mr. Dixon here is a reasonable man. I’m sure he won’t be a problem.” His amber eyes shifted to Scott. “Right, Scott?”
Scott nodded stiffly. “Right. No problem from me. Though I will say I’m disappointed in you, Remy.”
Remy’s baby face turned deep red, and he blinked a bunch of times. “In me?”
Scott shoved his hands in his pockets. Otherwise he would probably strangle Remy and then punch the living daylights out of Todd. “Yes. I came to you last week to let you know that there was a conflict of interest with me continuing to lead the new marketing team for Fletcher Holdings. When I told you, albeit reluctantly, that I was dating Mr. Fletcher’s ex-wife and should be removed from his team, you dismissed me. You said it was a non-issue and that I was underwhelming you. Boring you. And now that it has become an issue, now that Mr. Fletcher has found out before I or his ex-wife had a chance to tell him ourselves, I am being fired. I have done absolutely nothing wrong, and even though I am within the three-month probationary period, don’t think I won’t fight this.”
Remy’s face went from red to white in under three seconds. His throat bobbed again as if he had a large chunk of bread stuck in there and couldn’t get it out.
With a bored expression on his face, Todd stood up from his chair and buttoned the lower button on his suit jacket. “Ignore him, Remy. Let’s say you and I go grab lunch? Talk more about this new and improved team you have planned for me?” He slapped Remy on the shoulder and wheeled him toward Scott’s office door, but not before craning his neck around and pinning a steely, psychopathic glare on Scott. “I’m prepared to pay Dynamic Creative’s legal fees and give them my best lawyer on retainer if you fight this, Dixon. You will lose.” His gaze narrowed. “Everything.” Then, with a sinister laugh that made Scott’s skin crawl, he ushered Remy out into the lobby and toward the elevators.
“Oh my God, Scott, I just heard.” Sondra rushed in once Fletcher and Remy were gone, concern in her honey-colored eyes. “They can’t fire you.”
“Oh, but they can.” He pulled a few pieces of paper out of his big blue recycle bin and began to load up all his personal effects into the box.
“But they just can’t!”
Scott didn’t bother looking up again, though he knew by the way the air in his office grew thick that there were other people milling around the door, watching him pack up his things.
“What are you going to do?” Sondra asked after he was all packed and had said his goodbyes.
“I have a few plans,” he said, resting his hand on her shoulder. “This won’t be the last you see of Scott Dixon, trust me. I just need to take care of a couple of things first.”
Sondra wiped a tear from her eye with one of her bejeweled fake nails. “We’re going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you guys, too.” He pulled her forward for a hug. She smelled like peppermints and Pantene. When they broke their hug, there were more tears in her eyes, which caused her mascara to run.
He reached for a tissue off his desk and handed it to her. “Can you do me one last favor before I go?”
“Anything, honey,” she said, nodding and blotting at her eyes.
“Can you find me Remington Barker’s home number, please?”
Sondra’s eyes grew saucer-size. “Coming up!” She was all grins now as she skittered her body back behind her desk and her nails began to do their thing on the keyboard.
She handed him a pink heart-shaped Post-It note less than thirty seconds later.
“You going to call the big guy?” she asked, a new sparkle to her eyes.
He took the piece of paper and glanced down at it. “Well, when my son is behaving like a horse’s ass at school or on the playground, the teachers or other parents come and talk to me. Let me know that my son’s behavior is unacceptable. Then I sit Freddie down and we talk about what it means to be a good person.”
“I think Remington Senior skipped that talk with Junior,” Sondra said, tossing a hand on her hip. “Maybe having a father-to-father chat with Mr. Barker Sr. is just what Remy needs from you.”
Scott tapped his knuckles twice on the counter. “My thoughts, exactly, Sondra. My thoughts exactly.”
20
“Have a seat,” Eva said with a smile, patting the backrest of the chair beneath the hair dryer.
Mrs. Ferguson from down the block shuffled over with her foils in her hair and sat down. “Thank you, dear.”
“Would you like a magazine or a Reader’s Digest? It’s going to be about twenty minutes.”
“That would be lovely, thank you, honey.”
Eva handed sweet, old Mrs. Ferguson a stack of magazines and Reader’s Digests, then she turned on the hair dryer and returned to where Mrs. Clark was sitting with her feet in the footbath, waiting for her pedicure.
She was going to have to dedicate every Monday to the seniors in her neighborhood. Ever since the ladies on the block found out that Eva was a hairdresser and aesthetician, they’d been calling nonstop to book appointments. But as Eva had quickly learned, an appointment, whether it be hair, nails or a lip wax, was never just an appointment. It was an update—on everyone else in the neighborhood.
And when she ended up with more than one little old lady in her salon at a time, it became a full-on gossip pool. Eva knew more about people in the neighborhood she’d never met than she did about people she’d known for years.