Owned by the Mob Boss (2 page)

Arms crossed, I leaned forward and started to skim. “Where’s an error?”

Greg huffed and looked through it himself. “Right…um…this is ridiculous.”

“You’re right,” I fumed. “My work has not suffered, so don’t claim that’s why you’re firing me. Be honest about it. Maybe you’re afraid that I will start to make mistakes, but it’s because—”

“With the time you want to take off and will want to take off in the future combined with your lack of focus—you might be able to claim that you haven’t made any mistakes, but even you can’t deny that the amount of work you get done each day is less than it had been previous to…” He turned off his computer. “I just can’t see how I can keep you on when the company is hurting. I’m sorry, Rachel. I am.”

I kept staring at his desk, unwilling to look him in the eye, not wanting to see if he had pity in his eyes. I didn’t need pity. I needed this freaking job. And two-weeks' severance? “A joke, right?” I mumbled.

He made a sound like a grunt. “Three-weeks' severance,” he said. “That’s the most I can do.”

Yippee. That’s
so
much better. Cheapskates.

“Will you need a box to gather your things?” he offered.

So this was it. I was just being laid off from my office job. No second chances. Just kicked to the curb. Left to rot. Left without a pot to piss in.

I picked up my chin, squared my shoulders, and stared him down as best I could. I wanted to slug him, but I wasn’t about to stoop that low. “I don’t need anything from you.”

His jaw dropped. Before he could say anything—I so didn’t want to hear any more of his bull shit—I whirled around and stalked out of his office, my heels clicking on the tile.

Ignoring everyone around me, my former coworkers pretending to work while really sneaking glances my way, I continued marching to my cubicle. It was small with a few funny memes tacked up to give me something to look at and break the monotony of the day. From the top drawer I removed my calendar. So many red markings—Mom’s doctor’s appointments or reminders to call specialists for their opinions. Next I pulled out a worn library book—a romance. The only action I was seeing nowadays. I’d broken up with my last boyfriend a few days before Mom had been diagnosed, and I hadn’t had time since to find another one. Not that I needed a guy. I wasn’t ready to settle down yet. I enjoyed my freedom too much to get married anytime soon, which was why I broke up with Sam. He had wanted more of a commitment than I had been willing to give him.

Right now, I didn’t want to kiss a guy. I wanted to punch someone out. I never felt this furious before. Normally, I was a much happier person. I’d been called happy-go-lucky once or twice. But that had been before. Before Mom. Before cancer.

I really did need a drink or some time out or something. I didn’t like who I was becoming. Miserable. Depressed. Pessimistic. I needed something to turn my life around, but I had no idea what it could be.

I had to leave here place as soon as possible. It felt like the walls were closing in on me.

Quick as I could, I began packing up my things. I was just starting to grab my magnets from my computer tower when a redheaded mop popped over the top from the next cubicle over.

“You’re here!” Pamela darted around and gave me a quick hug, so quick I couldn’t even return it. Her curls bounced around—although my hair was even curlier than hers, and was a natural brown compared to her dyed strands. “When you showed up late,” she added, “I thought something might’ve gone wrong with your mom.”

“Not with her.” I forced a smile and removed a magnet about hump day. I just wanted to get away from this place, leave it behind. Pamela wasn’t really a friend. She wasn’t anything more than the workplace gossip. If I told her about my being fired, everyone would know about it by the time I reached the parking lot. “And I wasn’t late,” I grumbled under my breath.

“Wanna talk about it?” she asked eagerly. She had way too much energy this morning. Did she have a triple shot in her coffee?

“Not really.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. Already I could feel it—the start of a bad headache. I had been getting a lot of them lately, and I figured stress was the reason for it. Too bad the likelihood of my stress levels going down was zilch.

Ignoring Pamela as best as I could, I sat down on my chair and pretended to settle into work, hoping, praying even, that she would get the hint. Sometimes, she could be a little slow, although I had a feeling that might just be her way to try to get more gossip, or maybe to avoid work. Whichever the case, I wished she would find someone else to pry gossip out of or that a supervisor would see her slacking and yell at her to get to work.

Should’ve said her name to Greg.
But no. One, I wasn’t that person, and two, Pamela was Greg’s second cousin or something like that. They were somehow distantly related. I doubted he would fire her. Which was why she had such a long leash.

“You sure?” Pamela pouted, her purple-painted lips tugging downward.

“Sure,” I muttered, staring at the computer screen, sending her telepathic messages.
Get to work. Leave Rachel alone.

Reluctantly, she straightened, still frowning. “Did you hear about—”

I grabbed my phone and put it to my ear, pretending it had vibrated. “Hello? Yes. Dr. Franklin, it’s Rachel.” I looked up at her and shrugged as if to say I was sorry. She’d have to leave now, right?

Pamela waved and backed away a step or two. Unreal. She still wanted gossip!

I pretended to continue the conversation for a few minutes, with long stretches of silence to act like I was listening until, finally, I heard her footsteps retreat. Unbelievable.

Breathing out a sigh, I resumed gathering my things. No way had I wanted to continue packing while she was there. She was smart. She’d put two and two together and realize what was up, and I didn’t need more grief.

The last items I gathered were the few pictures I had. One was of my father and me. We were playing tag at the park. Mom had taken the picture. A nice candid shot. My mouth was wide open, probably from laughing, and my dad had just grabbed me for a hug instead of just tapping my shoulder to tag me. It had been taken a week before he died. I had been ten. Massive heart attack. If Mom died, I’d be all alone. Neither had any siblings, so I had no aunts or uncles. I’d be the only Nevison left. It was a sobering thought, especially when I considered how young my parents would be when they died.

The other two pictures were of Mom. In the first, she was smiling at someone off screen. She hated having her picture taken so this one was my favorite. The last picture was of the two of us. We had gone to a mother-daughter dance back when I had been in high school. We’d dressed up in poodle skirts, really fifties style. So much fun. She was kind of smiling in this pic too. Happy times. Now she never smiled, and I couldn’t blame her, even though I still tried to get her to.

With a grimace, I gathered everything up and laid it all gently in a large pile. It was a little hard to carry everything without a box, but I wasn’t about to go back to Greg and ask for one, and I sure as heck wasn’t going to ask anyone else if they could find me one either.

As soon as I got back to the parking lot—without dropping anything by some miracle—my phone really was vibrating from a call. I performed a juggling act of shifting everything to one arm, braced my loaded arm against the car, finagled my keys from my purse, unlocked the door, dumped everything onto the backseat where it scattered like crazy, and then got out my phone. But before I could answer, the caller hung up.
Of course. Just my luck.

I checked to see who had called. It was Denise Carver, my best friend since, well, forever. We met in the second grade and had been inseparable ever since. Now she, unlike Pamela, I actually wanted to talk to.

I climbed inside my car and pulled out of the lot and drove down the street and parked in the back of another random office building, just so no one from my former employer could look out on the parking lot and see me. Didn’t need an audience for what might be a breakdown, which was why I figured it was better to park than to talk and drive at the same time.

Denise answered on the first ring. “Hey, girl!” she yelled. “I can’t believe you called me back. I know how you never answer when you’re working unless you’re on lunch. I was leaving you a message.”

Must be a heck of a long message, then, unless I didn’t feel the vibration from when she left it.

“Anyhow, the reason why I called was because I thought that you and I—”

“Whatever you’re planning, I can’t.” My shoulders slumped. Hadn’t had much time for fun with her before this, and now all of my new free time would have to be split between taking care of my mom and finding a new job.

“But you don’t even know the date or what I’m planning,” she whined.

“Don’t need to. Can’t afford it.” Can’t afford fun.

“I can spot you.” I could just picture her waving her hand to brush my words aside. “No worries. It’s this amazing new band—”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. I loved listening to live music. But it wasn’t the band that I’d have to miss that had me wanting to break down. It was all the weight and the worry about the future and what it would hold. For too long, I had been juggling eggs, and a large one had just cracked. I couldn’t let any more drop, and I had to add another one back into the mix.

“Oh.” Denise quieted a moment, which was saying something because she normally never stopped talking. “Is it your mom?”

“I…” I could hardly get the word out. My throat was so tight I could hardly swallow.

“What happened?” Denise cracked her knuckles, the sound grating me over the line. “Do you need me to beat someone up for you? I might know a guy…”

Despite myself, I snorted with laughter, but then I started to cry. Just a few tears. How could I have let this happened? I should’ve fought harder for my position. Should’ve asked for a pay cut so long as I kept the position.

But a pay cut would’ve been almost as terrible as being outright fired.

“Talk to me,” Denise said quietly. “What’s going on?”

“Just got laid off.” My only source of income gone. Three weeks wouldn’t last. Not when I didn’t just need to support myself. I had to pay for all of my mother’s mounting medical bills. And food. And Mom had taken out a home equity loan shortly a few years ago, so even though there wasn’t a mortgage payment, there was that, and all the other bills, plus food, utilities.

“Now listen to me carefully,” Denise ordered. “Go home. Update your resume. I’ll find out who’s hiring. You eat all the chocolate in the house. And drink all of the rum too. I’ll do my best to help find you a new job pronto. Think you can handle that?”

I sniffed and rubbed my nose. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Good.” She sounded so take charge. Had to love her. “I’ll email you what I find.”

Click.
The call ended.

Refusing to cry any longer, I drove myself home. I wasn’t in a good place at all. Yeah, sure, Denise was willing to help me, but the economy was terrible. There wasn’t going to be another job for me most likely. I had to face facts. My mom had stage three breast cancer and she needed chemotherapy, but if I had no money, I didn’t know if she’d still be able to continue treatments. The hospital was already giving us a payment plan at least, but I wouldn’t even be able to afford the smaller payments soon. And even with treatment, there was no guarantee she would make it. I couldn’t risk losing her. I had to do everything to help her. It was all on me.

Soon, I pulled up to our house. I had moved out after college, but once Mom was diagnosed, I moved back home. Twenty-five and living with Mom.
And unemployed too. Can’t forget that.
The house was bigger than we needed, but there wasn’t a point in trying to sell it. Not with the home equity loan still out on it.

I fixed a smile onto my face and walked inside. I’d left most everything in the backseat of my car. Except for the pictures. Those I placed on the coffee table. “Mom?” I called.