Page 41 of The Holiday Cottage

“Janie—”

“Don’t say a thing. I know you’d do the same for one of us. We’re a team, aren’t we? And this has basically gone viral since we posted it, so I’m confident someone is going to recognize Midas and call me. I put my number on the flyer so that you’re not upset by time wasters. I’ll let you know if someone genuine calls. Now, just get your head down and clear your emails or whatever. We are totally on your side, Imogen. You were going through hell yesterday. How you could focus on work when your dog was missing, I have no idea. You were looking awful when I saw you. I should have done something then. I blame myself.”

“Janie—”

“I told Rosalind this morning that Midas had been stolen. She didn’t know. She was sympathetic. She even shared it on her own social media. If we can get enough people to share Midas’s picture, no one can sell your baby on it.”

This was a nightmare. She’d thought her life couldn’t get worse, but this was worse. And it was all her fault. She was choked that her colleagues had done this for her. That they cared this much. And she felt such a fraud, because the person they thought she was didn’t exist. She wasn’t Imogen dog girl. She was Imogen the fraud. Imogen the big fat liar.

The only consolation was that no one was likely to call about Midas because he wasn’t real. You couldn’t find a dog that didn’t exist.

Maybe it was a good thing she was about to be fired because there was no way she was going to be able to talk her way out of this.

“Imogen!” Rosalind bellowed her name across the office, and Imogen slowly rose to her feet, ready to tell more lies. At this point she was struggling to separate the lies from the truth.

“Tell her the truth about Midas,” Janie hissed. “Your dog was missing. Anyone would have screwed up in those circumstances.”

Imogen didn’t even have the energy to respond. She couldn’t stop thinking about poor Sophie.

She walked into Rosalind’s office and Rosalind gestured to her to close the door.

Rosalind never closed the door. And she never closed the blinds on her glass-fronted office, but today the blinds were closed. No doubt so that there were no witnesses to the verbal mauling Imogen was about to receive.

Imogen dutifully closed the door. “Before you say anything, could you tell me where Sophie is? Is she okay? I’ve been worrying about her.”

Rosalind looked up from the stack of paperwork on her desk. “Sit down, Imogen.”

“But Sophie—”

“She’s fine. She has a migraine, which after yesterday is hardly surprising. We agreed that she’d have a day in bed, and I’m expecting her back at her desk tomorrow, raring to go.”

Sophie hadn’t been fired. Imogen was flooded with relief.

But having reassured herself about that, there was no more avoiding the moment.

Deciding that she might as well get it over with, Imogen reached into her bag and put the letter on Rosalind’s desk. Hopefully that would speed up the inevitable.

Her boss frowned at it. “What’s this?”

“My resignation. And please don’t blame Sophie for anything that happened yesterday, because she wasn’t responsible. In fact, she was brilliant. It was all my fault. All of it.”

Rosalind didn’t open the letter. “Sit down, Imogen.”

So this wasn’t going to be speedy then.

Imogen perched on the edge of the seat, her back straight. “I’m sorry for everything, Rosalind.”

“I’m the one doing the talking.”

“Yes, Rosalind.”

She’d learned early on that if Rosalind talked, you listened. No one messed with the boss, not even the clients.

Rosalind sat back. “I had a call from The Work Nook this morning. Alan Marsh himself, which wasn’t the best start to my day. They’re not at all happy that you didn’t show up last night. They are no longer a client of ours.”

It was what she’d expected, but that didn’t stop her from feeling mortified and sick. She did some mental calculations and felt even sicker because she knew what the loss would do to the bottom line. The Work Nook wasn’t their biggest client, but still their contribution was substantial. Word would get around. RPQ’s reputation would be damaged and so would Imogen’s. She’d be lucky to ever get another job in event management.

But that was her future, and her immediate problem was the present.

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