Page 52 of My Brother's Roommate (Frisky Business 2)
I swivel around in my pumps, my head snapping in the direction of that terrible, familiar nickname.
There he is. The bane of my professional existence, sitting at a fancy corner desk, a shit-eating grin on his face and a shiny gold nameplate proudly displayed next to his monitor. It reads SPENCER DOUGLASS, SENIOR CONSULTANT.
So, there’s that. The corner cubicles are larger and more private, and are only doled out after a promotion.
“Congratulations.” I choke out the word, dropping my purse with a thud onto my desk.
Remember my fake smile from before? Yeah, it’s long gone now. How am I supposed to even pretend to be happy for him when this is how they decided to drop this bomb on me? No gentle email, no private meeting with David announcing the promotion, nothing?
“Thanks, Penny.” Spencer grins and sucks on his teeth in a way that makes me equally angry and nauseated. “Bummer there weren’t two open positions. You know, so you could get one too.”
I bite hard on my lower lip, nodding as I collapse into my desk chair and boot up my computer, wondering how I can be so hurt and yet so unsurprised. It’s not like the Wolfie situation, where he caught me entirely off guard. I should have seen this coming. In fact, I kind of did.
I was ninety-nine percent sure that Spencer would get the promotion, but part of me was still hanging on to that tiny little one percent. The sliver of hope that was certain the company would make the smart choice, not the choice wrapped up in family ties. Still, I knew the odds were high that I’d end up here, stuck as a junior consultant for yet another long, boring year.
I’ve hardly begun to throw my pity party when I’m interrupted by a presence looming over my cubicle like a bad omen. It’s David Douglass, clutching his LIKE A BOSS mug, his mouth pulled into a tight line.
“Good morning, Penelope. I’m sure you’ve seen Spencer has taken his spot among the senior consultants.”
I dip my chin in a quick nod. “Yes, sir. I already congratulated him.”
“Sure did!” Spencer pipes up from across the way, holding two thumbs up above his fancy new desk.
God, he’s so immature. He may be a senior consultant now, but that’s clearly in title only.
Mr. Douglass smiles at his nephew, then turns his gaze back to me. “So we ought to discuss what that means for your career trajectory, Miss Blake.”
I shift in my seat, my desk chair creaking beneath me. “Yes, I guess so.”
He takes a long sip of coffee, the steam billowing up from the mug. It makes me wonder how he drinks it when it’s so hot. Does he burn his tongue and just not care? Or does the man just not have any feelings? Based on the next words out of his mouth, I’d say it’s the latter.
“We’d like your desk to be packed up before noon.”
“Are you saying . . . I’m fired?” I blink up at him, unable to fully comprehend what’s going on.
“We prefer the term laid off. Fired suggests you did something wrong. The fact of the matter is it’s just not profitable for us to keep junior consultants on staff long term.” Mr. Douglass’s eyes are apologetic, but the words coming out of his mouth are merciless. “Someone from the front desk will escort you out once you’re ready.”
I nod, choking back the emotion climbing up my throat. “Sounds good,” I lie, and David disappears back into his office.
And just like that, bada bing, bada boom. I’m single and unemployed.
As I pile my belongings into a big cardboard box, I can’t help but wish I could be more like Wolfie. Detached and emotionless. It would make all of this so much easier.
I do a quick lap around the office, saying good-bye to the few friends I have here, then circle back to grab my things. When he sees me packing up, Spencer lifts a hand to me in the most halfhearted wave I’ve ever witnessed.
“I’ll miss ya, Penny.”
“It’s Penelope,” I spit back. There’s no point in playing polite anymore now that I’m off the payroll. “And that’s funny, because I won’t miss you at all.”
When I get home, I’m prepared for another full-on sob fest, but to my surprise, the tears never come. Maybe I used them all up this morning. Or maybe any amount of loss I’m feeling over my job is outweighed by the relief I feel knowing that I will never have to interact with Spencer again.
I ditch my business wear for a pair of jeans and a comfy old sweatshirt, then pull out my phone, scrolling through my contacts. I can’t wallow in self-pity all day. I need to get out of the house, talk to someone, do something.
