Page 29 of The Vegas Rerun
I grip my cell phone tighter and glance down at the screen where I have a new message.
"She’s fine," my mom has texted me just a few minutes ago. "Stop worrying." I know she means stop worrying about Autumn and I do, I know my mom is more than capable of looking after her, but as for not worrying about why I’m here. Well, that’s easy for her to say - she doesn’t have a boss who looks like he was carved out of marble and radiates disappointment with just a glance.
I can’t help but compare this powerful CEO to the carefree Joshua I met in Vegas three years ago. When he told me then that was his last blow out before he had to grow up, he really wasn’t kidding. It’s like he became an adult overnight. And not just any old adult either. The kind of adult who can run a billion-dollar company. The kind of adult who can command a room with one word or even a look. And the kind of adult who can make me want to crawl into a hole and die when I let him down.
Joshua’s voice echoes out of his open office door, like me thinking about him made it happen.
"Molly, can you come in now please," he shouts.
I jump, nearly knocking my coffee cup over. Great. Just add one more thing to my list of failures – one soaking wet keyboard. Taking a deep breath, I stand up and I smooth my skirt down and wipe my sweaty palms against it, I run my fingers throughmy hair – apparently, I want to look well-groomed for my firing - and then I cross the hallway and go into his office.
Joshua is behind his desk, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his tie slightly loosened. He looks up, his piercing brown eyes locking onto me.
He nods to me and then gestures to the chair across from him. I go and sit down, with my hands clasped tightly in my lap, and my foot bouncing under the table. He studies me for a moment before speaking.
"We have a few things to finish before tomorrow," he says, indicating a thick folder on his desk. "One of our top clients has requested an urgent report and he wants it by tomorrow. I’ll dictate, and you type. Do you think you can handle that?"
I blink.
"Uh, yes. Of course," I say.
I’m shocked. There’s no lecture, no speech about professionalism. And most importantly, no termination letter. Just work. Joshua pushes the keyboard towards me and picks the folder up.
I can’t believe it’s genuinely just work that’s needed fast that’s caused us to work late. The relief I feel is making my hands shake slightly and I try my best to stop them as I reach for the keyboard, pulling it a little bit closer to me. Of course this is me though and it seems I’m not happy unless I’m causing myself a problem, and my fingers brush against the silver colored pen holder on Joshua’s desk, and in slow motion horror, I watch as it tips over, and falls onto the desk with a loud bang, sending an avalanche of pens and pencils scattering across his desk and onto the floor.
I freeze. The room is so silent after the bang of the pen holder falling that I swear I can hear my own heartbeat.
"I’m so sorry," I blurt, scrambling to pick them up. My fingers fumble as I grab at the pens. Of course, some go rollingunder his desk and I stretch out, trying to reach them. "I—I didn’t mean to. I?—"
"Molly," Joshua says, and his voice is calm, steady, not angry. I stop, looking up at him, my face burning. "It’s fine. Just leave them, I’ll get them later."
"But I …" I start to say.
"It’s fine," he repeats, leaning back in his chair. "You’ve been on edge all afternoon. What’s happened?"
I clutch a handful of pens, gripping them so tightly that my knuckles turn white. I force myself to slacken my grip – the last thing I need is one of them bursting and spraying ink all over me. "I thought … I mean, I was worried that …" God Molly, get a grip I tell myself. I swallow and then I blurt it out. "I thought that you were going to fire me this evening."
His eyebrows lift slightly, as if the thought had never even crossed his mind.
"Fire you? Why? What have you done?" he says. His voice sounds serious, but I swear I can see a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"I’ve been making so many mistakes lately," I say, deciding against reminding him of each specific one. I realize I still have a handful of pens, and I lean over and right the pen pot and then I drop them back into it before I go on, my voice barely above a whisper. "I thought maybe you asked me to stay back so you could fire me without embarrassing me in front of everyone."
"Molly," he says, his tone softer now. "You’ve made a few mistakes. Yes. But in the grand scheme of things, they’re minor. I’d prefer you not to make them, but they’re hardly grounds for firing."
I blink at him, surprised.
"Really?"
"Really," he says and then he grins. “And if you do ever do something bad enough that I need to fire you, don’t expect me to do it privately so you’re not embarrassed.”
Something in me uncoils. I let out a breath, nodding slowly.
“Got it,” I say.
"Good." He smirks slightly. "Now, are you going to get up off the floor?”
I feel myself blushing as it hits me, I’m still on my knees. I push myself up and sit back in the chair and ready myself to start typing.
