Page 57 of The Vegas Rerun
“Don’t be so dramatic. I called the hospital. She’s fine, just a sprained ankle, some bruising and a possible concussion.”
I step around the desk, closing the space between us.
“Nice,” I say. “Let everyone think you’re so concerned.”
“This place is better off without her. She was ruining everything,” she spits. “She was messing up left and right and you know it. I covered for her more times than I can count.”
I glare at her.
“Name one thing she messed up.”
I know she has made a few mistakes, but none are particularly serious like Sarah is implying and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even know about the majority of them. She’s likely going to go with Molly spilling milk on my father in the board meeting and I’d love to know how she expects me to believe she fixed that.
Sarah scoffs and rolls her eyes.
“What about the Redfart incident? Does that ring a bell?”
My blood goes cold.
“What did you just say?” I demand.
She folds her arms, smirking again now like she thinks she’s on the offensive.
“That ridiculous restaurant booking she made in your name a few months ago, and somehow got Redfern confused with Redfart? You were humiliated in front of a potential client. You must remember that?”
I do remember. I never told anyone except Molly, and I made her swear not to tell a soul, because it’s the sort of name that sticks. I know she didn’t tell anyone because she was mortified about it. And now that I think about it, she swore up and down she didn’t do it, that maybe the hostess wrote it down wrong or something.
But now Sarah is bringing it up. Something she was never supposed to know. My eyes narrow as everything slots into place.
“You sabotaged her,” I say, the words barely above a whisper.
“What?”
“She didn’t mess up,” I growl. “You made it look like she did. You wanted her job, and you tried to get her fired.”
Her eyes flash, the mask slipping completely now.
“She didn’t deserve that position. She is weak. Passive. She got the perks, the praise, and for what? So, she could flub her way through spreadsheets and cry in the bathroom when someone criticized her formatting? Please.”
“Get out,” I say.
She laughs.
“Do you really think HR will let you fire me over this? Without proof?”
“Oh, there’s proof,” I say. “Enough to bury you. Maybe not of the sabotaging you did, but of you shoving a colleague down the stairs unprovoked after punching yourself in the face to make it look like she assaulted you first.”
Her jaw tightens.
“You’re making a mistake, Joshua.”
I ignore the fact she uses my first name and that she says it like it’s a dirty word, spitting it out in almost disgusted fashion.
“No,” I say, and I stare her down, and when I speak again my voice is low and cold. “The mistake was letting you stay here this long. You have until the count of three to remove yourself frommy sight and leave this building. Or I’m calling the police and having you arrested for attempted murder.”
Her smile dies.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
