company time
, Claire thought smugly.
âClaire, please,â he said, sweeping an arm toward a vacant chair.
âThanks.â Claire went in and sat down at the small round low table, part of the new âtouchy feelyâ concept in working environments at Rockford.
âDid you enjoy your time off? Successful week away with the gee-gees?â
âUm, yes, not bad. Something I can help you with, Claire? Iâm rather snowed underâ¦â
Claire was annoyed. It was all right for him to stand at her desk fiddling with her bits and pieces, but now when the tables were turned she was getting the royal hurry on. Bloody typical.
But she wasnât going to let it get to her â she was on the cusp of two glorious weeks away. Nothing could ruin that now, not even Derek and his double standards. Claire smiled sweetly at him, got up, flapped her leave form theatrically and laid it on the desk in front of him.
âWhatâs this?â
âLeave form, Derek.â
âYes, I can see that, but you saidâ¦â He ran a hand through his hair.
âI decided you were absolutely right â I need a break. So as of this afternoon, if you agree, of course, youâre rid of me for two whole weeks.â
âGreat,â Derek groaned, and closed his eyes.
âIâm touched by your concern, Derek, but donât worry, Iâll be back before you know it.â
âWhat a mess,â he murmured, barely audible.
âI donât know what your problem is, it was your idea.â
âThis,â he said, reaching over to the small pile of envelopes heâd hidden moments before. He removed the top one and handed it to her.
Claire stared at her full name in bold black type: âClaire McIntyreâ.
âWhatâs this? Party invite?â she laughed. She looked back up at Derek, whose face was now an ashy shade of salmon. His lips were in a grim line. He nodded to the envelope in her hands and she looked back down at it: the words âPrivate and Confidentialâ were in large uppercase print and underlined twice, at the top left. How could she have missed it? Claire had seen similar envelopes before, but had never been handed one with her own name on it. She knew what it was but just couldnât seem to grasp it.
âWhat is it?â she asked, brow knitted in genuine confusion.
âYouâd better open it,â Derek said with a sigh.
Claire knew if she did her life would never be the same again, just like the night sheâd opened the door to the police. She didnât want to do it, didnât want to know.
âNo, I donât want to,â Claire said, sounding almost child-like. Her hands were already beginning to sweat, her vision blurring.
âCome on, you have to some time.â
No I donât
, Claire thought.
What are you going to do? Hold me down, jack my eyelids open with toothpicks, have me arrested for not opening a letter?
âIt might not be so bad,â Derek offered.
But Claire disagreed. In her experience, good news came in person or by phone and bad news came by mail. Except, she found herself correcting, when it came to really bad news â like the phone call about Jackâs accident. Or
really really
bad news â like the police knocking on her door at one oâclock in the morning to tell her that her husband was dead. There were exceptions to everything.
âYou canât fire me, I havenât had any warnings, and my performanceâ¦â
âClaire, just open the damn envelope.â
He was right: she was just delaying the inevitable. There was no way it could be the worst news sheâd received that year. Claire carefully prised the seal apart and pulled out the folded sheet of Rockford letterhead. She held her breath as she straightened it.
She sighed at seeing âRedundancy Offerâ.
Okay
, she thought with relief,
itâs an offer
. She tried to scan the following
, Claire thought smugly.
âClaire, please,â he said, sweeping an arm toward a vacant chair.
âThanks.â Claire went in and sat down at the small round low table, part of the new âtouchy feelyâ concept in working environments at Rockford.
âDid you enjoy your time off? Successful week away with the gee-gees?â
âUm, yes, not bad. Something I can help you with, Claire? Iâm rather snowed underâ¦â
Claire was annoyed. It was all right for him to stand at her desk fiddling with her bits and pieces, but now when the tables were turned she was getting the royal hurry on. Bloody typical.
But she wasnât going to let it get to her â she was on the cusp of two glorious weeks away. Nothing could ruin that now, not even Derek and his double standards. Claire smiled sweetly at him, got up, flapped her leave form theatrically and laid it on the desk in front of him.
âWhatâs this?â
âLeave form, Derek.â
âYes, I can see that, but you saidâ¦â He ran a hand through his hair.
âI decided you were absolutely right â I need a break. So as of this afternoon, if you agree, of course, youâre rid of me for two whole weeks.â
âGreat,â Derek groaned, and closed his eyes.
âIâm touched by your concern, Derek, but donât worry, Iâll be back before you know it.â
âWhat a mess,â he murmured, barely audible.
âI donât know what your problem is, it was your idea.â
âThis,â he said, reaching over to the small pile of envelopes heâd hidden moments before. He removed the top one and handed it to her.
Claire stared at her full name in bold black type: âClaire McIntyreâ.
âWhatâs this? Party invite?â she laughed. She looked back up at Derek, whose face was now an ashy shade of salmon. His lips were in a grim line. He nodded to the envelope in her hands and she looked back down at it: the words âPrivate and Confidentialâ were in large uppercase print and underlined twice, at the top left. How could she have missed it? Claire had seen similar envelopes before, but had never been handed one with her own name on it. She knew what it was but just couldnât seem to grasp it.
âWhat is it?â she asked, brow knitted in genuine confusion.
âYouâd better open it,â Derek said with a sigh.
Claire knew if she did her life would never be the same again, just like the night sheâd opened the door to the police. She didnât want to do it, didnât want to know.
âNo, I donât want to,â Claire said, sounding almost child-like. Her hands were already beginning to sweat, her vision blurring.
âCome on, you have to some time.â
No I donât
, Claire thought.
What are you going to do? Hold me down, jack my eyelids open with toothpicks, have me arrested for not opening a letter?
âIt might not be so bad,â Derek offered.
But Claire disagreed. In her experience, good news came in person or by phone and bad news came by mail. Except, she found herself correcting, when it came to really bad news â like the phone call about Jackâs accident. Or
really really
bad news â like the police knocking on her door at one oâclock in the morning to tell her that her husband was dead. There were exceptions to everything.
âYou canât fire me, I havenât had any warnings, and my performanceâ¦â
âClaire, just open the damn envelope.â
He was right: she was just delaying the inevitable. There was no way it could be the worst news sheâd received that year. Claire carefully prised the seal apart and pulled out the folded sheet of Rockford letterhead. She held her breath as she straightened it.
She sighed at seeing âRedundancy Offerâ.
Okay
, she thought with relief,
itâs an offer
. She tried to scan the following
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