"See, all cleaned up. You're probably feeling better already. Let's get you some coffee and—" He started for the door, but the sound of her voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Listen, Garret, I'm going to have to give you my two weeks." She sniffled again, but didn't give any more information.
So much for getting his day off to a good start.
"What? Why?" He turned to face her.
It was the most ridiculous thing he could think of. Nobody worked harder than Rachael did—pulling in extra hours almost every day, coming in sick, working over the weekend. She was the most dedicated employee he could have ever hoped for, and now she was going to leave at the drop of a hat?
She tapped a pen on her desk, and then exhaled as she kicked her small, bare feet up onto her work surface. "It doesn't really matter. The point is that I have to go. So, you know, I really wish you the best and…" She made a gasping sound, springing for a tissue and blotting at her cheeks before he could see the evidence of her break down.
His mind was screaming at him to abort. Raise the draw bridges and get the hell out of dodge, but he couldn't leave her there alone, looking so sad and broken. And he especially couldn't bear to see her resignation. He settled back onto the couch and rested his elbows on his knees, flipping through charts in his mind of how exactly to tackle this particular scenario.
For some reason, though, he could only think of elaborate, Cosby-Show-esque plans to get her to stay. Things like setting up fake businesses to show her how terrible it would be to work elsewhere, or making all of the secretaries not respond to her when she walked by so she could see what things would be like without her.
And none of that seemed rational. Or sane.
So he sprang into action plan B.
"How about right now I'm not your boss. Right now I'm your friend, and I want to know what's going on. Also, as your boss, I need to know if you need to take the day to work things out before you do anything rash.” Then, rushing to correct himself, he added, “But, as I said, right now I'm not your boss." That probably could have gone smoother.
"So, am I answering your question as my boss while you're not my boss? Or—" Her brows knit together, but at least the tears had stopped.
"No, but it would be helpful to know."
"Well, I'm definitely not going to be heading home today. So, uh, there's that?" The corner of her mouth pushed into her cheek, revealing a dimple he'd never noticed before.
"Okay, now that's settled, why don't you tell me why you're leaving? Are you not happy here? I hear the boss is a real asshole, so, I can understand that."
She smiled at him, and hope pricked at his senses. Maybe they could get this sorted out after all. "I really appreciate this but it's just—Well, it's a little personal." The last word was measured, and her cheeks flooded with color as she pronounced it.
"I understand if you don't want to talk about it. I just want to make sure I'm doing everything I can to help you. I wouldn't want to lose you over something that could have been fixed if you'd only asked. So, financial stuff, that kind of thing, I'm willing to make the investment to keep you around."
"It's not really like that." Her mouth hung open, like she was willing more words to come out, but nothing happened. She just sat there, surveying him, wondering how much to say.
If there was anything business had taught him, it was that now was the time to play dead with the opposition. He remained cool and quiet, fanning out the bridal magazines on the coffee table, and then straightening them again. Waiting. She'd come around to telling him. They always did.
"My fiancé and I had," she paused, "a bit of a falling out. That's all."
Ah, so that was it. A case of cold feet. He'd been expecting it, but he didn't think it would be quite so drastic. The last time anyone in the office had gotten married they tended to be found crying in the bathroom, or, in one case, splayed out naked on his desk. That had been an awkward conference call.
He'd be lying, though, if he didn't admit that he'd been expecting more from Rachael. She always had her shit together. It wasn't like her to fall apart. Then again, he'd never met her fiancé. And considering the fact that the wedding was next month and the office had only just found out she was engaged, he’d suspected there was something peculiar happening.
"Cold feet?" He smiled in what he hoped was an understanding way.
Apparently, it didn't play exactly as he'd hoped since she grimaced in response, "Not exactly."
“There's no reason to leave your job because of a break-up. Are you sure you can't work it out?”
That was when she laughed. A crazed, sleep-deprived laugh. "Working it out is not negotiable. And as far as leaving…" Her face fell. "I don’t want to. I like this job. But I have a younger sister who’s a little wayward and can really use my help. I think I should head home and be with her. I was only staying here to get married. You know, to take care of my husband." She sneered at the word.
He settled back, playing on another business tactic. There would be more. Something to negotiate with. He just had to wait it out, then strike while the iron was hot.
And just as he'd predicted, she released a deep sigh and began again, "And then I’ll be around my parents so they can remind me exactly how colossally I’ve messed up. I have nothing to show for the last miserable four years except a bunch of debt from Lance’s trumped-up medical bills. I can’t afford to keep my house on my own and I can’t leave my sister alone with them. Going home is my only option.”
"I’m confused. Wouldn't your parents be happy you weren't getting married to someone you didn't want to be with?"
"You would think so. But my parents…Well, let’s say they still think I’m the same person I was a very long time ago.” She got up from her chair and headed toward the door. "Listen, why don't we put some coffee on and I'll tell you about it over breakfast? If I'm going to spill my soul, I may as well have a bagel to comfort me."