“I don’t know. I need to think. I’m angry. I’m also pregnant. That’s why Killian was talking to her. He was worried about me being stressed out. He’s being protective, but I had a little spotting, so we’ve been … I’ve been scared. I have a lot to figure out.”
Cammy gasps. “I knew it! I saw how you’ve been the last two weeks looking like death warmed up and poured over sadness and thought you might have a bun in the oven. They fired you knowing you’re pregnant? You definitely should sue.”
“I had the spotting scare the other day and I’ve had wicked morning sickness so I asked if I could work from home for a couple days and Shara has been a nightmare about it. Well, really since I got back from my honeymoon. There’s absolutely no reason for me to be fired like this, but they’re calling it a reorg. Anyway, I have to go. Sorry. I’m just… I’m reeling right now. I have to digest all of this. I’ll stay in touch.”
“Please do. We’re friends, right? Not just coworkers. Right?”
“Absolutely.”
“I want an invite to that beach wedding do-over next spring. And I bought you something gorgeous for your shower. Susanna sending invites out soon?”
“I… I dunno.”
“Okay, well, it’s so hot it oughta earn me forever players cards at Numbers. That’s all I’m sayin’. Tease your hubby with that. It’s got garter belts and…” her voice goes lower, “no crotch.”
I snicker. “Then, where’s my front-bottom supposed to go?”
“In. His. Mouth.”
I bark out a laugh.
Cammy laughs along with me and she sounds positively delighted. Her humor is just what I need right now to take my stress levels down a notch.
I blow out a long breath as reality hits like a rush of cold water.
“You don’t need to worry, Violet,” she says softly, “You’ve got a wonderful husband to support you. You don’t even have to work. But if you want to, he has all those nightclubs, right? You could work for him. But anyway… lots of people in our industry would snap you up too. Esther is amazing at resumes. I’ll get you her email and you can get her to update yours. Don’t worry about it. Just take care of yourself. And the itty bitty mini-bagel in your oven. Okay? We need to do lunch together minimum once a month. And I’m gonna be Auntie Cammy, too.”
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Love ya, girl,” Cammy says, “And I’ll miss you.”
“Thanks, Cam. I love you right back. Big hugs.”
I end the call and then put my forehead to the steering wheel. Time to go home.
Home. To Killian.
Killian, Killian.
I growl in frustration.
I’d rather go to Numbers and take my frustrations out on a Whack-A-Mole game. With replicas of Shara’s and Killian’s heads instead of poor little moles who have done nothing to me, which I can’t say for my husband and my boss. Former boss.
I can’t believe I’m unemployed. Pregnant. Well, I guess I’ll have time now to sort my brain out since I won’t have any distractions at all.
27
Killian
I’m at my desk, but I’m staring out the window instead of at my laptop screen. Deep in thought. About Violet. About a lot of things.
And then I hear noise, so I head out to investigate. Violet is coming in, tossing her purse and a cream-colored file folder to the counter then unzipping her knee-height boots. She levels me with a glare. An infuriated one.
And as much as I should brace for the fight we’re obviously about to have, I’m feeling relief. She’s here. Not at her job. And fighting with me is way fucking better than curling into a ball and looking at me like I’ve broken her heart. Besides, eye contact with her has been rare this past week. I’ve got it right now, though.
“They fucking fired me. And it’s bullshit!” she shouts and kicks a boot off aggressively. My eyes follow the boot as it goes airborne and sails across the room before bowling the remote and an empty mug straight off the coffee table onto the rug.
“What?” she challenges, “No, ‘sorry to hear that?’ As if you’re sorry. Got your wish. Happy now?”
Her eyes blaze at me as she then kicks the other one off. It hits me in the gut. Not hard, but I still grunt in surprise.
And then she gasps, covering her mouth with her palm. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“I deserve a lot more, probably,” I shrug. “Talk to me.” I sit down on the couch and pat the cushion beside me, leaning over to lift the remote and coffee mug from the rug.
“I’m mad at you,” she clips, pointing at me. “Really, really… ugh.” She stops, shoulders slumping, then breathes deep before jolting while running for the powder room with her hand covering her mouth.
I pull my lips tight and wait.