–Emmett: As long as I can have the file by tomorrow COB, it should be fine.
I can probably swing it by five.
–Emmett: Sleep tight.
That’s new. Like ice melting on a heated frying pan, the odd blue fee
ling from just moments ago disappears.
–Me: You too.
It’s too late to stop by Emmett’s, so I head home. Plus I need what little sleep I can manage before I wrestle with Excel—again—tomorrow.
The laptop I get on Wednesday morning works okay, although it randomly produces a loud whirring noise that makes me nervous. It sounds like something’s dying underneath the hard casing, but I don’t have the time to ask for yet another unit. It takes two hours for the IT department to configure a new laptop and migrate all the data that’s been backed up to GrantEm’s cloud. I can’t lose more time on getting another replacement, especially when I’m going to be gone in less than six weeks.
On Thursday, Webber leaves Emmett’s office looking positively ashen. Even his lips are bloodless. Within an hour, we get a short farewell email from him. He said he was resigning, but we all knew he was being “counseled out,” which is the euphemism for being canned. Guess he crossed Emmett for the last time.
The mood in the office is subdued. Regardless of how you feel about Webber, seeing him getting fired isn’t something to celebrate openly, even if he officially resigned. It isn’t like people don’t know what really happened.
Meanwhile, many of us groan silently. Webber’s sudden departure means whatever he’s been doing will be divvied up among those left under Emmett. Not that anybody will be dumb enough to whine out loud. Emmett wouldn’t blink before exiling them to the Land of the Canned.
Since I also work for Emmett, a lot of crap from Webber’s plate splat-lands on mine.
I tap my fingers on the desk, staring at the mountain of tasks to be completed. If Emmett wanted, he could reduce my workload and ask me to come over to his place…
The second the thought pops into my head, I push it away. What the hell is wrong with me? That would be a gross abuse of power on his part, and everyone would know for sure something was up between us if Emmett started letting me leave earlier than normal. Especially if everyone else is staying late to make up for Webber’s absence.
If Emmett wants to have a bedroom tango with me, he needs to make an appointment. Just like Peggy needs to do to see her husband. And I’ll have to do the same to see him personally. The man’s schedule is booked solid.
The thought is somewhat depressing. Not sure why. It’s like…
I sigh. I’m not thinking about anything logically. Not since my lunch with Sasha. My phone pings.
–Emmett: How about a short trip to Napa this weekend?
Great minds think alike. I was just musing about needing appointments. But… I look at my dauntingly long to-do list.
–Me: I’ll need to work late tomorrow.
–Emmett: We can leave on Saturday. Spend the night at a resort up there.
I restudy my to-do list. I can probably swing it… No? I’m going to need to come into work a couple of hours earlier than usual on Monday, but if I really push myself this week…
When I don’t respond immediately, he sends another text.
–Emmett: It has a spa, too.
I smile, recalling the hot stone massage he treated me to and how amazing it felt.
–Me: You’re awfully into massages.
–Emmett: They feel awesome. Work hard, get pampered hard.
I bite back a laugh.
–Emmett: If you don’t take care of yourself, who will?
Touché. It’s not like Dad’s nearby, not that I’d ask him to take care of me. It’s now my job to take care of myself and him.