“Ma’am,” I start, “it is absolutely nothing against you. I’ve just been looking for something more permanent.”
“I thought you’d want to stay here,” she says. “But you’ve never once asked me if we had anything open for you. Why is that?”
“To be honest, ma’am,” I start, “I haven’t had the greatest experience here. I really don’t get the feeling that anyone really wants me around.”
And now she looks like she’s going to cry.
“I’ve always been so nice to you, Leila—”
“What did you tell them?” I interrupt, as I’m starting to get the feeling that she just torpedoed me.
“I told them that we sure didn’t want to see you go,” Mrs. Weinstock says.
“Did you give them any reason not to hire me?” I ask.
“Now, why would I do that?”
Yep, she’s actually crying now. I really hope I got that other job; otherwise, I might just end up getting fired by Rose Nylund.
“I didn’t say that you did, Mrs. Weinstock,” I answer, but she’s too busy wiping the tears from her eyes with a tissue to pay me much attention.
This is torture.
Right now, I kind of wish I was back in Kidman’s office.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just hate to see talented people like you go.”
“Well, they’re just calling references,” I tell her, hoping that might comfort her enough to get her to stop the sobbing. “I probably won’t get it. Annabeth’s up for the same job and she’s the likely choice.”
“Annabeth?” Mrs. Weinstock howls.
Oh, great. Annabeth’s going to kill me for that one.
“I can come back,” I tell her.
“You’re all going to leave me!” Mrs. Weinstock cries, and with that, she’s overplayed her part.
“Oh, will you stop it? You’re a grown woman. People get hired, people leave. That’s just the way it goes. You can’t guilt everyone into doing whatever you want them to do.”
Her expression changes in an instant. “You don’t talk to me that way,” she barks. “I am your superior, and you will address me with proper decorum.”
“You know what? I am so sick of all the crap you people pile on me every time I come into work. I’m just trying to do my job and do it well, but every single time one of you asks me to see you in your office, I want to throw up, and you, Mrs. Weinstock, you’re the worst one of all with your whole grandmother act. You know what you are?”
“What am I?” she asks, and I think we’ve gotten a little off topic.
I let my temper simmer for a beat.
“You are someone who asked me into her office to tell me something, and I’ve got a feeling you haven’t told me half of it yet. If you bombed my chances with Claypool and Lee, fine, I’ll find something else, but I’d just like to know so I can stop putting your name on my resumé.”
“For your information, I gave you a glowing review, and I called you in here to tell me that I was their last call. The job is yours if you want it, although I sure don’t envy them putting up with your behavior.”
“Maybe if you—wait, what? I’m hired?”
“The man told me to have you give him a call when you had a free moment and they’re going to work out a time to get you in for training.”
“I’m hired?”
She goes to respond, but the suddenness and volume of the “Woo!” that comes out of me overpowers anything she might be trying to say.