Page 1 of One Week With You
CHAPTER1
TALIA
This can’t be happening.
“You’re firing me?” I asked out loud this time, just to make sure. Despite the panicky chorus ofwhat the actual fuckcircling my brain, I sounded surprisingly calm. Collected, even. How, I didn’t know.
My boss – ex-boss – Nadia looked up from her laptop without a care in the world or a facial expression and said, “That’s what I said,” before going back to whatever she was typing. Probably notes for her weekly presentation at Assholes Anonymous. Though, frankly, that was an insult to assholes.
She squinted at the screen like I no longer existed, and that careless dismissal, though nothing new, made me wonder why I’d put up with her all these years. The thought passed pretty quickly. The sad truth was, well, it had been my job. I had to admit I’d learned from her too. Not that I’d ever tell her that. It obviously helped that I earned good money doing something I enjoyed and was actually good at. I’d taken years to figure that out, jumping from one crappy career to the next. An asshole boss was nothing in comparison to what I’d gained, and compromises had to be made somewhere. But this…
This can’t be happening!
Not now.
I’d just bought a flat. I had a mortgage. That first step onto the overpriced London property ladder had been shaky enough at my age, and that was with a well-paid job to support such a move. What the hell was I going to do now? No one hired this late in the year, least of all PR firms, and I wasn’t cut out for a seasonal temp job in retail. Festive shoppers were scary enough to turn even my sunshine heart to stone. I still had scars from working at Topshop when I was seventeen.Actual, physical scars.
I have savings. I have savings.Not much, but it was something. They wouldn’t last long though. Money never did. And then there was Christmas and…
I blinked, barely able to move, pulse pounding in my ears. Dread settled solidly in my throat. I’d be swallowing around that for weeks. “You’re firing me less than a month before Christmas?”
If sighs could talk Nadia’s sounded likeoh, she’s still here. “Yes, unfortunately. You understand it can’t be helped.”
“Uh, no?” A shrill, almost hysterical, sound bubbled up in my throat. “No, I don’t understand. Two months ago there was talk about making me a partner in the new year. What changed?”
“What worked yesterday doesn’t always work today, Talia. We’re restructuring. Shaking things up. That’s the name of the PR game. You know we have to keep things…” She paused to look me up and down. “Fresh.”
Ah. In other words, they had to keep thingsyoung. Got it. Loud and clear. Rage forced my fingernails into the flesh of my palms.
“I’m sorry, but it had to be done,” Nadia continued, as if she hadn’t just punched me in the heart. With a brick. She picked up a collection of files on her desk and shuffled them with a definitive tap that might as well have beenthe end. “Now, I think it’s best if you leave the office quietly. You don’t want to be the person who makes a scene, do you?”
I huffed out a bitter laugh, not even the slightest bit amused. “Oh, the horror,” I said and walked away, head held high despite the sting of tears.
One thing I’d learned was to never let them see me cry.
* * *
In all my years working at NT Public Relations I had accumulated surprisingly few personal items, which turned out to be a blessing as I left the building for the last time. I didn’t even need the repurposed file box my friend Ellie had pilfered from office supplies before I did the walk of shame back through the office, desperately trying to ignore the whispers of shock.
Everything personal I’d previously stashed on my desk – a framed photo of myself and my three brothers, a selection of red and pink lipsticks, a pair of French Sole ballet flats, and a mystery novel I’d been trying to read on my lunch break for six years – fit into my oversized shoulder bag with room to spare.
Ten years and it was like I’d never been there at all. The thought sat uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach. A blistering rage burned the back of my throat, like I’d swallowed a jar of nails. I needed to scream into a pillow as soon as possible. Maybe smash a few plates, not that I’d ever done that sort of thing. But there was a first time for everything.
I willed myself to move forward. No looking back. Stomping along the street, I tightened my coat against the December chill and glared at all the Christmas displays in shop windows. Mini trees and snowflake decals, pine cones and twinkling lights. All these cute festive things usually drew a smile to my lips and joy to my heart, but now I didn’t know how to feel anything but angry, and overwhelmed.
Blindsided.
I thought back to the me of this morning, mere hours ago, bouncing into the office with a tray of coffees for my team. I’d had absolutely no idea. How could I have been so clueless? That wasn’t me. Anticipating what was coming next was part of my damn job.
Maybe I deserved to get the sack.
A flash of lightning lit the dark grey sky above, followed by a low rumble of thunder. Perfect mood-matching weather. I scowled but picked up the pace a bit. My shadow disappeared as I reached the Thames Embankment ten minutes later and fat drops of rain scattered at my feet, stabbing at my cheeks and eyes like icy needles. Within seconds I was drenched, the moisture flattening my blonde hair enough that it probably looked brown.
“Really?” I shouted and gestured helplessly at the sky, giving an angry cloud the middle finger before running for the cover of a nearby tree. “Why couldn’t we have snow instead? It’s fucking December. Act like it for once!”
An elderly lady paused to give me a weird, startled look from beneath her umbrella and all I could manage was a shrug. “It’s been a day, sorry!” I called after her.
I must’ve looked like a wreck.
