Author: cosmogirl7481 PM
There are worse things than being angry, right? A boy meets girl story with an open mind, a quiet heart and lots of flexibility. Or none of that at all. Written for Marvar's birthday because I love her more than Rob. Rated M because...well, you know.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Humor - Bella & Edward - Chapters: 14 - Words: 9,990 - Reviews: 1,253 - Favs: 576 - Follows: 441 - Published: 08-02-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8385128
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
This is for my ficwife, soulmate and partner!
She's turning 29 on Saturday, but her family is making her go camping tomorrow.
So we are celebrating today. :)
Happy Birthday Marvar! ILY
The moment they call me upstairs to the big office, I know that I'm in trouble. I don't actually know anything, but seriously – don't we always know?
We've always known.
We knew it when we were kids whenever we were called into the principal's office. Although, I was only called to the principal's office twice. Once in elementary school for punching Tyler Crowley in the face when he took my heart-shaped cherry lollipop. The principal explained to me that while stealing was wrong, it did not warrant physical violence. I still think that's bullshit. The second time was in high school when I attacked Lauren Mallory in the girl's bathroom because she rubbed her teenage whore tits all up on my boyfriend by his locker when she thought I wasn't around.
I would have been suspended. But my dad – the town sheriff – worked out a deal with the school. So, instead of getting a week off, I had to spend two months helping out at the station every day after school.
But as I stand from my desk, I know.
I definitely, definitely know.
I smooth down my black pencil skirt before I take the long walk. I avoid eye contact as I pass my subordinates and colleagues.
I'm pretty sure they all know, too.
I take the elevator up one story, and I walk into the big office. I don't knock because the door is open.
They are waiting for me.
They stand there behind the conference table – two men. Both of them look like Mitt Romney.
"Have a seat, Ms. Swan," one of them says softly.
The other one walks around the table to close the door. And with a quiet click that I have to strain to hear, I know that I have fucked up. I know that there will be no getting out of this. I don't care how good I am at my job.
I wait for a million years for both of them to sit down in front of me. Are all men this slow and stupid? Also, one of them is breathing really loudly. It sounds like he's just run a fucking marathon. I fight the urge to scowl at him or offer him a Breathe-Right strip.
I take a deep breath.
It doesn't work, so I take three more. I try to do it loudly just to give asshole number two a taste of his own medicine.
"I don't believe in small talk," asshole number two states rather dryly. "We've noticed a change in you over the course of the last few months, Ms. Swan."
"People change all the time," I respond, equally dry. "Every day, every minute."
"Some changes are good," asshole number two says. "Some…are not."
Silence fills the space, and I wonder if this is it. I'd like to think that I am not losing my job. Especially considering that I really have contributed heavily to the company's success. And by heavily, I mean completely.
I choose not to speak.
"You seem very…angry." Asshole number one says the word like it's a blasphemous curse. "And while I don't know what has happened to cause your anger, it doesn't matter. It's affecting business. Your subordinates have taken notice. As well as your business partners."
"Being angry is not a crime," I say as calmly as possible.
If it were, I would definitely be in prison.
"Employees are afraid to talk to you," asshole number two says. "Much less do any productive work for you."
"What are you telling me?" I ask. "Am I fired?"
"No." Asshole number one looks sympathetic. "You have been an invaluable asset. We hope that given enough time and…consideration on your part, you will continue to be a part of our family."
"What does that mean?" Now I'm angry and panicked.
"We would like for you to take leave," asshole number two says softly. "A sabbatical, if you will. There's a lovely place in California. We've researched it. We think it would very…good for you. The company will, of course, pay all expenses."
"What kind of place?" I ask. My throat feels like it's closing.
"A soothing place," he continues. "A healing place."
"What if I don't want to go?"
"I'm sorry, Ms. Swan," asshole number one says with finality. "Not going isn't an option if you would like to continue your career here with us."
Reviews are love.
This one will be hard and fast today. Updating every hour and completeing by tonight.
See you soon!