Page 12 of A Baby For Her Billionaire BFF

My stomach clenches. Not the Freemans. They’re counting on us — on me — to fight for them, to make sure their poisoned water doesn’t go unpunished.

“Go on,” I prod, bracing myself.

“We’re dropping it.” He says it so casually, like he’s talking about changing the brand of coffee in the break room.

“What? Why?” Anger flares within me, hot and fierce.

“Come on, Nora. You know the drill. It’s not financially viable. We’ve done the math, and there’s just not enough money in it for us.”

“Us?” I echo, incredulous. “What about the Freemans? This isn’t about lining our pockets. It’s about justice!”

“Justice doesn’t pay the bills,” he counters, unmoved. “Grow up, Nora. This is a business, not a charity.”

His tone is dismissive, and it’s clear he’s made up his mind.

I clench my fists, biting back a retort. “So, that’s it? We’re just going to abandon them because their tragedy isn’t profitable?”

“Exactly.” He barely glances at me as he shuffles papers on his desk.

“Mr. Hale, please,” I plead, my voice thick with frustration. “We have a responsibility. These people trusted us to represent them, to fight against corporations that think they can destroy lives without consequences.”

“It’s over, Nora.” He looks up now, his gaze like steel. “The decision has been made. Move on to something else.”

I stand there, rooted to the spot, my whole body trembling with indignation. The firm I once believed in and the career I thought would be my legacy are slipping through my fingers like sand. But I can’t let this go. I won’t.

“It’s not right!” I don’t care that my voice is rising, that my coworkers in the hallway can probably hear every word. “We can’t?—”

“Enough, Nora,” my boss says with a finality that echoes off the walls of his office. “If you can’t respect the direction this firm is heading, I have no choice but to let you go.”

He doesn’t even look at me as he says it — as if he’s more interested in the papers on his desk than the career he’s ending.

“Wait, what?” My voice is barely audible over the sudden ringing in my ears. Fired? Just like that?

“Your services are no longer required at this firm,” he clarifies, not a hint of regret in his tone.

His eyes finally meet mine, and they’re void of any warmth. Or maybe they never even had warmth at all. Maybe there’s no soul within this man’s body.

I should beg for my job, plead with him to reconsider. But I don’t. Instead, something inside me clicks. A strange sense of relief washes over me, mingling with the shock. Maybe because, deep down, I know I’m more than this soulless place. Or maybe I’m just tired of fighting battles I can’t win.

“Fine.” My voice is steady despite the chaos brewing inside. “I’ll get my things.”

I walk out of the office, the door clicking shut behind me with a soft thud that seems to resonate through the entire floor. The silence that follows is louder than any argument we’ve had. I keep my head high, though my pride is bruising with every step.

Back at my desk, I grab my personal belongings — a framed photo of me and Lynn, a potted succulent struggling for life under the fluorescent lights, and a few legal journals with dog-eared pages. My hands are oddly calm as I slip these fragments of myself into a cardboard box, the last year reduced to a few items that feel suddenly foreign.

I don’t bother with goodbyes. It’s not like I have friends here, just colleagues who’ve always been more interested in billable hours than camaraderie. They all stare at their screens, feigning ignorance of the drama unfolding, though I can feel their curious eyes on me. It’s just as well. I don’t need hollow words or pitying glances. Not when I’ve got a spine of steel and a heart set on doing what’s right — even if I have to do it alone.

With the box tucked under my arm, I walk through the maze of cubicles and out of the lobby doors for the last time. The air outside hits differently — colder but somehow fresher. The city noise drowns out the finality of my departure, and I let the sounds of Chicago fill the empty space where my job used to be.

The chill of the concrete seeps through my flats as I stand on the sidewalk, the chaos of rush hour filling the air. The box feels so much heavier than it did a few minutes ago, and for the first time, I question my choice not to beg for my job.

But, no. I did the right thing.

Right?

I begin the short walk to where my car is parked. Each step feels mechanical, the echo of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I’m free.

That idea should exhilarate me, but freedom comes with a price tag, doesn’t it? No job, no steady income…

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