Page 6 of The Cursed Kingdom

ABBY

I TAP MY fingers against the metal armrests of my chair and stare at the giant, brown desk in front of me. It’s cluttered, but so is the rest of the office. Shelves upon shelves filled with random, dusty knickknacks and filing boxes nobody will ever go through span the length of the room.

I shift uncomfortably as I eye the man sitting behind the desk.

Mark’s dressed casually today, his usual plaid, button-up shirt replaced with a thick, gray sweater. I can’t see what he’s wearing on the bottom, but I assume dark jeans. It’s what he always wears when he’s trying to appear approachable.

I glance at the clock, beyond bored as Mark drones on about next year’s projected financial forecast. He doesn’t like the numbers, and he seems to think it’s something I have control over.

I don’t think he understands what my job is. I can’t make money appear out of thin air, despite how much we all wish for that. Our revenue numbers are out of my hands, and if he wants the company to make more money, accounting isn’t the department that can achieve it. He should be complaining to sales.

Mark sighs. “This isn’t what I was hoping for.”

He’s said that already. Twice during this meeting, to be exact.

“I know,” I say.

Mark moves to run his fingers through his slicked-back hair before pausing and dropping his hand back to his desk. His gray strands are gelled out of his face, and it’s too early to ruin his hairstyle with stress ticks.

“I just wasn’t expecting this,” Mark continues. He should have. He’s been warned enough times. “I thought we were doing better.”

I think he wants me to apologize—maybe even offer to redo my work and make the numbers look better, but I won’t. We both know the only way out of our deficit is to lower our costs, and payroll is by far our largest expense.

The company can’t afford all its employees, and as sad as it is, some people need to be let go. I’d say at least three, which is a considerable amount for a company this small. I warned him last year not to hire too many employees, but he didn’t listen. He never does.

Mark’s forehead creases as he flicks through the papers I dropped on his desk yesterday morning. I’m surprised it took him this long to call me into his office, but I’m glad he took a day to absorb the information before addressing it. Mark’s a relatively nice guy, but he has a bit of a temper.

I don’t enjoy being on the receiving end of it.

A few tense seconds pass between us, and I debate asking to be excused. My projections are accurate, and I don’t enjoy watching him talk circles around himself. This meeting will give me a stress rash, and Lill gets painfully motherly when she sees one.

Maybe Ishouldtake her advice and quit.

I’ve got enough saved to support us for a few months while I look for a new job. I don’t think I’ll find anything that pays wellnearby, but if I look at the surrounding larger cities, I’m sure I’ll find some good opportunities.

That would mean dipping into my home care fund and moving to a new apartment, both of which I’m hesitant to do. Lill and I have been renting our current place since we finished college, and I’ve come to think of it as home. It’s full of memories, good and bad, and I’m not ready to let it go.

It helps that the rent is dirt cheap.

Lill went to school for journalism, which was great until she got too sick to work. Despite having lived in the human realm for most of her life, she still finds us fascinating. She watches the news like I watch my reality dating shows—with fervor.

She would’ve made a kickass journalist.

“What do you suggest?” Mark asks.

I press my lips together, refusing to take the bait. He wants me to be the first to saylayoffs, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. He needs to start making his list of essential employees, but I won’t be the one to tell him that. I don’t want to bear that guilt.

He runs the company. He does the layoffs. That’s his domain.

“It’s not looking good if we don’t make any changes,” I admit, avoiding his question. “Would you like me to take another look at the spreadsheet?”

I told myself I wouldn’t offer, but I’m weak. Besides, I’m willing to say anything to get out of his stuffy office. This meeting has been going on for way too long.

Mark nods, his head bobbing so quickly that a piece of his gelled hair falls into his eye. He smoothly pushes it back into place.

“I’d appreciate that,” he says. I’m sure he would.

Clearing my throat, I stand and gesture toward the door. “I’ll get to it, then.”

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