Page 4 of A Touch of Spring Magic

“They all say that.”

“Of course not, Miss Maye.”

Both Bill and Daniel spoke at the same time, only Daniel was more polite about it. And she’d ceased to be Jessica, now she was Miss Maye, and somehow they thought she was being fired for doing something illegal.

And Mr. Whittaker hadn’t even allowed her to defend herself. To show proof of what she’d started working on yesterday afternoon. She’d alerted her boss to a discrepancy in a client’s account from one of the partners who was having emergency heart surgery. He hadn’t replied, and when she’d tagged him for a meeting sometime today, she’d instead been summoned to the executive suite and was dispassionately fired. The human resources rep and security had been waiting outside the door.

Papers to sign. Her last check. Information on how to roll over her retirement account and sign up for COBRA insurance as a stopgap until she found other employment. There was also a generic reference letter that she’d worked for the firm for eight years.

Eight years.

Fired.

“Make it easier on yourself,” Daniel said, basically folding her into her front seat and closing the door.

This was it. The end.

No. The beginning.

But it didn’t feel like that.

Still her brain scrambled to protect her. She had new career plans. Dreams. True, today wasn’t supposed to be day one. Her start date had been hazy, safely in the future, with her savings piling up. Renting out her condo and moving to Grandma Millie’s unoccupied farmhouse had covered her mortgage and homeowner dues plus padded her bank account.

Now she might have to sell.

They hadn’t even let her say goodbye to anyone. Or do a final check of her email or explain to her clients what was happening.

She gripped the steering wheel. The security guards flanked her car. Bill shooed her away flipping his hand impatiently.

Like I’m an insect.

They think I embezzled.

The thought was ludicrous. Impossible.

Don’t think. Start the car.

But her body wouldn’t listen, and she stared at the expensive fabric of her power suit pants as she tried to breathe.

She heard a rap on the hood of her car, and she jerked in response. Both security guards now stood in front of her car, motioning her to pull out.

Eight years and she was taken out like leaking, stinking trash.

“Cameras in the parking garage,” Daniel reminded her. “We gotta do our jobs. You don’t leave, I will call the cops.”

How was this even happening? Jessica felt like she was in a nightmare. Trapped. Frightened. Her body, her pride not responding, not saving her. Her hands shook so much her keys—now stripped of the precious key card that had allowed her access to the parking structure, building, elevator and cafeteria—fell in her lap.

She just needed to press the start button.

Get out. Get home.

She’d imagined a busy day full of purpose. Further unwinding the unexpected confusion she’d discovered in the Arnott account. Perhaps she’d meet her sister Meghan for a glass of wine at the rooftop bar they both loved. Instead, she’d been treated like a traitor and criminal and, while not physically marched out and shot on a firing line, it sure felt like that.

She rubbed her sternum.

“Jessica…Jess.” Daniel tapped on her window, his face creased in lines of resignation and sympathy. “Do you want me to drive you off the premises? Call one of your sisters?”

She flinched, one more fresh humiliation heaped on the others because they would come. But then they’d know she’d been fired.

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