Page 33 of The Gin Lover's Guide to Dating

‘Strike two, Liv.’ She surveys me coldly and I realise she means business; I can’t afford to lose this job.

‘OK, sorry. I’m really sorry.’ I say this as sincerely as I can. ‘I’ll make the time up and I’ll be on top of my timekeeping in the future.’

‘Make sure that you are.’ She stares me out, then stalks off across the canteen, letting the door slam behind her as she leaves.

I stand rooted to the spot, thrown by her viciousness and complete lack of humanity. OK, so I was late. I accept that. But I reckon she was banking on that happening. I glance around me self-consciously and see a few fellow employees offering me sympathetic looks. How have I gone from being a high-performing, credible professional who manages my own time and workload, to being publicly scolded like a toddler, by someone who probably wasn’t much more than a toddler herself when I entered the world of work? It’s almost unbearable.

With the force of an avalanche, the pride and strength I’d gained from my win against Josh collapses. Unable to bear the unwanted attention, I put my head down and hurry out of the canteen, back to the bar.

Chapter 9

It’s after 2 a.m. when I finally unlock the door to my apartment and slip inside. I kick off my shoes, trudge through to my bedroom and slump onto my king-size bed, exhausted. My back is aching, the pain in my heels and the balls of my feet is excruciating: a burning like I’ve never felt before. Drained, both physically and emotionally, I get under the crisp, clean duvet, still fully clothed, and just lie there, numb. I’m so done, I can’t even muster the energy to go to the bathroom and remove my make-up and brush my teeth.

The worst part of the night was my run-in with Clara, and I just couldn’t get the easy banter I’d had with Josh back after that. It was impossible to shake the feeling that I was being watched. I couldn’t laugh or have any chat with Reyes and Amir; anyway, it was the last thing I felt like doing. Clara has made herself abundantly clear: she doesn’t want me working there and she’ll do her very best to get rid of me. Miserably, I curl up into the foetal position and wait for the nightmares to come.

The next morning, I wake groggily to the sound of my phone pinging. Fighting the urge to drift over to sleep again, I reach into my handbag on the floor to retrieve it.

No great surprise. It’s Dylan – asking if we’re still meeting during his lunch break. I’m in mid-flow, cursing him for waking me so early after such a late night, when I clock the time on my phone: it’s 11.45 a.m.

‘Shit!’ I call out through my empty apartment, as I leap out of bed in shock. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit.’

I dial Dylan’s mobile and wait impatiently for him to answer.

‘Morning, you lazy dog,’ he greets me jovially as he picks up. ‘Fifteen more minutes and I’d be saying afternoon.’

‘Shut up, Dylan.’ I’m so not in the mood for one of his ribbings. ‘I had planned to spend this morning trying to save my career. I’m going to have to take a rain check, as I’m due in the hotel at 3.30 p.m. for training. If I don’t spend some time on my job hunt now, I won’t get a chance.’

‘Hey, chill,’ Dylan tries to soothe me. ‘Don’t put yourself under so much pressure. Give yourself a couple of days to settle in before hitting the job sites again.’

‘Settle in?’ Unable to control my rising stress and irritation, I begin to pace round my bedroom. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me. Dylan, that place is a nightmare. The last thing I want to do issettle in. I have to get out of there – fast.’

‘Oh, come on,’ says Dylan. ‘I know it’s not what you’re used to. You need to give it a chance: it’s the only way you’re gonna keep a roof over your head. Seriously, you’re gonna turn into a right snob – and a skint one at that – if you’re not careful.’

My irritation boils over. ‘Two strikes, Dylan. I’ve had two bloody strikes already – on my first night!’

‘What?’ He’s understandably confused. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘My boss – the beast, as she’s affectionately known – has already given me two strikes. She hates me because Aaron brought me in and he didn’t consult her. Like that’s my fault? She’s determined to get rid of me. I got strike one for being a few minutes late back from my break, and the second because I couldn’t believe that she was serious when she told me to make up the time today. It’s worse than you could possibly imagine…’

I tail off breathlessly and sink to the floor.

‘Aww, Squirt.’ Dylan lets out a low whistle. ‘That’s bullshit. What you gonna do? You can’t let her do that. Maybe speak to Aaron?’

‘No way.’ I shake my head determinedly. ‘It’ll just make things worse for me. Apparently, she sucks up his arse. He won’t have a clue.’

‘But Aaron knows you. He trusts your judgement.’

‘He also knows I think this job is below me, Dylan. He’ll just think I’m being some kind of little princess – or snob!’

‘I don’t know what to say then.’ Dylan sounds genuinely troubled and concerned for me. ‘Guess you’re just gonna have to try and ride it out, make sure you’re squeaky and all. Don’t give her any excuse.’

‘That’s all I’ve come up with too.’ I sigh resignedly. ‘So, now that you know how bad it is, can I take that rain check?’

‘Yeah, course. Chin up. Hopefully things will get better for you. Talk soon.’

‘Thanks, Dylan.’ I cut the call and look around my room hopelessly for a few moments, before dragging myself to the shower.

An hour later, I’m feeling a bit fresher, and devouring a ham and cheese salad sandwich at my breakfast bar, while poring over job listings. Although there’s nothing that immediately fits my preferences, I’ve decided that anything is better than where I am right now. I apply for a handful of jobs (including temporary ones) that are slightly more junior than my position at McArthur Cohen, with a couple of them even being outside my area of direct experience and expertise.

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