Page 7 of The Import Slot
Travis says he believes they’ll let us all go, outsource the work overseas, then realise they messed up and try to re-hire us.
“I agree, and I think they’ll do everything they can to get us to hand over our current projects before we’re shipped out.”
We step back onto the street and start making our way toward the office, but I stop dead when I spot Johnny across the street, standing outside a bookshop with the guy from this morning. I thank the stars that Johnny doesn’t look over because he’d probably want to chat, and I’ve suddenly forgotten all the words.
Johnny nods, laughs, and then steps toward the bookshop door, pushing it open before they both head inside.
“Jen?” Travis turns back to look at me, realising I’m no longer beside him.
“Oh, no, sorry,” I say, taking a few steps forward.
“Who were you looking at?” he asks.
My legs feel shaky, and my palms are sweaty, and suddenly, I don’t want this sandwich anymore. I feel the adrenaline pumping around my body; part of me wants to shop for a book, and the other part wants to run away. What the hell has got into me?
We walk back with long strides, and the air in the office is even stuffier now, which is made significantly worse by the emails waiting for us when we return to our desks.
“I’m out, Jen,” Travis says, leaning over. “You?”
I double-click on the email and swallow hard. “Yeah, me too.”
My sandwich makes an appearance, straight into the wastepaper bin next to the printer.
Chapter 3
Jenna
Mydatewastwentyminutes late, and now he’s here. I can probably guess why. He smells like he’s been watching football in the pub all afternoon, which doesn’t help my mood. I’m feeling sour from the news of my redundancy. It’s etched on my brain, destined to stay there forever. It’s all I can think about as I wonder what’s next for me. Am I just that unlucky to lose my job, place, and boyfriend in less than six months? Is this a new beginning? The former, most likely since my optimism is waning.
My date, Andy, is sitting across from me, wearing a Newcastle United football shirt that would thrill Hutch. Through Danny, I’ve got to know the other guys on the team well.
“So, been on many dates recently?” he asks. I’m pretty sure this is a red flag; are you supposed to ask your current date about other dates? I’ll have to quiz Becca on first-date etiquette later. I clear my throat before committing to a reply.
“Only a few,” I say, honestly.
I’d like to say this is the worst of all the dates I’ve been on, but it isn’t. Two out of three didn’t look like their pictures, and the third tried to recruit me to a multi-level marketing scheme selling liquid herb supplements. No thanks. Even Bettsy sounds appealing at this point; he’s been trying it on for years, though it’s hardly a compliment considering he’ll shag anyone with a pulse.
At least Andy looks like the pictures he shared, and he’s not bad-looking; he’s just not coming across as well in person as he did during our initial messaging.
“Right, same,” he says. “You into football?”
“Not really. I like—”
Andy cuts me off, and when I think it can’t get any worse, he launches into an explanation of the offside rule. I should have suggested a bar instead of a coffee shop, as a few double gins would go down a treat.
As soon as my date brings up penalty shots, I think of a way to excuse myself politely. I’m far too accommodating; Becca would have just left.
“Did you want a drink?” I ask when he takes a breath, eager for any distraction.
“Got one, thanks!” he smiles, pulling a flask from a backpack placed on the floor by his feet. I’ve seen it all now.
He speaks, but I’m engrossed in the barista’s multitasking and the gleaming coffee machines. A tall, broad-shouldered guy blocks my view at the counter while I’m fully invested in a latte the barista is making. I recognise him; butterflies fill my stomach, and my brain fogs over.
”—because most women don’t understand the offside rule.”
Tuning myself back in, I hear the end of his rant. “I’m sorry, what?” I question shamelessly, moving my eyes back to the counter where the guy waits for his drink. Hearing the bell over the door, he snaps his head up from his phone. Instead of looking back down, he smiles at me, and I respond by turning tomato-red.
“Women! They often pretend to understand the offside rule. It’s hilarious,” he says, chuckling to himself. I shift my gaze back to my drink.
