Page 108 of Scrooged for the Holidays
Mr. Cross moves to pick his phone back up, but his wife stops him. “Oh no, you don’t. It’s Christmas; you’re not working any more today.”
He kisses his wife’s knuckles. “I’ll send an email to Greer to let her know she’s to visit Holly and her husband and apologize for her actions if she has any hope of keeping her job. I’m going to tell her to take leave till after the New Year as well so I can figureout how best to move forward with her. Then I’m all yours, sweet pea.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Greer.”
Sam’s voice startles me, and I turn to meet him. His gaze is solemn as he holds his hand out for me again.
“We’re not done yet,” he adds.
I swallow hard, my brain too caught up on what I heard to think about saying no, so I put my hand in his. The scenery around us shifts again, but I don’t take in the sights. My thoughts shift instead to Tim’s wife saying Mr. Cross was nicer than me. I didn’t think she was right, but now I’m seeing him in a whole new light. Have I been mistaken about what kind of businessman he was all this time?
Flashes of every time I’ve seen him in action, the lessons he taught me and the seminars he suggested I go to fly through my mind. They were all to make me the best asset manager I could be, teach me to be the kind of person who could one day maybe even run Northlight. Or at least I thought.
If he’s going to give me a warning or fire me over doing the job I thought was expected of me, something I did thinking Mr. Cross would be proud of me for, then what am I even doing? All the years I’ve spent working sixty-plus hours a week would have been for nothing. The bridges I’ve burnt, the people I’ve hurt, the way I’ve hurt myself in the process—what would it be for?
I’d be back to where I started with nothing to show for my life. And what would I even say to the people I’ve hurt?Sorry, I was an asshole Ice Queen; mind giving me a second chance?On top of that, I’d be jobless, fired from the best firm in Colorado. Nobody would hire me after that. I’d have nothing.
My heart rate speeds up, and my hands turn clammy. What would my life even look like if this happened? Would I walkaround like Ebenezer inAChristmas Carolyelling “Bah! Humbug!” at everyone?
Sam squeezes my hand, bringing me back from my spiral, and I finally take in where we’re standing. We’re in a type of modern home like Mr. Cross’s, but the further I walk inside, I see it’s like the style of my condo now. Simple clean lines, high ceilings, everything white and gray—and like Mr. Cross’s place, I find it’s missing something, a feeling.
Sam lets go of my hand and places it on my back, gently steering me toward what appears to be a great room. A big gas fireplace is roaring, but there’s not a Christmas decoration to be found anywhere. The furniture is sleek and expensive, too. In fact, the entire room looks to have been taken out of aRestoration Hardwarecatalog. It’s beautiful but soulless. Is this what my current condo looks like, too?
Didn’t I like this only a few days ago?
Sam stops and points to a chair. I didn’t even notice a person was here until now. An older woman is sitting there, her hair pulled into a slick bun and an ivory turtleneck stretching nearly up to her chin. A laptop sits on her lap, and a tumbler of amber liquor is warming on the glass end table next to her.
She scoffs at something and picks up her phone. When her chin tilts up, I gasp. “That’s me?”
“Yes, Greer. That’s you.”
“I’m old.”
Sam doesn’t smile or laugh; he simply nods. “This is your future,” he says evenly. “Now, watch.”
My gaze turns to the old woman. Her—my—hair is crisp white and silver. I don’t need to get closer to know I must pay a fortune to make it look that good. I have lines on my face, but the bright fire and light next to the chair show me I had to have invested in a facelift and Botox.
Future me doesn’t smile as she taps on a name in her contacts and lifts the phone to her ear, red lips in a hard, fierce line.
“That’s really me?” I ask. I know it’s me. I look like me, but also not. I’m very…stiff. Mad. Soulless, like the room I’m in.
“It’s you,” Sam affirms.
My gaze never leaves Future Me as she waits for whomever it is to pick up the phone. The fingers of my free hand continue to peck out something on the laptop, as if I can’t waste a minute of time.
“Finally,” Future Me says. “I don’t care, Madison. I told you to be available. Yes, I know it’s Christmas, but I gave you the morning, and it’s evening now. Do you not want to have a job? Oh, I see. Good, then.” I tap something on the computer before I continue.
“I’ve been looking over the acquisition papers you sent, and I don’t like the terms. Northlight Capital isn’t valued at what it used to be, and it’s not worth the money they’re asking for…yes, I know we can afford it, but my company is valued similarly, so it wouldn’t make sense. Contact the lawyers, and tell them they need to come back with a more realistic number.”
Future Me pauses and rolls her eyes. “I understand that it’s Christmas, but they know I work all year round. Do it, Madison, or you won’t work for anyone in this city again. Trust me when I say you’re young, and you don’t want that to happen…that’s what I thought. Goodbye.”
I flinch at the words that just came out of my mouth. I know I can be ruthless, that I’m direct and expect the best out of myself and the people I work with, but that was—I don’t even know what that was. Again, the word soulless comes to mind.
Future Me finishes typing something then slams the laptop closed. “Goddamn Northlight.”
