Page 14 of Single All The Way

I don’t feel that way anymore.

I spoke to a separation attorney yesterday. She’s confident I have a solid case to demand the right to buy Peter out of his mortgage, and even though I’m meant to be on vacation, my request to return to work was approved in writing earlier today.

Life is good.

Until it isn’t.

* * *

“What do you mean I’m fired? I am the best analyst this company has. I’ve brought you in millions of dollars.”

“And lost us millions too.” I shoot my eyes to Rochelle, the supervisor of my division. She looks down her nose at me as she says, “TreadWall—”

“Was Peter’s decision. I advised him against purchasing additional stock. The CEO was on the verge of a meltdown. He wanted blood. I wrote that in my report.”

“In a report that was never logged with the department before you left for vacation.” Mr. Black, the money behind this operation, stands from his chair to join Rochelle and me on the other side of his big, overcompensating desk. “Everyone got sloppy, and millions were shaved off my company’s assets the past weekend alone.”

“Peter—”

“Has agreed to a voluntary redundancy from the Ravenshoe division. His partnership will be paid out by Christmas Eve, and he’ll helm the less profitable Oregon chapter for the foreseeable future.”

Mr. Black makes it seem as if Peter’s share of the partnership is a pittance. Paying out the one point five million dollar stake I helped Peter achieve in his company may be small for him, but it will give Peter the capital he needs to start the firm I’ve been endeavoring to get off the ground the past two years.

We won’t mention the two point eight million he’s requesting for me to buy out his share of our apartment. He’s trying to put potential future value on the valuation the real estate broker quoted earlier this morning.

When it dawns on me that my fate has been decided, I ask, “And me? What do I get?”

It won’t be a share of Peter’s cut because, as far as Rochelle and Mr. Black are concerned, we’re not a couple. Peter wanted to keep our relationship strictly business during office hours.

Now I know why.

Rochelle’s voice doesn’t house an ounce of remorse. “Your unused vacation days will be included in your final pay.”

That’s it?

That’s all I get for seven years and one hundred and thirty-eight million dollars in profit?

“Okay.” I have a million more words in my head but no way of expressing them without screaming like a lunatic. I need to keep my cool if I want to secure another job in the financial sector. “I’ll pack my things now.”

“Things?” Rochelle asks, conscious everything in and on my desk belongs to Black Industries.

Almost everything, I mentally correct.

“I have a photograph of my parents on my desk.” I smile when I remember how long ago the polaroid image was taken. It was the year my parents met, and snapped during the annual Christmas tree lighting in my mother’s hometown.

The thousands of lights illuminating the Christmas tree bounce off my mother’s dark locks, but they have nothing on the sparkle of love in her eyes.

My parents aren’t ashamed to admit it was love at first sight. They have no reason to be ashamed. They’ve been inseparable since they first met.

“Right,” Rochelle replies, fighting not to snicker. “The housemaid and the janitor, right?”

I could ignore her snide tone any other day, but not today. “Yes. Twoemployedpeople who’ve been happily married for over thirty years.”

I could mention that they were one of Ravenshoe’s lucky investors who believed in the young entrepreneur that put this town on the map, but since my parents’ happiness will swipe Rochelle’s smile from her face quicker than the knowledge they own several investment properties now in the millions, I keep tightlipped—mostly.

“What’s your relationship status again?”

Her wrinkled face, that looks like she sucked a lemon, tells me everything I need to know.

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