“Ah,” I answered. “That explains it.”
“Ophelia’s worried he’ll fire her on the spot. It’s costing them a hundred thousand dollars an hour to hold the talent here for this project.” They’d hired famous models for the shoot, but the number still staggered me.
“That’s a lot more than I get paid in a year,” I noted.
“You and me both, girl.”
Cringing, I tried the door handle again, just in case. It rotated into nothing, not engaging the latch to open the door.
“Would he really fire her for something that isn’t her fault?”
“Well…he’s been known to fire people for less.”
I heard the subtext of her words and swallowed thickly. “So my new job might be over a lot faster than I expected, is what you’re saying.”
“This wasn’t your fault,” she protested, but her voice lacked conviction.
“Right.”
“Ophelia’s calling me. The locksmith will be here soon.”
I grunted halfheartedly. The minute that door opened, my employment at this advertising agency would be over.
New York is an at-will employment state, so if Mr. Branson did see fit to pin this disaster on me, it wouldn’t be the first time I was let go for less-than-scrupulous reasons. The whole reason I was working this crappy job in the first place was because my previous boss decided he didn’t want to follow through on his promises to promote me. When I finally worked up the nerve to ask him about it, he fired me instead. That was after I’d paid for a business management certificate out of pocket after he’d told me he’d reimburse me once I got promoted.
Like an idiot, I’d bought his bullshit. Had the debt to prove it.
A consultant had informed my former boss it’d be cheaper to replace me than to pay me what I was worth, and that was the end of that.
Life hadn’t exactly been going according to plan lately. The loss of my job seemed to be the first domino in a long line of increasingly alarming events. First, the promotion turned into a firing, leaving me high and dry with a useless certificate and a lot of debt. Then the landlord for the rent-controlled apartment I’d been living in for years told me he wouldn’t be renewing my lease, so I had three months to find somewhere halfway affordable if I didn’t want to end up on the street. That was just over two months ago, so time was ticking.
Then, the cherry on top of the crap sundae, the guy I’d been half-seeing told me he met someone else.
It nearly broke me, which hadn’t made sense to me at the time. I didn’t love the guy, and he didn’t love me, but his rejection stung. It was so patently clear that I’d been a placeholder for him while he looked for a woman he wanted to keep. And maybe I’d been a placeholder for my landlord, so he could make some money off his place while he lived his life elsewhere. And, hell, maybe I was a placeholder for my old boss, who let go of me without so much as a reference.
And now I was stuck in a room with a giant glass cock filled with pink perfume.
One of many dicks that had done me wrong lately.
Grimacing at the pink phallus, I admitted the truth: It was the loss of my job that had really hurt. I’d been working for a vintage clothing store as a manager and buyer. I’d go out and purchase all kinds of treasures, then care for them and put them for sale in our store. Looking back on it in the weeks of unemployment that followed, I realized that the owner had taken advantage of me for a long time.
I had started as a sales associate and quickly started taking on tasks outside of my job description. Much of the time I spent trawling through online consignment shops and thrift stores was unpaid. I told myself I enjoyed the activity-and didn’t I want the shop to be as good as it could be?
But the truth was, I should have been paid for that time. I should have demanded to be paid for that time. Instead, I drank in the empty promises of a promotion that included health insurance, dental, and a 401k match that would see me through my golden years, and the reimbursement of the school fees I’d incurred for upskilling.
What a bunch of bull.
I’d been a placeholder. A convenient person who went above and beyond because she thought she was appreciated, but really, she was a chump. Maybe that’s what I should’ve put on my resume to get people to hire me. Nikita Little: Will go above and beyond for free because she was, in fact, born yesterday.
A knock at the door drew my attention.
“Hello?” I called out.
“Locksmith,” an older man’s voice proclaimed. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll get you out.”
My shoulders dropped in relief. “Thank you.” I moved toward the table and crossed my arms to wait for the locksmith to do his thing.
But instead of the door opening and sweet relief flooding my veins, I stared at the dull gray metal of the door and listened to the old man’s frustrated grunts.
I moved closer. “Is everything okay?”
“Lock won’t budge. Have to take it apart.”
I jumped back when there was a bang on the door.
“Stupid thing,” the old man grumbled.
Then, another voice. This one younger and more commanding. “Why isn’t this door open? What’s the holdup?”
“Buddy, I’m trying here,” the locksmith protested.
“Try harder,” the other man said, danger laced through his words.
“Sir, he only just arrived,” I heard Ophelia simper from a little farther away.
And I understood. The second man was Jared Branson, billionaire, entrepreneur, and dick-loving advertising mogul. My gaze narrowed on the steel door, then shifted to the pink penis.
I’m not sure what came over me then. It was some kind of deep, seismic shift in the very core of me. I’d been tossed aside by so many people so many times recently-and not so recently-and I was sick of it. Facing down the end of my employment, I discovered that this arrogant man being rude to a poor locksmith was pushing me closer and closer to the edge.
Branson said, derision dripping from his voice, “How hard could it be to get a simple lock open?”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.