CHAPTER 16

Hazel

"You will not speak to me in that tone. I was being courteous to him. That's all."

I wanted to use my counting technique from one to zero, but it wasn’t working. His words ignite the pain I’d been hiding perfectly.

Slut shaming, calling me a gold digger, and claiming I’m unworthy to be with, are those also Jarvis’s thoughts?

‘You will never measure up.’

Is that what the men in my life actually saw when they looked at me, someone temporary? A droplet of water landed on my arm, and it was already beginning to drizzle.

"Are you speaking to me in that tone?" His voice dropped lower. "Do you realise I'm your boss?"

"Yes." I cut him off before he could build any more momentum.

"You are my boss, not the air I breathe." I took a step toward him.

"You don't get to shame me with your words. So what if you're a billionaire? I feed myself. I take care of myself. If you think the word "fired” is going to make me fold, then you have the wrong person standing in front of you."

I closed the remaining distance between us. Close enough to see the cold mist leaving my mouth as I spoke.

"Goodnight, Sir."

I turned and walked into the rain.

It came down harder almost immediately, soaking through the white gown within seconds.

My knees ached from the heels on wet ground, each step sending a dull throb up my leg, but I kept walking.

Elvis ran towards me, using his jacket as a shield, but I pushed it away without breaking stride.

"With all due respect, Mr Elvis, my shift is over. I can find my own way home."

"It's raining. Let me take you home."

"Stop it." I kept walking. "Stop pretending you care. I am nobody to you. A worthless employee, you said it yourself." I glanced back once. "Go inside. The rain is getting heavier."

I didn't wait for a response.

The heels were agony now, causing excruciating pain down to my ankle, but I didn't slow down until I was far enough that I couldn't see him anymore.

Then I stopped, raised my hand for a taxi, and stood in the rain waiting.

One tear ran down the side of my face. It mixed with the rainwater and disappeared into my jaw. My mascara was somewhere on my cheeks. The white gown had dark stains blooming across it where the makeup had transferred. I looked down at myself once and then looked away.

I didn't particularly care. The taxi came. I got in.

I gave Betty's address and stared out the window the whole ride there.

#######

"You're finally awake." Betty was sitting cross-legged on the couch, both hands around a mug, watching me drag myself out of the bedroom still in last night's ruined gown.

"Elvis has been calling. He left a message too. Check your phone."

"Good morning to you as well." I dropped onto the couch beside her.

"When did you get back last night? I found you face-down on my bed looking like a crime scene."

I shrugged. Talking through it would only pull the whole thing back up to the surface, and I didn't have the energy for that yet.

"I sent you a message." I rubbed my eyes.

"The short version: heavy storm. I ended up sleeping at Elvis's house, and went to a business party with him last night. He said some things. I said some things back." I reached for her mug and took a sip without asking.

"He probably sent my termination letter at midnight. Honestly?"

I found my middle finger and raised it toward no one in particular.

Betty set the mug down and turned to fully look at me with the expression she reserved for moments when she had something to say and was deciding how loud to say it.

"Hazel." She exhaled. "I told you from the beginning, this idea of yours was going to blow up. And then what? What's the plan now?"

She flopped backwards onto the bed, covering her face with both hands, rolling side to side like the mattress had personally offended her.

"What is wrong with you?"

I left her to it and reached for my phone on the dressing table.

Four missed calls from Elvis. All from fourteen hours ago.

One message, sent thirty minutes ago.

I rolled my eyes, clicked it open, and read.

‘Meeting with investors at 1 PM today. Get ready, I'll get you.’

I read it again.

Then a third time, because I apparently needed three reads to confirm what was clearly written in plain English.

"He didn't fire me." I turned around. "Betty. He didn't fire me. We have a meeting in two hours."

She sat up immediately, snatched the phone from my hand, and read the message out loud to herself with focused energy.

"Don't go." She handed the phone back. "Resign. Hazel, what if this is worse than a termination? What if he's setting something up?"

"That is the most dramatic thing you've ever said to me, and you once convinced yourself our neighbour was in witness protection."

I grabbed her cheek and pulled it gently until the worry on her face softened.

"I will be fine. I am Hazel for a reason." I winked. "Now help me fix this face because I look absolutely terrible."

By one-thirty, I was seated across from two investors in a restaurant with a two-month waiting list, holding a notepad against my chest, doing my best to look engaged in the conversation around me.

Elvis had driven us himself today. He'd pulled up outside Betty's building right on time, and I'd gotten into the car and said good afternoon, and he'd made a sound that loosely qualified as a response, and then we'd sat in complete silence for the entire drive.

Not uncomfortable silence, exactly. Just the kind with a lot of unspoken things moving around in it.

The meeting ran long. It always did with investors. I took notes, stayed present, and waited it out.

When the two men finally stood to leave, Elvis walked them to the door with handshakes.

They were gone, and it was just the two of us left at the table.

I kept my gaze on the window, notepad against my chest, waiting for us to leave.

"About yesterday."

I didn't move.

A took a long pause. He was working up to something and taking his time getting there.

"I was out of line." Another pause. "I was looking out for your wellbeing as an employee. Harry has a history, he's a smooth talker, and it would not have ended well for you."

I pressed my lips together.

You could see the whole thing, the rehearsing, the internal debate, the way he'd clearly constructed and reconstructed that sentence several times before landing on that particular arrangement of words.

Elvis had apologized to approximately no one in his adult life. The effort it had cost him was written all over his face.

I straightened in my chair and finally looked at him properly.

"First of all, I'm not in a relationship." I held up one finger. "I was. But that situation had other plans for itself." A second finger. "And second…"

He turned to look at me.

I leaned forward slightly. "I'll accept the apology. But only if you take me to the cinema tonight."

His expression shifted.

"I'm aware it falls under my Saturday availability clause, I mean, meeting like this."

"But after the emotional damage you caused me last night, I think a good comedy movie is the least you can offer."

What happened next was something I filed immediately into memory for permanent storage.

He could not look me in the eye.

He reached for the button on his jacket and fastened it. Then unfastened it and fastened it again.

"I don't watch films." He kept his eyes on the table. "I find them uninteresting."

"That's exactly what makes it an apology, sir."

He picked up his glass. Set it down. Picked it up again.

"Fine." A short, quiet exhale. "Cinema, then."

I dropped my head and stared at the notepad in my lap, holding the smile inside my chest where he couldn't see it.