Chapter 7: Fired

Mabel's POV

“Mabel Hawkins! To my office, now!” My supervisor’s angry voice echoed through the room as soon as he got sight of me as if he had been waiting for me in the reception, storming off immediately after.

“I think you're in big trouble this time,” Dylan said worriedly, his voice laced with pity. His worried eyes watched me eagerly, waiting for a response but he didn't get any.

The moment that jerk instructed the driver not to take me, I knew my day was pretty messed up. That's where all the bad luck originated from. I'm certain.

First, I couldn't even sleep well due to being suddenly thrust into an entirely different world from the one I had known my entire life, then I got yelled at by my supervisor for being late because Landon denied me a ride, my aunt suddenly showed up and tried to cause a scene, followed by the most embarrassing interview in the history of Fact Central Media and now I got summoned by my supervisor again. Only God knows what fate waits me this time.

I've never had a lot of bad things happen to me in one day like today. I don't know why, but this time, I had a bad feeling about everything. There's this feeling of fear lurking around me, telling me that things wouldn't go my way this time.

I hissed absentmindedly, mentally reprimanding myself for not sticking with the script.

To be honest, I didn't know it would be that jerk at the press conference. I rushed the questions and missed the basic details.

If I had known it was him, I would've bailed out somehow, anyhow. But it was already too late when I found out.

“That jerk! Argh!” I groaned, my voice hoarse with frustration.

“Which jerk?” Dylan flinched, his eyes widening.

“No one.” I smiled halfheartedly, hoping he wouldn't misinterpret it and think I was referring to my supervisor. I could feel my sanity slipping away from me by the second! He's making me curse a lot, and it's barely 24 hours since we met.

Exhaling sharply, I hurriedly headed for my Supervisor's office. It couldn't be that bad. I'll get scolded as usual, then everything will return to normal. No biggie.

The door was halfway open and I caught a glimpse of him pacing. Well, that's not unusual.

Gently, I pushed the door and stepped in, keeping my distance from him. You know, for safety reasons.

Blinking rapidly, I gave him my best innocent smile, the one that had gotten me out of trouble a hundred times before, despite the rapid beating of my heart that resounded in my ear.

“What were you thinking?” He thundered, his voice sending a spark of electricity through my body, one that spelled doom for me. Even so, I tried to feign nonchalance.

“Oh, come on, boss. You know me—I like to shake things up. Keep ‘em on their toes.” I made a demonstration, a fake smile plastered on my face.

He shot me a glare, intending to shut me up.

“You tampered with a structured interview!” His chest rose and fell with each word. That also wasn't unusual. I was used to him overreacting to every little thing.

“Semi-structured.” I corrected in a low and calm voice.

“I only asked follow-up questions based on his response; I didn't totally deviate from the main interview,” I explained; even though I was in a hot mess, I still maintained my stance.

He continued staring at me like I was out of my mind. Like I had gone completely mad. Maybe, I wasn't far from it.

“Besides, did you hear the way he answered? It was gold. Controversy drives views. We’re probably trending right now.” A fake excited squeal accompanied my words.

But he wasn't moved; he didn't even blink; he only watched as though I was displaying stupidity. That's when I started to connect the dots. Something was wrong.

“Look, I was just doing my job. Hard questions. Tough answers. That’s journalism, right?”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Do you have any idea how many calls I’ve gotten since that interview aired? Our advertisers are livid. The network is questioning whether you can be trusted on live television.”

My heart raced violently against my ribcage. I was right. Something was wrong. But I still thought I could change things, twist things in my favor.

So I let out an exaggerated gasp, placing a hand over my chest in feigned disbelief. “Me? Untrustworthy? Now that’s just hurtful.”

His expression remained tight, his gaze fixed on me intently.

“Alright, alright. Maybe I pushed a little too hard. But admit it, it was entertaining. You should’ve seen his face when I called him out. Priceless.” I said with a wide grin.

On a norm, this should've cracked him even a little but what happened was the direct opposite. Mr Fredd didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smile.

My grin faltered slightly, panic surging through me. “Okay, tough crowd,” I mumbled.

Mr Fred exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

“This isn’t a joke. You embarrassed the network. You made it personal. And worst of all, you lost control of the interview. He played you, and now you’re the story.”

My heart skipped again.

Something felt off with his tone, expression, everything. Realization started to down on me, no.

I blinked. “Wait, I—”

“You’re fired.” He dropped the bomb. The words landed like a slap to the face, the kind that leaves a sting long after the moment has passed.

I let out a breathy laugh, weak and forced. “Alright, alright, you made your point. I’ll keep it cool next time. Lesson learned. Now, what’s my next assignment?”

He walked to his desk, picked up a folder, and slid it across the desk. Empty. “There isn’t one.”

I felt a lump form in my throat, cold sweat trickling down my face. This couldn't be happening. No. “Oh, come on, boss. You can’t be serious. I mean, sure, it got a little heated, but that’s what makes good TV.” My lips shook slightly as I spoke.

I could've sworn I saw him reconsider for a moment, but it immediately disappeared, returning serious.

“This is above me; I'm just following orders from the higher-ups.” His voice dropped lower almost as if in regret.

“You can put in a word for me.” My statement was more like a question. I couldn't afford to lose my job, this was everything to me. It took a lot of hard work to get here. I could get demoted, that's fine.

But dismissed? That's a little too much.

“That won't change a thing.” He said his expression back to bland and inconsiderate.

Oh my God! What have I done?

“You know how hard I worked to get here, this is too much of a punishment for something as trivial as this.” I ran my hand through my hair in frustration.

“Where do you expect me to start from?” My dad would be so disappointed in me.

“Start a spelling bee or something. Do something with your life.” He said coldly, using his hand to shoo me away as if I was a lost kid.

“Now, if you'll leave, I have work to do!” He pulled out his chair and sat, pretending to work. But I knew he wasn't. He was avoiding me. He didn't want to have me around for too long fearing that I might influence his decision.

I swallowed hard, my legs suddenly felt glued to the floor. They felt too heavy to move. I stood there, just staring at him, hoping he would tell me it was some kind of prank. But he wasn't even looking at me, he avoided looking my way completely. I was deeply hurt. Kind of in a daze, unable to comprehend how quickly I went from being a worker to being jobless.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I dragged myself out of his office, leaving my entire world behind.

Outside the office, I paused for a moment to compose myself, to convince myself that what has happened has happened.

That doesn't mean to stop living, there'll be more opportunities, more chances. I should be able to be back on my feet in no time.

Right now, there's no point crying over spilled milk.

I'm sure everyone in the company must have watched the interview, but that wasn't my problem; I was more concerned about my father watching it. He would be so disappointed in me. How can I face him like this?

I breathed heavily, my breath shuddering a little. After I was sure I could carry myself out, I headed to my desk to pack my belongings without delay.

As I entered the workspace I noticed my colleagues standing in pairs by the corners, whispering among themselves. I clenched my jaw. Just great! Everyone now has something to talk about.

Ignoring all the stares, I started packing my things, only taking what was mine and leaving whatever belonged to the company.

Just then, Dylan rushed in, panting. “I heard.” He breathed, grabbing my wrist.

I responded with a soft hum, freeing my wrist from his grip.

“What do we do now?” He grabbed my wrist again. He was genuinely concerned, but it felt like he was trying to get me to break down and it was not sitting well with me.

“I guess it's time to start job hunting.” I smiled halfheartedly, freed my wrist again from his grip, and patted him gently on the shoulder. Then I quickly grabbed the rest of my stuff and turned to leave.

“You've been blacklisted.” He dropped another bombshell. I halted in my tracks, confused. I turned swiftly to face him.

“What????”

“He requested it,” he said.

Who requested what?

He walked to me staring deeply into my eyes as if he wanted to cry.

“Let's just apologize to President Ferguson, okay?”

My grip on the box tightened as I struggled to control the turmoil within me. That jerk again??