or risk damaging the company’s reputation by engaging in a lawsuit. The negative publicity would ruin us. And there’s no popularity in poverty.’
Was he misquoting The Wolf of Wall Street? He must spend his evenings reading 101 Greatest Ever Sales Quotes. Glancing down, she spotted the button on her suit jacket was undone and quickly fastened it. ‘I agree.’
‘The client has complained and it’s a legitimate complaint. The job doesn’t meet the spec. It’s over budget and it’s late. I need to be seen taking action.’ He smiled, the white of his teeth jarring with his sun-baked, all-year-round tan.
Thank goodness, they were on the same page … Crikey, he had her using clichés now. ‘Quite rightly.’
‘I’m glad you see it that way, Charlie.’ He rested his hands in his lap.
She hated it when he shortened her name … although right at that moment she certainly felt like a right ‘charlie’.
Noticing her reflection in the glass cabinet, she tucked a wayward dark curl behind her ear, her natural waves defying the straighteners yet again. Not helpful when trying to present a polished exterior. Why was she worrying about her appearance? Focus, woman.
‘A company is known by the people it keeps.’ He walked over to the cabinet housing his many accolades. ‘Short-term pain, long-term gain, as they say. A sacrifice for the good of the firm.’ He picked up one of his industry awards and rubbed away a mark before placing it back on the shelf. ‘It’s not what I want to do, believe me, but my hand has been forced.’
And about time too. Lawrence Falk ran a hugely successful and profitable firm. They had a six-month waiting list for sales visits alone and their work regularly featured in all the top design magazines, so why he allowed such an incompetent man to damage that prestigious reputation, she didn’t know. Surely family ties weren’t worth that much? They certainly weren’t in her family. But then she rarely saw her family, so that might be why. Their move to Cornwall seven years earlier, coupled with her long working hours and demanding job, had hampered any attempts to maintain a close relationship. It was something that never ceased to sadden her. But she couldn’t think about that right now, she had more important things to worry about. ‘I appreciate it’s a difficult situation, but I’m sure your sister will understand … eventually.’
Lawrence turned to her. ‘What’s my sister got to do with this?’
Charlotte mirrored his frown. ‘I imagine she won’t take kindly to you firing her husband.’
Lawrence held her gaze, his voice as smooth as his perfectly styled hair. ‘Who said I was firing Roger?’
A chill of foreboding crept into her shoulders, tightening the muscles around the base of her neck. God, her head hurt. ‘Well, you did … didn’t you? Someone has to be accountable and all that. I assumed we were talking about Roger?’
Lawrence gave her an insincere smile. ‘You know, Charlie, when you assume, you make an “ass” out of “u” and “me”.’
She tried to see past the latest cliché and comprehend his meaning. Her fingers fiddled with the button on her jacket. ‘Wh … what are you saying?’
He opened his hands, another perfected ‘trust me, I’m about to fleece you’ gesture. ‘This pains me more than it does you, Charlie …’
She doubted that.
‘… but I have to let you go. You’re an amazing designer, but this client is too influential to ignore.’
Ringing in her ears delayed the meaning of his words filtering through to her brain. For a moment, she just sat there, stunned. ‘But … but why? It wasn’t me who messed up. There was nothing wrong with my designs or my surveyor’s measurements. This was down to poor workmanship, nothing else.’ The walls seemed to be closing in on her. Her dream job was slipping from her clasp.
‘You took your eye off the ball.’
She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, trying to keep her composure. ‘I was juggling three jobs, Lawrence. I couldn’t be there every second to babysit. And I shouldn’t have to.’
He gave a half-hearted nod. ‘But at the end of the day, it’s your responsibility to ensure the job is delivered on time and to brief. It’s your client, your job, your head on the block when it goes tits-up.’ Removing a ruler from his drawer, he measured the gaps between his trophies, adjusting any that didn’t meet his exacting standards. Standards she’d been drawn to, feeling they matched her own desire for perfection. ‘I’m sorry, love, but it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there.’
She stood up, no longer able to contain her frustration. ‘So, Roger gets away with yet another piss-poor job? No matter what he costs the firm, you let him off … again.’ The urge to topple over his trophies was overwhelming, but her brain alerted her to the fact that trashing the boss’s office would not strengthen her defence.
Lawrence shrugged. ‘Don’t be a sore loser, honey. Victory goes to the player who makes the next-to-last mistake. You know that.’
What on earth was he on about? ‘Sorry, I don’t follow?’
He pointed at her with the ruler. ‘You vandalised the shower screen.’
‘Hardly vandalised …’
‘The entire ceiling needs replastering. That was you, right, not Roger?’ He asked the question in such a way that it was obvious he already knew the answer.
Technically, it was true: she had slammed the shower-screen door so hard it had shattered, but only because Roger had drilled through a water pipe and then tried to cover it up with gaffer tape. When she’d peeled away the protective covering, water had spurted from the wall, soaking her jacket and skirt. Squealing from the shock of cold water hitting her midriff, she’d slipped backwards, her legs had parted company and the small slit in the back of her skirt had ripped all the way up to her bottom. She’d had to negotiate the Tube journey home with her jacket tied around her middle, trying not to flash her knickers to the other commuters. Talk about humiliating.
Lawrence sighed. ‘Look, take some time off. Lie low for a while. Maybe we can look at rehiring you in a few months’ time. But for now, I have to let you go. The company can’t afford to fight this.’ He dropped the ruler in the drawer, closing it with an ‘I’m done’ thud.
Tears threatened to surface. ‘So that’s it? You’re firing me?’ Her voice caught. ‘This is so unfair.’
Lawrence opened his office door. ‘Life is unfair, honey.’
She had no recollection of driving home. Her head thumped with a rhythm that made it hard to form coherent thoughts. She’d been fired? Sacked? Thrown under the bus so Lawrence could protect his family? It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t her fault … well, not entirely. Surely Dodgy Roger should be held accountable too? Why should he be allowed to get away with such ineptitude whilst she lost her career, something she’d fought for and worked so hard for all these years, giving up spending time with her friends, her family, just so she could achieve her dream of becoming a designer? What had it all been for?
By the time she’d parked up in the underground car park and made her way to the lift, indignation had switched to fury. She jabbed at the lift button. Lawrence couldn’t do this to her. It
