My jaw tightens with determination as I open my emails and start typing.
Dear Mr. Walker How dare you…
I delete the typing.
Dear Mr. Walker,
I would like to understand the rationale behind my redundancy offer. Can you elaborate with specifics on why I was narrowed out to be removed from the team?
Kind Regards,
Charlotte Finnegan
There, that’ll do. I hit send before I could talk myself out of it. The response is instant.
Charlie,
Please set up a meeting with HR to discuss any outstanding questions. Rest assured that the team will take you through everything and ensure you are supported throughout this process. Read the package first. It’s an extremely generous offer.
Regards,
Danny Walker
I snort, and a few people beside me look up.
The atmosphere in the office is like a funeral home. We are studying each other with suspicion as we realise we are now competing against each other. People have been traipsing in and out of meetings with the Nexus HR team like it’s a counselling clinic.
This may be the highest peak of productivity that the company has ever seen as we all fight for a place.
I hit reply and hammer on the keyboard.
Dear Mr. Walker,
As you personally took the decision of removing me from my job and you personally notified me of this decision, I’d like you to explain why I was chosen.
Is this A) because you think I’m incompetent after doing zero research and relying on your own prejudices about who you think I am, or B) because I made a stupid mistake 8 years ago that I bitterly regret? Which one is it?
Kind Regards,
Charlotte Finnegan
I breathe in sharply. I’d never broached the dry hump incident before. It had always been the elephant in the room.
I wait. And wait. No response. Spineless.
45 minutes later, an email pops up.
Charlie,
It’s C) the company’s new operating model requires streamlining, and we do not need two IT departments.
I have made you a personal offer. The decision to accept it or not is yours however, if you choose not to, you will be subject to the same redundancy selection process as the rest of your colleagues, whereby we will assess whether the job still exists under the new structure.
For what it’s worth, I am disappointed that you have regrets from 8 years ago. Sleep on it. You’ll come round and realise it’s the best outcome.
Regards,
Danny Walker.
I read it again, blinking. Then again, more slowly. He’s disappointed I have regrets? What the hell does that mean?
Charlie
“Legally, he can do it,” Julie confirms as she scans over the document I had printed. “He’s offering you voluntary redundancy.”
She flicks through it, searching for something.
“I don’t get it. It is a bit strange that the CEO of The Nexus Group is getting involved in low-level details like this. He’s got hundreds of employees. Doesn’t he have bigger things to worry about?”
“I’m the pathetic little sister. I’m an inconvenience.” I snap, taking my anger out on my wardrobe. I’m searching for an outfit for dinner with Ben, and with the force I’m yanking the hangers, I’m likely to break the pole. “I’m not the right calibre for his company, and he needs to get rid of me quietly so I’ll be a good little girl at Tristan’s parties.” “It would appear like that, yeah.” She shrugs.
I shoot her a look. “I didn’t want you to agree with me.”
“Then don’t ask.”
“So, what do I do?”
She pauses. “Do nothing yet. You have 10 days to think about this. Get your anger out with angry sex. Then you’ll think straight. In the meantime, let him sweat.”
Tonight Ben and I are going for dinner with some friends of his. It’s a great opportunity for me to get out of my sex slump and stop festering over Danny Walker.
The perks of having a millionaire brother are that you get freebies like access to exclusive restaurants and private member clubs. Usually, I decline because I couldn’t be bothered with the ordeal of getting dolled up for these places, but it’s time Ben got to see the vixen inside me. It’s make or break time.
Tristan has put us on the guestlist under his membership to the new sushi restaurant in the Shard and promised me 50% off. I know he’d pay for my entire bill, but I’d prefer not to feel like a charity case.
Reliable Ben is at the door promptly at 7pm and does a double-take when he sees me.
“Woah,” His mouth hangs open. “I forgot you could dress like this.”
I open my mouth to tell him off, then falter. When was the last time I had dressed up for Ben?
Any time there is mention of a restaurant, I’m diving into my elasticated stomach-expanding trousers. The priority was always food over fucking.
“Wait until you see what I’m wearing under this.” I wink at him and grab my coat.
***
We are guided through the restaurant by a beautiful creature, and I silently thank myself for finding the willpower to dress up. Waitresses were never just waitresses in these bars; they were models, actresses, or escorts with a canny ability to make you feel as attractive as a stone.
The restaurant is typical Tristan, a sky-high terrace with views of the river through floor-toceiling windows while a live jazz band serenades in the background.
London’s most gorgeous people had been rounded up and arranged into red velvet booths. It was
a beautiful scene.
You were rich, beautiful, or an oligarch to make the cut, or in our case, freeloaders of the rich.
Mikey, his girlfriend Sarah, John, his girlfriend Bernice, and another couple I have never met are at the table looking chuffed. Obviously, I had gained major points for landing us a table when it was notoriously impossible.
Ben puts a protective arm around my shoulder and beams. “Tony, Andrea, meet the Missus.”
I stiffen. Panic, fear, claustrophobia, and nausea wash over me. When did I become a Missus rather than Charlie?
“Hiya,” I replied shakily, taking a seat beside Sarah. It’s a round table, but the boys have congregated on one side and the girls on the other. A tactical move by Mikey and John, no doubt.
“We were just talking about how gorgeous these are,” she points to the white flowers in the middle of the table. “They would be perfect on my two side tables in the marquee.” I brace myself for a long night.
Sarah was talking about her wedding. It was still over a year away, but apparently, she was bowled over with preparations.
I smile, feigning interest.
“Gorgeous,” Bernice gushes. “Mixed in with lilies, right?”
Bernice had been dropping heavy hints to John that she, too, would make a wonderful bride.
“Naturally,” Sarah laughs in response. ‘You know, getting the right wedding florist is a complete nightmare. I’ve had five interviews already, and I still haven’t found a satisfactory one. Five! I keep having these recurring dreams that I enter the marquee, the wrong flowers are sitting at the wrong table and they are all lopsided.”
Honestly, if you have a nightmare about wedding flowers, at least imagine killer weeds suffocating the groom.
“You’re so lucky,” Bernice says loudly, throwing eyes at her boyfriend. “I’ll be a pensioner by the time John proposes.”
“You are only 28,” I point out. “Plenty of time.”