What Fit in the Box

“Is it true?” Paula asked.

I put my bag on the desk.

“Yes.”

“Where are you going?”

“Nexora.”

David let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh.

“Of course they want you.”

I hadn’t realized how badly I needed someone to say it that simply.

Maria looked toward Innovation.

“Did he really ask you to take the cut?”

“Yes.”

“And keep doing all of this?” She gestured at the screens, the calendars, the stack of meeting notes Paula was sorting.

“Yes.”

“That son of a—”

“Maria.”

Alan cleared his throat and pretended to examine the ceiling.

She lowered her voice.

“What happens to us?”

There was the question I had been avoiding since the café.

I couldn’t carry them out in the box with my coffee mug. I couldn’t promise positions Adrian hadn’t offered or solve Paula’s immigration situation with an angry speech.

“I don’t know yet,” I said. “Derek is responsible for assigning the work. You need those assignments and priorities in writing.”

David looked as though I had told him to ask a wolf for a menu.

“He’s going to dump everything on us.”

“Then don’t promise him three people can do eight people’s work. You’ve watched what that did to me.”

Nobody answered.

Paula caught my sleeve before I turned away.

“Can we still talk to you?”

“Of course. About your lives. About how you’re doing. But don’t send me company documents or ask me to do work Derek should assign properly.”

She nodded, looking embarrassed.

I squeezed her hand. “I’m saying it now because I don’t want anyone using our friendship against you.”

“I understand,” she said.

I hoped Derek would never make them choose between protecting themselves and helping someone they liked.

I took Noah’s photograph off the small stand beside my monitor.

His front teeth were more uneven in that picture. I had missed the school photographer’s order deadline and bought it late at an absurd price. I would have paid twice that today.

Into the box went the photograph, a sweater, the ridiculous WORLD’S OKAYEST BOSS mug my team had given me, and the spare inhaler I kept for Noah.

I held the inhaler for a moment before putting it in my handbag instead.

Maria saw.

“Are you going to be all right?”

“I have a signed offer.”

Her shoulders loosened.

“Good.”

Patricia arrived with an equipment receipt. I handed over the laptop and phone, confirmed the personal items in my box, and asked her to send the separation documents to my personal email.

She nodded.

“I will.”

For a second she looked as though she wanted to say more.

Derek appeared at the far end of the aisle, and she didn’t.

Alan carried the box to the elevator because one handle had torn.

“You don’t have to do that,” I told him.

“I know.”

Downstairs, he set it on the passenger seat and waited while I found my keys.

“My wife’s been trying to get me to leave here,” he said.

I looked at him.

“She says I come home mad at people she’s never met.”

“I understand that.”

He smiled faintly.

“Take care of yourself, Cat.”

“You, too.”

When he went back inside, I sat behind the wheel.

No tears this time. Not because I was stronger. Because there were things to do before fear got another turn.

First, I called Maya and told her what had happened. Then Adrian joined the call.

“Send the documents when they arrive,” he said. “Our counsel will coordinate on the employment questions relevant to your start. Your lawyer should still advise you personally.”

“I don’t want to turn up on day one with a lawsuit.”

“You haven’t turned up with anything except a good reason to leave.”

I laughed, shaky and grateful.

They agreed to review the release before changing my start date. I would not spend the next twelve days wondering whether I had imagined the offer.

My second call was to Robert Sinclair.

He answered with wind blowing across the microphone.

“Cat! How are things?”

“Creston offered me fifty-two thousand dollars to keep running my accounts. I resigned. I’m joining Nexora.”

The wind continued. Robert did not.

“Cat, I’m sorry.”

“They threatened legal action.”

“What?”

I explained. He interrupted once to say the acquisition was not supposed to work this way.

“It is working this way,” I said.

The words came out harder than I intended. I let them stand.

“What can I do?”

“Confirm the employment records if they ask. Don’t invent assurances. Don’t tell me Graham is a good man. Tell him what you actually know about how we hired and retained people.”

“I can call him.”

“Then call him.”

Robert exhaled.

“I should have checked on you.”

“Yes.”

I waited for him to make that easier. To explain the beach, the board restrictions, the months that had gone by.

He didn’t.

“I’ll call him today.”

After we hung up, I drove to a pharmacy to collect Noah’s refill. While I waited, the box on my passenger seat tipped over. Pens rolled beneath the seat. The mug landed against the door without breaking.

I crouched on the pavement gathering a life I had thought was permanent.

A woman carrying a toddler asked whether I needed help.

“I’ve got it,” I said automatically.

Then I looked at the pens under the car.

“Actually, could you keep that box upright for a second?”

She did. It took ten seconds. The world did not end because I needed someone.

At two fifteen, my phone rang again.

Sonia Hart, chief technology officer at Clover International.

Our biggest customer.

I considered letting it go to voicemail. Then I thought about the implementation scheduled for next month, the plan in the company system, the fact that Sonia would be expecting me on Monday’s call.

I answered.

“Cat, thank God. We need to move the deployment forward two weeks.”

I stood in the pharmacy parking lot with the paper bag in my hand.

“Sonia, there’s something you need to know before we discuss the schedule.”

“What is it?”

“As of today, I no longer work for Verity or Creston.”

The silence on the line was absolute.

Then she said, “Who exactly is running my implementation?”