Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Scooting around my desk, I drop into my chair and quickly dial in, kicking my shoes off. Jeff—a poker-faced string of a man with wire hair and a bulbus nose too big for his face—is waiting, head down as he makes notes. He doesn’t look up, even after the system dings my arrival to the meeting. I like Jeff. No small-talk is expected, and there’s no diversion from business or annoying intervals. He gets done and gets off. “Morning, Jeff,” I say, pulling my phone out of my bag and setting it on my desk.
“Morning,” he says, still not looking up. I’ve had meetings with Jeff before when he’s not looked at me the whole time. He’s marvellously efficient. “You requested the accounts.”
“I did.”
“You’re not going to like what you see.”
I sigh. “Half expected.”
“And they’re not finalised just yet.”
“Can you give me drafts?”
“Indeed.”
“Thanks.”
“By end of play today.”
I lean forward on my forearms, my brow knitting. “You wanted a call, Jeff. Why?”
“Just wanted to say goodbye.”
“You’re retiring?”
His pen stops moving across the notepad, and he slowly lifts unamused eyes to mine. I know instantly I’ve put my foot in my mouth. “I’m fifty.”
Fuck. Life has not been kind to him. My flinch is hard. Do I look older than my years, because life has definitely been cruel to me? A total, unrelenting, brutal bitch, actually. “Of course,” I say, shrinking. “So, where are you going?”
“Nowhere.”
“I’m really fucking confused, Jeff.”
“I’m saying goodbye, because you’re leaving TF Shipping.”
“I am? Since when?”
“When you see the accounts that land in your inbox later today and you quit.” Jeff disappears from my screen, just as a knock rings out. “Yes, Thomas?”
He pops his head around the door. “I have a problem.”
So do I, it seems, Thomas. “What’s the problem?” Fucking hell, how bad is it? Irreparable? I need this job.
“I need to launch an investigation and I’ll be spending money.”
“Why? The investigation, not the money.”
“There’s been a complaint made about someone.”
“Who?”
“Meredith.”
“Why?”
“She got a little . . . aggressive toward someone.”
“Meredith from Payments?”
“Yes.”
“Who was she allegedly aggressive toward?”
“Phillip.”
My eyes widen and blink. “Her husband?”
“Yeah. They’ve separated.”
“Right.” I rise, marching around my desk and past Thomas.
“What are you doing?”
“Dealing with it.”
“Whoa, Camryn, we have to follow protocol.” He chases my heels, blabbering a load of nonsense about policies and employee rights. I make it to Meredith’s office. Poor thing looks scared out of her skin faced with me. Placing my palms on her desk, I lean closer, dropping my voice. “What’s going on?”
Her eyes dart, checking the vicinity before she swallows, regret contorting her pretty face. “He called me crazy.”
“Well, that’s not so bad.” Thomas pipes up from behind me, laughing lightly but stopping the moment I turn a killer glare his way.
“I’m not crazy,” she says meekly. “I’m emotional. How does he expect me to be? He’s telling everyone I’m unhinged.”
And now he’s trying to get her fired. “Where did you supposedly get aggressive toward him?”
“In the kitchen.”
“When?”
“Last Friday when we all finished early and Thomas brought in the champagne to celebrate December.” Her lip wobbles. “I mean, I’d had a glass, but I wasn’t drunk, Camryn.”
I turn on my heels and head for the security office, entering and asking one of the tech people to pull up the kitchen CCTV from last Friday. “Sorry, I don’t have it.”
“What do you mean, you don’t have it?” I ask, watching as he merrily goes back to his screen, not giving me a second look.
“I mean, we assess footage regularly and delete it from the server to free up disk space.”
“Fuck.” I turn and leave, feeling myself getting more and more worked up.
“Ms. Moore?”
I stop and find one of the juniors pulling the door to the security room closed behind him. “Can I have a quiet word?”
Thomas looks between us, frowning. “What is it, Reggie?” he asks.
I point to a spare office, and he nods, accepting my silent offer and wandering in. I follow him and watch as his hands play nervously, closing the door when Thomas is through it. “I don’t want any backlash.” he says.
“For what?” I ask.
“Telling you something.”
“Go on.”
He nods. “We keep footage for two weeks.”
“But it’s only been one week since last Friday,” I muse.
“I came back from my lunch early yesterday and found Phillip West in the security office. He was handing over some money.”
I laugh, a light puff of utter disbelief, and slam my phone down, making both Reggie and Thomas jump. “The arsehole.”
“Oh no,” Thomas breathes. “Before you go in all guns blaz—”
I march out, on a mission, straight to Phillip’s office. He’s reclined in his chair behind his desk, relaxed on the phone, unperturbed, unbothered by the fact his wife’s falling apart. Just cracking on with his life, trying to eradicate her from his. Get rid of the crazy.
While simultaneously getting rid of the guilt he doesn’t want to feel for upending her world.