The following day, I am sitting at my desk, working, but waiting for the storm. Nausea rises in my throat and I couldn't face breakfast.
The intercom buzzes. “Hello, Kirstie. It's Francis here from the director's floor..."
Here it comes...
“Can you come up please; immediately. Mr Alexanders has phoned to say he would like a word with you."
During the journey up the elevator, my stomach clenches. How will a man like James Alexanders react to what happened? Do I still have a job?
I've just lost the best job I ever had...
As I step out, there is a pleasant-faced woman seated at a desk.
“Kirstie?"
Feeling timid, “Yes, that's me."
“Take a seat. Mr Alexanders is on his way now." She looks across at me, I think with some sympathy in her eyes.
Waiting doesn't help my mood at all, but it'
