“Quincy, I’m firing you today.”
In her office at the Wicked Cat Coffee & Brew, Becca Grant sat at her tiny desk overgrown with stacks of papers, clasping her hands together with a slight frown.
A muscular forty-something man sat on the other side of the desk in a folding chair. He wore a leather vest, a white apron, and an asymmetrical haircut with a comb-over, black hair buzzed to near bald on one side. Despite his tough-guy persona, he looked like he had just been slapped.
Becca’s office was the size of a janitor’s closet, barely big enough for a desk, and it was stuffy and hot in the summer. A pink fan blew cold air across the room, barely helping. The staff of the Wicked Cat clanged around in the kitchen outside.
“Here are your termination papers,” Becca said, handing him a yellow
