Please Dont Withdraw!

4

Gemma

“WHAT CAN I DO for you, Emily?” I ask, as she settles into the chair across from me.

Emily from marketing is first in the HR clinic today—aka my office. Every Wednesday morning, we have the “drop-in center” for anyone who needs to vent about their work-related woes.

Kind of like that show Embarrassing Bodies, only instead of fungal infections and mystery rashes, I get the festering emotional wounds of the finance world. We cover the full spectrum, from the stressed, needy interns to finance guys who think they’re the second coming of Wolf of Wall Street

—London edition.

The HR team is swamped, so I’ve taken it upon myself to run the clinic single-handedly. Probably not the best approach especially since I spent yesterday rearranging the damn all-staff meeting at McLaren’s request. We’re desperately trying to recruit more HR staff, but qualified candidates seem to be in short supply these days.

And the thing is, I enjoy helping people. It’s why I got into HR. So if we didn’t have a ton of other s**t to deal with, I might actually look forward to these weekly heart-to-hearts.

Emily clears her throat nervously, shifting in her seat. “I need to disclose a relationship.”

“Okay,” I reply, giving her my full attention. “Usually both parties come to disclose it together, but that’s all right, your partner can come see me later today. You’ll both need to sign the conflict-of-interest forms. Who’s your partner?”

“That’s the thing . . . he’s more senior than me.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “Daniel Hart.”

I blink. Please tell me I didn’t hear that right. “Daniel Hart?” “That’s right.”

“Does he know you’re disclosing the relationship?”

“No, he’s being quite casual about the whole thing. But as the junior employee, I feel I need to ensure everything is properly documented, just to be safe.” She smiles nervously, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. “I’ve been so worried about it; I couldn’t sleep last night. So I thought it best to come to you today.”

I frown. “If you don’t mind me asking, how long has this relationship been going on?”

Her face reddens. “Six months.”

Right. I lean forward, giving her a sympathetic look. “I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, Emily. However, I’m afraid there may be a bit of an issue here.”

“Oh?” Her eyes widen. “I thought it was allowed as long as we disclosed it? I know it’s a little late—”

“It’s not that,” I interrupt gently. “Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it seems Daniel has already registered as being in a relationship. Here. At the company.”

Seriously, why can’t people just keep it in their pants at work? Is that really so much to ask? I’ve always believed in putting career before c**k.

Her face goes blank.

“With someone else,” I add, because I get the feeling she’s not willing to let the truth sink in. “So unless you’re in a polyamorous relationship, which I assume you’re not . . .” I trail off, clearing my throat pointedly until the penny drops.

And when it does, oh boy.

“No,” she gasps. “Are you sure? There must be some mistake. Daniel wouldn’t . . .”

“I’m sure,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral even as I feel a twinge of sympathy for the poor girl. “Unless there’s another Daniel Hart lurking around here that I don’t know about.”

In which case, we’ve got bigger problems than her shattered heart. Her face crumples. “I don’t believe this . . . Who? Who is he with?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t disclose that,” I say, giving her a sympathetic smile.

An ear-splitting sob erupts from her mouth with such force, I instinctively lean back to avoid the spray.

I jump up from my desk and rush to her side, plopping down next to her and shoving a box of tissues into her quivering hands.

“I can’t believe it. I thought we had something special,” she wails.

I bite back a sigh. If I had a pound for every time I heard that line, I could buy this company and fire everyone. Starting with Daniel.

“Emily,” I say calmly. “Think about what you want to do with this information. Remember how important this job is. You’ve only been here two years, but you have such a bright future ahead of you, if you handle this tactfully.”

She snatches a tissue and honks into it, her face turning redder. “That wanker. That lying, cheating, scumbag wanker!”

I wince. “It’s probably best if you refrain from calling another employee names in front of me.”

Even if he is a total wanker.

“Sorry,” she splutters, blowing her nose loudly into the tissue. “I just . . . I don’t know what to do. What should I do, Gemma?”

She looks at me with those big, watery Bambi eyes, like I’m some sort of all-knowing relationship guru.

I pause. “As HR, I can’t give you relationship advice. That’s what your girlfriends and a bottle of wine are for. But perhaps ending it cleanly is best, since it’s a workplace relationship. Keep it professional. Leave the emotions at the office door and move on with your head held high.”

She bursts into a fresh round of sobs, then looks up, eyes blazing. “Can I lodge a complaint against him?”

“For what?”

“For cheating!” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

If being an asshole were against company policy, we’d have to fire half the men in this place. Starting with McLaren as owner.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Emily, but cheating is a personal issue, not a professional one. Unless he’s, I don’t know, cheating on company time or with corporate credit cards, there’s nothing HR can do about it.”

Her shoulders slump, the fight draining out of her. “So that’s it? I just act like nothing happened and carry on like normal?”

I nod, handing her another tissue. “Look, you’re young and talented. Don’t let one bad relationship define you or derail your career. We’ll make sure your work relationship is at an arm’s length going forward.”

She nods and hauls herself out of the chair, sniffling and wiping her nose. “Thanks, Gemma.”

She pauses at the door, hand on the knob. “You won’t tell anyone, right? I can’t handle being office gossip on top of everything else.”

“Of course not,” I reply, slightly offended. “What’s said in this room stays strictly between us.”

And it’s true. I know everyone’s deepest and darkests in this place. Many of which I wish I could bleach from my brain.

I let out a breath as the door closes. It’s not the wildest problem I’ve dealt with here—I’ve had to fire people for turning the cleaner’s closet into their own personal red room, for god’s sake.

But still, I’m holding out hope that the remaining appointments aren’t all scorned lovers and broken hearts. I’m running dangerously low on tissues and patience for that kind of drama.

“Knock knock,” chirps a familiar voice.

“Hi,” I say to Mary, my assistant, though it sounds more like a groan than a greeting.

“Want me to grab some lunch for you?” She hovers in the doorway. “Or are you heading out?”

I almost laugh at the absurdity of me “heading out.” I eye my desk, which looks like a bomb went off in a paper factory, and the aftermath was hit by a tornado of Post-it notes.

“If you could grab me something, that would be amazing. You’re the best.” I flash her a grateful smile and she beams back before scurrying off.

I keep telling myself tomorrow will be the day I step outside for some fresh air and a quick stretch. But tomorrow never comes.

One great perk of Ashbury Thornton is the fancy free lunches they serve up in the downstairs restaurant. Not that I have any friends here to grab

lunch with anyway, as my inner voice loves to remind me with a bitter cackle.

As the head of HR, navigating friendships is a delicate tightrope act. I learned that the hard way when McLaren had me personally fire my work bestie, Katie, last year. Talk about a knife to the gut.