Elizabeth
I open my eyes and squint at the morning light hitting my face as I pat the nightstand, searching for my buzzing phone. A sharp pain shoots through my arm as I bring the phone to my ear, my heart dropping to my stomach when I see Mr. Smith's name flashing on the screen.
“H-hello,” I say hesitantly, clearing my throat. “I'm so sorry about yesterday. You probably should cut from my salary and replace the bottle.”
“I didn't call for that,” he says, his breath loud through the speaker.
“Oh,” I say, surprised by the calmness in his voice. I expected him to be angry rather than this composed.
“There’s no need to cut from your salary,” he continues. “Accidents happen at work.”
“Anyway,” he goes on. “I called to let you know that you don’t have to report for your shift today. I'l
