“Mr Brown, I’m sorry. I’m so bloody sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I really am desperately sorry.”
Mr Brown takes another huge gulp of wine. “Let’s forget it, Emma, shall we?” His tone doesn’t reveal whether he’s to forgive me or kills me and bury my remains for the animals to eat. “We’ll talk about it at work tomorrow.”
“You’re not going to fire me, are you? Oh god, Mr Brown! Please don’t fire me, I beg you. I love this job. I love the company. I love you, sir. I’d do anything..”
“Emma, stop it. Please.”
I think I’m about to cry. Again.
It turns out, my boss had stepped out to take a call from his mother’s care home. She’s had a few funny turns lately and he won’t take any chances. Even if this time, she’s only phoning to request a new floral dressing gown.
“I’m not going to
