Strike one
534 Words
CHAPTER TWO
Strike One
Walking into the office, I balanced the hot coffee trays in my hands, weaving through desks and careful not to catch the attention of my boss’s secretary. I had the routine down by now—move fast, stay quiet, don’t draw attention.
Just when I thought I was in the clear, I crashed into someone.
Nicky.
Great.
“Heylooo,” I said, forcing a smile. “What’s up, Nicky?”
She crossed her arms, giving me that signature judgmental stare. “Are you avoiding me, Gina?”
“What? No, of course not!” I laughed nervously. “Why would I be avoiding you? I’ve been meaning to talk to you but... you always look so busy.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. Okay, miserable Gina. And what the hell are you wearing? You know the boss is going to freak when she sees you like that—not that I care.”
Then came the blow.
“Oh, and by the way, the boss wants to see you. ASAP.”
My heart dropped.
I dragged myself to the office hallway, every step heavier than the last. I stood frozen in front of her door, trying to steady my breath.
Just as I lifted my hand to knock—
“Come in!” she shouted from inside. Her voice sliced through the silence like a blade.
Oh no. She’s in a bad mood.
Dear God, if I survive this day without getting fired, I swear I’ll become a nun. Who am I kidding?
She was still on a call as I stepped in, trying to shrink myself into the air. Her office looked like a magazine cover—sleek furniture, polished floors, glass walls. But the woman behind the desk? Cold. Sharp. Untouchable.
She ended the call and turned to me.
“What exactly are you wearing?” she snapped.
“Ma’am, it’s a blue—”
“Where have you been? Why haven’t I gotten my coffee and the McDonald’s I asked for 30 minutes ago?”
“Ma’am… I didn’t hear anything about a McDonald’s order. Cynthia didn’t say—”
“You’ve just been wandering around doing nothing?” she said, raising her voice. “This is a workplace, Gina. And I honestly don’t see what value you’re adding.”
“Please, ma’am, I—”
“I’m sorry. But I’m going to have to let you go.”
Silence.
Just like that... I was fired.
Five years. Five long, miserable years in this hellhole, and it was over in seconds. Sure, I was late a few times. Sure, I wasn't perfect. But I always pulled through.
Even when my coworkers dumped their unfinished tasks on me and called them ‘errands’—I handled it.
And now? I was disposable.
- Writer
