Billion Dollar Chance - Linnea May Page 0,12
her this morning?”
I suggest a shrug in response, but make sure to evade Caroline’s probing gaze as quickly as possible. Hiding behind my desk will only work for so long, I know that, but it’s all I have right now. These may very well be my last moments of deceptive calm, allowing me to believe that I still have a future here. That I didn’t fuck up another chance that was handed to me on a silver platter. I want to believe that. I need to believe that.
But my hopes are close to being crushed when Mrs. Glenn resurfaces from her office just a few minutes after she walked in. She’s headed for the open kitchen counter next to Caroline’s desk, and I watch her from the corner of my eye as she fills her mug with freshly brewed coffee. I’m not even sure what would be worse—her returning to her office without another word about the incident, leaving me in a constant state of fear, or being called to come with her so she can fire me on the spot. If I’m going to be fired for this, I’d want to know rather sooner than later.
I feel sick to my stomach, gathering all my strength to maintain composure while I watch her without looking directly at her. Still, I almost choke on my own breath when she addresses me.
“Ella, would you come with me for a moment?” she asks, taking a short sip of her coffee before turning away and striding toward her office.
I can feel Caroline’s eyes on me as I get up from my desk, visibly shaking and breaking a sweat, while my heart rate increases tenfold. The world around me seems to blur, vanishing behind a curtain of shame and terror as I drag myself along the way too short hallway.
“Close the door behind you,” Mrs. Glenn welcomes me after I step into her office.
I don’t say a word, but do as I’m told, following her gesture to take a seat in the small armchair placed opposite of her massive desk. I know she’s the head of the department, but the stark contrast between the interior of this room and our working space still astonishes me every time I walk in here. Even the warm leather of the armchair reserved for Mrs. Glenn’s underlings is a reminder of the impenetrable hierarchy at this institution.
Today, sitting down in it feels as if I’m falling into a dark abyss of failure.
“Well, that was an unfortunate meeting last Friday,” Mrs. Glenn begins, leaning back in her large office chair while she brings the coffee mug up to her lips.
“I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am,” I say. “I don’t know what has gotten into me, but I can absolutely promise you that something like that will never ever happen again! I’m usual—”
“You know I took a risk with you, don’t you?” Mrs. Glenn cuts me off. “You are a bright young woman, Ella, and you certainly show potential, but it’s not like your last employer left you with a glowing letter of recommendation.”
There it is. This is how it’s going to end. This is how everything is going to end in the future. Every chance I take, every opportunity that comes my way—none of it will lead to anything, because I’m a major fuckup—for life.
“I know,” I say ruefully, swallowing the tears that threaten to emerge. I can’t cry in front of Mrs. Glenn. I can’t and I won’t.
“I like you, Ella, I really do, but I need to be able to rely on you, especially in tough situations—like presenting a big and important proposal to government officials. You may prefer the research and the work behind the curtain, but that’s not all this job is about. The work we do is important, and it requires strong people who can function under enormous stress, even wh—”
“I know, and I can!” I inadvertently interrupt her. Realizing my mistake, I cover my mouth with my hand and cast her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Look, maybe you can, maybe you can’t. But, I’m sorry to say, I don’t see a future for you here at the institute,” she goes on, her face as hard as her voice. “You will finish your internship, and I will write you a letter of recommendation—but proper employment is a different story. We need to be able to count on you.”
I swallow so hard this time that it’s awkwardly audible. And my