Danielle Steel - The Apartment

She had gone back to work after a week, and to make matters worse, Walter was torturing her. And even he could see that something terrible had happened.

“What’s going on?” Alex asked Sasha the first time he saw her after Thanksgiving. “Did one of her parents die?” He couldn’t imagine any other explanation for the way she looked, unless she was sick herself, and he hoped not.

“It would appear that she got dumped. George never said anything to her—he just disappeared.”

“What do you mean disappeared? As in left town?”

“No, as in he wouldn’t talk to her or see her. He just shut her out without a word of explanation.”

“What a shithead,” Alex said, looking angry. “He was giving her the full-court press the whole time we’ve been dating. How can he not say something to her?”

“I don’t know. But that’s what he did.” The others were trying to comfort her just by being around. But Claire was going straight from work to bed every day, and sleeping all the time.

And two days later Walter called her into his office. It was ten days before Christmas, and she thought he was going to hand her her end-of-the-year bonus. She had worked hard, and their numbers had improved slightly. And much to her delight, Monique was going back to Paris. Her internship was over.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while,” Walter said, playing with two paper clips on his desk, which seemed to have his full attention. “I was going to talk to you two weeks ago, but you were out sick. You still look like hell, by the way. You should get checked out.”

“I’m fine,” she said bleakly, waiting for him to hand her the check so she could leave his office.

“I know you don’t need this job anymore, with your fancy boyfriend waiting in the wings. You’re going to be a billionaire any day now.” Claire wanted to throw up as he said it, but it was none of his business that George had dumped her, and she didn’t intend to tell him. She didn’t comment. “But whether you marry the guy or not, I know this isn’t the kind of company you want to work for. You want to work for one of the big high-fashion companies, Jimmy Choo, Manolo Blahnik, one of the sexy brands.” He glanced up at her then. “And to be honest, you’ve got the talent. I hear you’ve been sending your CV around, and I’m sure one of them will snap you up. The truth is, your talent is wasted here, and I can’t afford you. I’m letting you go, Claire. I’m sorry. It’s not personal, it’s business. We do best with our own classic styles. We just don’t need a high-powered designer on staff, who wants to make changes. And our numbers are going to be a lot better without you. I can make whatever modifications we need myself.” She was staring at him as though she didn’t understand him, as though he were speaking another language.

“You’re firing me?” Her voice was a squeak, and he nodded. “Because I’ve been sending my résumé around?”

“No, I’ve wanted to let you go for six months. Keeping you doesn’t make financial sense. You need to go make your sexy shoes for someone else. I’m sorry. Good luck. You’ll probably marry the guy anyway, and won’t want to work anymore. But whatever you do with him, I can’t afford you. I wish you all the best.” He stuck out his hand to shake hers, and she shook it, feeling numb, and then turned in the doorway.

“Are you giving me my end-of-the-year bonus?” He shook his head. “Severance?” She had worked for him for four years, and hated every minute of it. She should have gotten combat pay for that.

“Two weeks,” he responded in a flat tone. “It’s not personal, it’s business,” he said again. He was giving her as little as he could get away with. She couldn’t believe it. She was in shock. She walked into her office, put her sketches and personal belongings in a cardboard box, and walked out carrying it, and once in the street, she hailed a cab. It was snowing, and she was soaking wet when she got in.

“You look like you’ve had a rough day,” the driver said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

“I got fired,” she said with tears and melted snow running down her face with her mascara. She looked a mess.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and threw the flag on the meter to stop it. He took her home and didn’t charge her when she glanced at the meter. It was blank. “Merry Christmas,” he said, looking sorry for her, and she wished him a merry Christmas too, with tears pouring down her cheeks as she walked upstairs to the apartment. The other girls were there when she walked in, saw her, and were startled by how bad she looked.

“What happened?” Morgan asked her as she came to help her with the box, and Claire stared at her in amazement.

“I just got fired. ‘It’s not personal, it’s business.’ Two weeks’ severance, no end-of-the-year bonus.” It was one blow too many after the hellish weeks of mourning George after he dumped her. And she had no idea what to say to her parents when she went home.

And that night, as though he had radar and needed to add insult to injury, she finally heard from George. He sent her a text. She read it in disbelief, but now nothing surprised her. “I’m sorry, I got in over my head. It’s my fault not yours. I’ve thought about it carefully. This is the right decision for me. We don’t belong together, Claire. I don’t want a long-term relationship, marriage, or kids, or a partner. I’m a lone wolf at heart, and want to be. Best of luck. Merry Christmas. G.” She stared at it for a long time and read it over and over, and then she started laughing hysterically. She walked into the kitchen, holding her cell phone, while the others stared at her, terrified that she was finally losing it.

“It’s official. I just got a text from George after almost three weeks. He dumped me. By text. He said it was the best decision for him. And merry Christmas.” She sat down at the kitchen table with them, feeling mildly hysterical. “Wow, dumped and fired in the same day,” she said, sounding as though she was in shock. Abby put an arm around her without a word as Claire burst into sobs. But she was strangely relieved to have heard from him. At least it was nothing she had done. He had set the pace, he had wanted her so desperately and convinced her to go out with him, said he loved her and wanted to have babies with her, and now he had dumped her. The irony and the cruelty of it was almost unbearable, and she knew that she would never trust any man again. Her roommates put her to bed that night, and sat with her. Sasha lay on the bed next to her. Abby sat on the floor and stroked her hair. Morgan sat at the foot of the bed, looking miserable, watching her, and occasionally patting her foot under the covers. They were there with her—there was nothing else they could do. And Claire finally cried herself to sleep.

Claire was the only one going home for Christmas. The others were all staying in New York. Morgan’s office was always closed from Christmas until after New Year’s, and she helped Max at the restaurant during the Christmas rush, seating people at the tables, when he needed her to, and helping him with the books. It was the only way to see him during the holidays, since he worked night and day, seven days a week, and was grateful for her help. She had no family to go home to anyway, and Oliver and Greg were skiing in New Hampshire with friends.

Abby’s parents were in Mexico, and she stayed in New York to work on her novel. And Alex and Sasha were on duty at the hospital over both Christmas and New Year’s. At least they’d be together.

Claire was sorry she wasn’t staying with them too. By the time she left for San Francisco on the twenty-third, she felt like she was moving under water and drowning with the shock of everything that had happened. She wasn’t even angry—she was in despair.

Morgan was furious at George. Although she had respected him before, she no longer did. It was impossible to respect a man who could be so cruel to her friend. Claire was reeling from having her heart broken into a million pieces. She could barely face the thought of Christmas and wished she wasn’t going home. She would rather have stayed with her friends in New York, but didn’t want to disappoint her mother. Before she lost her job, Claire had bought her mother an expensive handbag she hoped she’d love, and her father a sweater, neither of which she could afford now, but it was Christmas and she hadn’t told them she’d been fired. She dreaded spending the holidays with them. They had no idea that George had dumped her and she’d lost her job. She was going to tell her mother while she was there, after Christmas, and ask her to tell her father after she left. She couldn’t face dealing with his concern, and depressing view of life. Failure was familiar to him.

The flight was delayed by three hours due to weather in San Francisco, and there were storms all across the country, which made for a turbulent flight. She didn’t care. If the plane crashed on the way out, it would be a relief. She wouldn’t have to collect unemployment then, or look for a new job, or spend the rest of her life without George, hating him for what he’d done.

She was planning to send her CV out again when she got back, and tell them she was available immediately now and had left her job. When they checked her references, they would know she got fired. She was sure that Walter would tell them, but there was nothing she could do to stop him.

She took a cab from the airport, and her mother was waiting for her at home. They had finished dinner, and her father was already in front of the TV, watching the Discovery Channel with a drink in his hand, and her mother followed her to her room while she unpacked.

“You’ve gotten awfully thin,” her mother said, looking worried. Claire had lost ten pounds or more in the four weeks since Thanksgiving.