You Fired the Wrong Woman

Everyone at the company said I brought my bosses good luck.

Six years. Three managers promoted to director. My business card never changed.

The day the new director laid me off, he said my mission was complete.

I calculated what I was owed, handed over the files, and left with a flash drive held together by tape.

He never imagined the folder called “Someday I'll Sit in the Front Row” would actually be useful.

The next time we met, he shifted aside out of habit so I could bring in the water.

I walked past him and set my badge at the lead presenter's place—for his competitor.

The day Graham Mercer became a director, he bought coffee for the whole team.

He'd ordered hot chocolate for me instead. A note on the cup said, Get some sleep.

I held it in both hands and almost felt touched.

Then he called me into a conference room and slid the layoff list across the table.

Nina Wells was the first name on it.

“You know we're streamlining the operations roles.”

He clasped his hands, looking as though this was terribly hard for him.

“You've been the good-luck charm for three project teams. All three managers made director. You've done your part.”

“Nina, your mission is complete.”

I looked down at my drink and understood why everyone else had coffee.

They still had work to do that afternoon.

And I was fired.

I wanted to cry. I was also afraid that if I did, he'd count the hot chocolate toward my severance.

So I took out my phone and opened the calculator.

“Last month's project bonus isn't included.”

Graham paused.

“We're talking about your future right now.”

“I know. Let's finish talking about last month first.”

I'd spent six years running events at Showcase Events. I'd had three raises. My business card had never changed.

When my first manager got promoted, he gave me a pen and said I needed more experience.

The second got me an Employee of the Year award and said there just wasn't an opening for another project manager that year.

Graham hadn't made me wait.

He'd taken me out of consideration entirely.

The other two ran different divisions now. Sometimes they'd pass my desk and pat my shoulder.

“Nina. Our lucky charm.”

They said it so often that even the woman who cleaned our office knew I brought my bosses good fortune.

For a while, I'd actually looked up my birth chart.

Work was exhausting enough. I thought I might as well check whether the trouble was written in the stars.

Then, today, I saw Graham's new business cards beside his hand.

Gold lettering. Project Director.

Two weeks earlier, I'd stayed on-site through five straight nights for the project that had earned him that title.

At the closing ceremony, the client pulled him over for a photo.

I passed behind them carrying three boxes of leftover giveaway bags.

The photographer asked me to move out of the shot.

I did.

Graham never looked back.

The HR representative asked whether there was anything else I wanted to clarify.

I'd been about to ask him if he really thought I was useless.

What came out was something else.

“Include the bonus and put the payment date in writing. I'll complete the handoff as agreed.”

We talked for more than an hour.

Graham hadn't expected me to calculate all three payments down to the dollar. He hadn't expected me to go the entire meeting without asking to stay.

Neither had I, honestly.

By the time I came out, my hot chocolate was cold. I took a sip and decided I'd done pretty well.

At least I hadn't traded six years of hurt for a free hot drink.