By My Side

CHAPTER 9

"Well, that is the reason we needed to talk, Phoebe. The date in two weeks was the original return date for my assistant, but..." Cole stopped again, unsure how to proceed.

Phoebe could feel her heart hammering in her chest, as she swallowed several times to keep from embarrassing herself all over the expensive carpeted floor. The heat filled her face and she had to bite her lip to keep it from trembling. She already knew what he was going to say. It was the moment that she had both expected and dreaded since the say that her job had started. It was the day of her layoff.

"Well, to put it quite bluntly, Carla decided that she doesn't want any more time off. In fact, she plans to return to work tomorrow. I am so sorry, Phoebe." Hoping that she wouldn't be too upset at the change in plans, Cole finally looked into her face. He was alarmed to see that quite the opposite of not being upset, Phoebe's face had lost all color and she truly looked as though she were about to faint dead away onto the floor.

"Phoebe? Phoebe, are you alright?" Cole asked stepping closer to catch her should her body become to heavy to continue holding up. "Maybe you just need to sit down for a moment," he suggested, moving her by the shoulders towards the closest chair.

"No, I ...I am just fine," she assured him, sitting down in the char that he offered so that she could make sure not to embarrass herself.

"I know that this probably comes as somewhat of a shock to you, but..."

"No," Phoebe denied. "I knew that this would happen eventually. I had just hoped to have a little more time before it did. But you know what they say," she continued, the warm color beginning to return to her slender face, "God never closes a door without opening a window."

"Thank you for everything that you have done for me. I promise that I will pay you back for that hospital bill. It might take a little while, but I will make sure it does happen." With shear will alone holding her up at this point, Phoebe stood up, nodded in Cole's direction and made her way to the desk that she had claimed as hers if only for a short time.

Cole watched her walk away with a mixture of regret and dread filling his chest. He hated the fact that he had been forced to bear that bad news, but there had been no choice in the matter. She was just supposed to have helped out on a temporary basis, after all. Knowing that, however, didn't help ease his conscience, or his guilt, at having had to lay her off.

He had stayed away from Phoebe for almost a week. During that time, he had struggled and agonized about his feelings for Phoebe. Struggled to determine whether or not the feelings were real and lasting. In the end, Cole had come up with a plan to woo both Phoebe and her young son. If his idea had gone according to plan, he would have been able to break down Phoebe's well-built defenses and win her heart.

When he had arrived at work this morning, however, he had walked into the news that his assistant was to return to work the next day. Apparently, being a new stay at home mother had worn off for Carla and she wanted to come back to work slightly early than was originally planned. He had know right away that he was gong to have a hard time relaying this news to Phoebe, but seeing that fallen look on her face had just about broken his heart. He was supposed to woo and protect her, not destroy her.

Cole sat down, once again, behind his desk, his form sinking into the soft leather. He settled his Italian loafers on top of the desk and laced his long, tapered fingers together behind his head. His face took on the look of a cat who had just finished a warm bowl of milk. He may not be able to woo Phoebe as he had originally planned, but that didn't mean that he couldn't still pursue her. He just needed a slight change of plans. He was not, after all, a man who gave up easily.

*

Phoebe's attitude as she made her way to the bus stop was surprisingly optimistic.

"Things are not so bad," she thought to herself. "I have my health, my wonderful little son, and a job at the sewing plant that will tie Jake and me over until I can find something better."

As she walked, she could feel the already chilly breeze seeping through her thin and tattered coat like icicles stabbing her skin. The temperature was only going to continue on its downward spiral as winter descended, according to the meteorologist on the news this morning. Phoebe rubbed her arms and waited by the bench for the bus to arrive, still trying to ward off the goose bumps that stubbornly refused to disappear.

Almost as if it had been conjured up by her thoughts, the bus pulled up and opened its folding doors like a chariot awaiting its lady. Stepping aboard the bus, Phoebe had the distinct feeling that her life was about to change. She could only cross her fingers and hope that the change would be positive.

*

The darkened city was now blanketed by a thin veil of fog. The temperature, as precited earlier by the news, had also fallen quite rapidly, as the hour grew later. Phoebe, unlike her fellow patrons on the city bus, was not huddled and shivering in her seat. She was too excited to notice the cold leaking through the rusted windows that were so old that they would no longer slide all the way closed.

Just a few short hours ago, as she walked into the sewing plant, her boss had called her into his office. Fearing a repeat of her earlier layoff, Phoebe had gone in with a heavy heart and sweaty palms.

"Phoebe, please take a seat," Mr. Stone urged Phoebe, pointing to the chair opposite his metal desk. Phoebe did as she was asked and tried to conceal her shaking knees. Mr. Stone appeared to be in the middle of a late afternoon snack complete with a double decker cheese sandwich and family sized bag of barbeque potato chips.

"Phoebe, it has come to the attention of this company," he said with little bits of chips and spittle flying out of his mouth like mini torpedoes, "after reviewing your file, that you are overqualified for your current position. The upper level management and I don't believe that someone who has earned their associate degree in secretarial something or other belongs behind a sewing machine making minimum wage."

"Oh, please, Mr. Stone," exclaimed Phoebe holding onto her chair seat so tightly that her white knuckles were beginning to ache. "I have no problem working here for minimum wage. I love working here," she quickly assured him.

"Be that as it may, Ms. Losste, I don't believe that you..."

"Mr. Stone, you don't understand. I really need this job," Phoebe pressed on trying not to sound as though she was begging, but completely willing to do so should the need arise.

"As I was saying, Ms. Losste," he continued daring her to interrupt again, "we don't believe that you belong in the sewing room."

Phoebe kept the tears stinging her eyes at bay – barely – while she tried her hardest to listen to the rest of Mr. Stone's speech.

"That is why are promoting you to the position of head associate. With this position comes a pay, should you decide to accept."

"A promotion?" asked Phoebe in amazement, hardly able to believe her ears. "That is what this meeting is all about? A promotion with a raise?"

"Well, yes. Of course. What did you think it was about?" he asked around another mouthful of cheese sandwich.

"I thought...well, that is...never mind. It is not important now," Phoebe laughed.

"Very well then, Mr. Losste. I suggest you get back to work now before I change my mind," he gruffly suggested with a waive of his hand.

The bus pulled to a stop near Phoebe's apartment building and again opened it's folding doors with a squeal. Stepping off the bus, Phoebe noticed, amidst all of the gremlins and volkswagon bugs, a parked silver BMW in pristine condition. It seemed as though even the fog was afraid to touch it for fear of doing damage. With a jolt, she realized that she knew of only one couple who drove a BMW. With a heavy heart and the definite start of a migraine, Phoebe quickly made her way up the front steps and tried to prepare herself for what was sure to be a confrontation.