Page 52 of Haunt the Mall
I narrowed my gaze and clasped my hands over my knee. “Do you not believe me?”
She shrugged. “You’re not going to root for me to take your job.”
I had to stop myself from laughing. Did she think this was a competition? If it was, I’d have already crossed the finish line when I got the promotion. Still, I tried to be diplomatic. “Is management still something you’re considering?”
“Yeah, obviously,” she said.
“Well, I can help you set goals to get you there. Showing up to shifts on time is kind of a priority for the people who run things,” I reasoned.
“I was sick.” She scoffed.
“I know what you are.” And I wasn’t afraid to call her out on it. Rocking my chair from side to side, I let the truth simmer. Our silence pounded out in heartbeats. The more she glowered, the more my resolve steadied.
We weren’t friends anymore. We couldn’t be, if I wanted her to respect me, if I wanted either of us to truly succeed.
She sniffled and rubbed her nose. “I am sick. And I still came in. Doesn’t that say anything?”
Still not ready to take responsibility, then?
I turned to my computer and pulled up her time chart. “It’s not about sick days or five minutes or even hours, here or there. Look at this chart. Everything yellow is where you were late. Or left early.”
Her brow furrowed and she shook her head at the broken yellow brick wall motif.
I tapped the screen. “I didn’t color this in, Bree. That’s the system. Higher ups look at stuff like that. Especially when it comes to promotions and bonuses.”
She huffed and raised her shoulders. “So, what? I’m not a manager because I came in a few minutes late?”
“There are lots of reasons,” I chided. “And lots of locations you could be transferred upon promotion. So, let’s address the issues and see where to go from there.”
She recoiled with a haughty laugh. “Wh-what are you talking about? I’ve been here for years. I was up for the same promotion as you, and I don’t have issues.”
It took all my effort not to roll my eyes. Instead, I counted off on my fingers. “You lie about why you’re tardy, you disregard store guidelines, your attitude ranges from hostile to sullen lately, and you talk badly about other employees during the shift.”
She closed in on herself. “If this is about the ‘bitching’ thing—”
“You called Willow a baby, you hit AJ in the face with a sweater without an apology, and you’re constantly talking back to me. Among other things. Which is why I’m writing you up, finally,” I snapped.
Her eyes glazed with shocked tears.
Shit. I hadn’t meant to make her cry.
I inhaled deeply and unclenched my jaw. “Maybe part of this is my fault for not establishing stronger boundaries. I know we were friends, and you wanted this job, but I need to be able to trust you as an employee.”
She looked away and wiped her nose.
I hated seeing her so weak. “Do you still want to be here, Bree?” I asked gently.
“Yes,” she muttered.
“Then we need to change some things, including our attitudes,” I said.
She nodded.
“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” I wrote her up and had her sign the paperwork suggesting a plan of action.
Her gaze flicked to the cup on my desk, then lingered just below my neck.
I played with the collar. “What?” She couldn’t possibly be distracted by my bite mark anymore.