Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(89)

Bridget was normally in before eight to help get the crews loaded up in the yard. But the clock on the wall read nine.

She was probably pissed at me, yet I didn’t fucking care. She’d crossed a line. She should have known better.

Molly was off-limits.

I stood and went to her office door. She was pulling a bottle of pain pills from her desk drawer. “I need to talk with you this morning.”

“Can it wait? I have a nasty headache, and I’m leaving in thirty to check on the Morrison project.”

“No, it can’t. I’ll give you a few. Come in when you’re ready.”

“Fine,” she bit out.

I returned to my office, mentally running through the things I wanted to say then pulled out my phone to send Molly a text.



Me: So? Have you been smiling all morning?



I hit send and immediately three dots appeared.



Molly: You’ll never know.



That was a yes. I chuckled at the screen as Bridget came into the office, a plastic water bottle in hand. “What’s up?”

I put my phone down, leaning my elbows on the desk. “We need to talk about Molly.”

She rolled her eyes.

“That.” I pointed to her face. “That’s the last time. You will treat her with respect.”

“Or what?”

“Or you’re fired.”

“What?” Her eyes bugged out. “You can’t fire me.”

“Have you forgotten whose name is on the sign out front?”

“You need me. This place would collapse without me.”

“Bridget, you are talented and hardworking. You bring a lot of skill and experience. You know our systems inside and out and working with you is easy. But I will not, under any circumstances, allow you to run Molly down. She’s the most important woman in my life and always has been. She helped create this business from the dirt up. I’m asking you as your colleague to show her respect. I’m telling you as your employer you will.”

“You’re giving me an ultimatum? I have to play nice with a woman who didn’t support you or this business? A woman who cheated on you or I’m out of a job?”

“That’s right.”

She sneered. “You’ll drown without me.”

“Everyone is replaceable. Everyone. Including you.”

I didn’t want to fire her. We’d been working together for so long—she had so much on her plate—and I’d have a hell of a mess on my hands. But I’d figure it out. The season was almost over and I’d have things put back to rights before next spring.

“Then you better have a decent lawyer. There’s no law that says I have to be nice to my boss’s ex-wife. If you fire me, expect a lawsuit.”

A threat. Now it wasn’t a matter of if I fired her. Now it was a matter of when. Bridget had no intention of respecting Molly, and that wasn’t going to work for me.

“Do you know that Molly owns ten percent of Alcott?”

Bridget’s face paled. “No.”

Not many people did. Molly hadn’t wanted Alcott in the divorce. She’d wanted the house instead. But the value of the business compared to the home was such that she was on the losing end of the deal. So I’d offered to give her a lump sum. We went round after round trying to settle on a figure.

In the end, we’d agreed she could keep ten percent ownership as an investment. According to my corporation’s bylaws, the ten percent meant nothing. She had no control, no say in the business-making decisions. But if Alcott ever sold, she’d get a return.

She’d protested the ten, saying five was enough. But I’d insisted. She’d earned that much and more. My original proposal had been for fifteen.

“Molly is an investor in this company,” I told Bridget. “Consider her one of your bosses. Treat her like you do me and we’ll all be fine.”

The room went silent. She stared at me like she couldn’t believe this was happening, that my request was completely unreasonable, until finally she said, “Then I quit.”

I closed my eyes. It hurt to hear those words. It pissed me off too. She had no right to hate Molly so much. Certainly not enough to give up her career here instead of growing up and acting like a damn professional. But I wasn’t going to budge.

“I’m sorry that it’s come to this.” I stood from my desk. “I’ll escort you out.”

“My things—”

“I’ll have them packed and couriered over to you tonight.”

“You’re treating me like I’m a criminal!” she shrieked, flying out of her chair.

“This is policy when someone is terminated or quits,” I reminded her. Hell, she’d been the one to pack up a locker or two.

I’d never taken someone’s two-week notice. If they were gone, they were gone. And I didn’t want soon-to-be ex-employees packing up their stuff—or any of mine—so we packed for them and had personal belongings delivered.

This was the policy. I stuck to policy.

She stared at me for another long moment, then stormed across the room. She went right into her office, swept up her purse, keys and sunglasses before marching to the front door.

I followed, standing outside as she went to her car. I was sure she’d leave without a word and never look back, but as she opened her door, she spun around to face me.