Andriy Mykolayovych turns and walks away, leaving me frozen in confusion. My skin still tingles from his touch, and my heart races. Desperate for air, I head to the wardrobe, throw on my coat, and step outside. March feels unusually chilly, with snowflakes dancing in the air.
Inhale, exhale. I wander aimlessly, finally realizing I’ve nearly reached the city center. I pull out my phone, open the taxi app, and order a ride home. There's no way I'm going back to the salon now. If Khmylevych wants to fire me, let him. But I can’t shake the feeling that if he truly wanted me gone, I wouldn’t have stormed out like that.
I think I’m in the clear, but as soon as I get home and warm up, my phone rings. It’s Olya.
“Krayevska, I’m scared to ask what you told the boss? He’s been pacing like a lion!”
“Don’t even ask,” I reply. “What’s up?”
“You need to come back to the office.”
“Can’t this be handled online?” I plead.
“It could be,” she concedes, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Then her tone shifts. “But Oleksandrovych said you’re here until the end of the week, and after that...?”
“Yes,” I say, cutting off any more questions. “He’s transferring me to his partner.”
A heavy pause follows.
“Got it. I’ve already told HR about your dismissal.”
Another silence stretches between us. Olya’s curiosity is palpable.
“Thanks,” I say quickly, eager to change the subject. “Just send me what I need over Messenger, okay? I’m turning on my laptop.”
“Okay, Milanа. Bye.”
I hang up, feeling the weight of impending rumors. A few minutes later, a notification blinks on my phone. I grab it, head to the kitchen, and read Olya's message, a chill running through me. Great, just what I need a cold.
Deciding against coffee, I boil water for herbal tea and curl up in the living room with my laptop. Two hours later, I’m drowning in work, the empty cup beside me a reminder of my earlier decision. Exhausted, I wrap myself in a blanket and lie down, succumbing to sleep.
I wake up to darkness. Checking my phone, I see it's ten in the evening. I’ve missed a ton of calls, Dad, Khmylevych, his secretary, and Tanya. I groan but feel compelled to call Dad back.
“Hi, Daddy. Sorry it’s late,” I say as soon as he picks up.
“Hi, Milana. Were you busy?”
I roll my eyes, amused by how he still sees me as a little girl. “Well, I felt bad today and went home early. Just woke up.”
“Are you sick?”
“I don’t know. Maybe,” I admit, feeling the weight of the truth.
“Milanochka, are you okay?” Mom’s voice calls from the background.
“Tell Mom I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Just tired. I’ll work from home tomorrow.” I hope they don’t worry.
“Alright. Take care. Call if anything.”
“Of course, Dad. Hug Mom for me,” I reply, hearing the warmth in his voice.
Just as I set the phone down, Tanya called. I hesitate, tempted to ignore it, but she rings again. Maybe it’s important. With a sigh, I finally answer.
“Finally! Where have you been?” she exclaims.
“You called once,” I sniff.
“Exactly! You usually pick up quickly. One could think something was wrong,” she teases, making me smile despite myself.
“Alright, what’s up? I left work early today,” I say, using my earlier excuse.
“Wanted to drag you out somewhere,” she replies.
“Oh no, thanks. I already went to a party with you.”
“And I still know nothing about how that ended!” she counters.
“Tanya, I’m not falling for that again. We’re not sixteen anymore.”
“Fine! But we could go out for coffee?” she persists.
“Okay, coffee’s fine,” I relent. “But tomorrow. I really don’t feel great today.”
“Perfect! I’ll pick the place. Bye!” She hangs up, leaving me amused. No one asks if I need tea or a ride to the pharmacy.