1105 Yakima Street - Debbie Macomber [32]
“Actually, it wasn’t.” Miranda could hardly wait to enlighten him. “While you were out, I moved the painting to the opposite wall. She barely glanced at the price before she bought it.” Miranda was sure her expression was just as smug as his—but she didn’t care. “The morning light on it was perfect.”
“You moved the painting?” Will barged out of the office, nearly knocking her over in his eagerness to investigate.
Miranda followed him. The space where she’d hung it was now blank, since she’d brought it to the storeroom for wrapping.
“Who said you could move that painting?” he demanded.
“I knew I was right,” she insisted. The painting had sold within thirty minutes, which should tell him her judgment was superior to his. If he wasn’t too arrogant to admit the truth…
“You went against my orders,” he flared.
“Orders? Did I join a military unit and not realize it?” she yelled back. “In case you’re missing the point here, allow me to remind you. The painting sold.”
“It would’ve sold where I’d hung it.”
“I’ll concede it might’ve eventually sold, but we didn’t need to wait because once it was effectively displayed, a buyer appeared right away.”
“You’ve overstepped your bounds,” Will said. He stalked over to the counter and slapped his hand against it. “I will not have an employee taking matters into her own hands.”
“Did I mention we got full price and that Ms. Vanderhuff is interested in more artwork?” Okay, Miranda was willing to agree that she might’ve been out of line, but she had a point to prove, which she’d done, and very successfully, too. One might think Will would take the fact that she’d sold the artwork—and for top dollar—into consideration.
“You leave me no option,” he said. “You’re fired.”
“You’re firing me because I sold the highest-priced item in the entire gallery?” He couldn’t possibly be serious.
“I’m firing you because you went against my wishes.”
“You’re firing me,” she repeated tonelessly.
“Yes. Pack your things and go.” He gestured to the door as if she needed guidance in finding her way out.
“Okay, but before I go I want you to know I regret one thing.”
“Only one?”
“Only one,” she echoed. “I deeply regret that I didn’t quit weeks ago. You’re the worst employer I’ve ever had.”
“Then it’s mutual. I want you out of here and you’re just as eager to go.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Miranda marched into the back room and quickly gathered up her things. With her back stiff and her pride intact, she returned to the main part of the gallery. “I’d appreciate it if you’d mail me my final check.”
“I’ll see to it this afternoon.”
“Thank you,” she said, and without another word she walked out.
Well, so much for that. Although she pretended otherwise, she was sorry to lose this job. She’d enjoyed it; she knew she was good at it. Although Will Jefferson was as delusional and arrogant as she’d said, she considered him a friend, too. A begrudging friend, but still a friend. That friendship, such as it was, had probably ended now.
The weekend dragged by. Looking back on the incident, Miranda wished she’d handled everything differently. Will had already been upset about learning that Shirley was engaged to Larry Knight. Then she’d heaped hot coals on his bruised ego by boasting about the sale of the painting.
Still, it was for the best that she leave. They bickered constantly and neither one of them was willing to give in. Will was just as stubborn as she was. And then there was this…this useless attraction she felt for him. Yes, it was preferable all around that she seek other employment. Only…she’d really liked working at the gallery. She knew many of the local artists and they were familiar with her, too. Her being at the gallery was an asset to Will, but apparently he no longer saw it that way.
Normally Miranda would have confided in Shirley, spilled out her tale of woe. Not this time. But she couldn’t explain why she hesitated to tell her closest friend that she’d been fired.
Instead, she hibernated all weekend, not venturing out of her apartment, even