The nervousness in my stomach ramps up another notch as I sit stiffly in the chair across from Miranda's desk. My fingers twist together in my lap while my mind races.
Sales haven't been good for months, and one by one, some of the company's most talented people have jumped ship, lured away by better paychecks. I can't blame them; I know I should have done the same.
Bastian always says I'm wasting my potential here and should work for one of the bigger ad firms in New York, where my work would be valued. But I can't seem to find the courage to leave—not yet.
Even though I'm still just a senior graphic designer when I should be an Art Director by now, I love what I do here. Designing marketing materials and special projects for our clients still brings me joy, even if my paycheck doesn't reflect my effort. I'm loyal to this place, even though it pays peanuts.
The door opens, and Miranda strides in, her quick steps and face tight with stress. "Sorry, Saskia, I had to attend to a few things with the printing department."
I manage a small smile. "No worries. What's up?"
"We're downsizing."
There it is. The words I've been dreading.
She lets out a sigh, her shoulders sagging. "We can't afford you anymore, Saskia. I tried to fight for you, but we need a team on a smaller pay scale. We'll probably end up outsourcing from other countries."
Outsourcing. Wow. I stare at her, unable to believe it. "So am I out of a job, Miranda?"
She winces, her gaze softening. "You can stay with the company... but must take a pay cut."
My chest tightens. "By how much?"
"Forty per cent."
"Forty per cent? Are you kidding me, Miranda?" My voice rises, the frustration clawing out before I can stop it.
"I wish I was," she says softly, her eyes filled with sympathy. "But that's the reality, Saskia. People are doing everything online now. Or outsourcing because labour costs are cheaper."
I feel crushed, my insides twisting into knots. How am I supposed to survive on a forty per cent pay cut? "How am I ever going to pay rent like this, Miranda?" I whisper, my voice shaky.
She doesn't answer; she just gives me a sad look and tells me there's nothing more she can say to improve this. "Saskia, I need your decision by tomorrow."
Numb, I nod and stand to leave. My mind is racing, my heart heavy. I can't afford to lose this job, but how can I stay for so much less? Holding back the frustration bubbling in my chest, I walk out of her office, trying to control my emotions.
I still have a few tasks to finish today. I can't let this mess ruin my focus. Keep calm, Saskia. I can do this.
~o~
Instead of heading home after work, I couldn't bring myself to face the quiet of my apartment, the weight of Miranda's words hanging over me like a dark cloud. I needed to clear my head, and nothing does that better than mindlessly people-watching.
The Red Stairs at Times Square, always bustling with life, seemed the perfect place to drown out my thoughts. With Sinatra crooning in my ears, I slipped into the familiar hum of New York, making my way to one of the busiest parts of the city.
As I arrived, I was surrounded by the usual chaos—people pouring out of work, tourists snapping photos, and the occasional food cart vendor shouting out their menu.
To some, this would seem like sensory overload, but something comforting is in it to me. The sea of faces, the energy—it makes me feel less alone like there's an unspoken connection between all of us. Maybe two lonely hearts passing by each other could somehow cancel each other out.
I leaned against the Red Stairs, letting the noise wash over me. But then, Sinatra's soothing voice suddenly faded, replaced by the opening notes of Rihanna's California King Bed.
"What the hell?" I muttered, fumbling for my phone. I hadn't listened to this song in ages. How did it even get queued up? My finger hovered over the skip button, but something in me stopped. California King Bed. That song.
I closed my eyes as vivid memories flooded back. It was the year before Declan left for China, the last time he was still part of our little trio—me, Bastian, and him.
I had begged them to play this song for their "Battle of the Bands" set during their junior year in college. I remember it like it was yesterday. The way the crowd roared when Declan, always the talented lead guitarist, stepped up to the mic. I had insisted he sing this one; his smooth tenor was perfect for hitting those high notes. He hadn't wanted to at first, but I convinced him. And I was right. His voice... it was like magic.
I watched him from the crowd the whole night, captivated by how his fingers danced over the guitar strings, and his voice filled the room. I'd swear his eyes were on me more than once. Maybe I was imagining it, but there was this connection—this spark that felt so real in those moments. I thought perhaps he felt it, too.
But then he left. Just like that. Packed his bags, went off to China, and left me with this stupid unspoken thing between us, one that's haunted me ever since.
The song kept playing, and I found myself staring out at the lights of Times Square, but I wasn't seeing them anymore. My mind was back in that crowded room, watching Declan sing like he was singing just for me.
I sighed, blinking away the memories. Declan was a part of my past now, a part of Bastian's life still, but not mine. And yet, every time something reminds me of him, it's like a fresh wave of everything I never said, never did.
The music shifted again, pulling me back to the present. I stood, brushing off my jeans and glancing at the people still milling about, feeling the familiar ache settle into my chest. Declan's gone, I reminded myself. He moved on, and so should I.
But standing here, surrounded by strangers in a city that never stops moving, I couldn't help but wonder if maybe he still thought about me, too.
