Rosie was ready to go to work the next morning. When she walked down the stairs, Cedric was talking into his cell phone and, spotting her, his brows lifted and he stared at her. He was also ready for work, wearing a gray three-piece suit, his hair slicked back and his jaw freshly shaven.
"Where are you going?" Cedric sounded as incredulous as he looked.
She stilled at the bottom step, fingers squeezing the hand rail. "What do you mean where am I going? To work, of course."
He muttered something to his phone, ended the call and slipped his phone into his pocket. Then he shook his head. "You're not going to work, Rosie."
"What do you mean I'm not?"
"You haven't recovered yet." He pointed at his head. "You still got stitches, for God's sake."
Her face crumpled. "You're firing me, aren't you?"
"How the hell did you arrive at that conclusion?"
"You're not letting me work."
