After half an hour of decorating my office, Terry shouted something about Johnny on line two. I turned my attention towards the phone and found 101 little blinking lights and about twice as many buttons. I tried a few combinations, but none of them worked.

“Um, Terry…”

“Pick up the phone and hit the button that says ‘line 2’.”

Huh, who woulda’ thunk it? Anywho, I followed his instructions and was greeted by the tense voice of Johnny. I could hear some loud talking in the background but I couldn’t really hear what was being said, or more like it: what was being yelled.

“Ms. Phillips, my office, now.”

He hung up with a loud clash and I began the long walk to the office. I knew I’d done something terribly wrong when he called me Ms. Phillips. He only called people by their last names when he was trying to distance himself from them- right before he fired them.

One sentence composed of five choppy little words. That’s all it took for me to start praying. I wasn’t even that religious, but we all have one of those moments where we’re caught in a tight spot, so we promise the powers-that-be that we’ll never ask for anything again if they help.

I’d just stepped out of the elevator and was facing the huge glass doors of Johnny’s office. And I’m talking a real office. As if being a multimillionaire didn’t make him feel powerful enough, Mr. Wright had huge glass doors so he could intimidate you before you even walked in. His name and title was neatly embossed in crisp, curly gold lettering. I think his reasoning for this was not because he was mean or cold-hearted at all, but because he was such a nice guy. He believed that he could intimidate anyone who so much as looked towards his office, but the ones who stepped in, full of confidence were the kind of people he wanted working at WEG. Yet as I grasped the matching gold handle, I wasn’t so sure if I wanted to enter. I thought I could back away slowly, but he gazed at me at that exact moment with a look of desperation.

“See, this is the problem. You don’t listen.”

“The real problem is that I always listen. I was so busy listening to you whine all the time.”

Britney was now yelling (in a suspiciously childish voice) something about not whining. I stepped over a piece of glass and made a personal note to pick up a new vase for the desk.

“Mr. Wright, how long has this been going on?”

Instead of answering me, he turned and hugged me tightly. After a few seconds he let go and smiled. “Sorry, but you have no idea how happy I am to see you. They’ve been shouting for twenty minutes. Every time I step in, they just think of new ways to say the same thing and then they start up again.”

During our private conversation, Justin and Brit had moved closer to each other and I knew that things could only get worse before it got any better. I knew that Justin would never resort to violence, especially when Britney was involved. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same about Brit. I stepped between the two of them and looked back and forth.

“J, this is ridiculous,” I started, figuring he’d be easier to contain. “You’re in your manager’s office arguing with your girlfriend. Is it just me, or is this starting to register as insane?”

“Ex-girlfriend; she’s my ex.”

“You sound like you’re proud to point that out.”

“Not glad I dated you, just glad I dumped you.” Justin mumbled it more to himself than anyone else, but Brit heard it too. I was tempted to step away just in case she lashed out, but to my surprise, she stepped away and headed for the door.

All three of us were a little more than confused as to what had happened, but I snapped out of it first.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Wright. I don’t know what they were thinking.”

I headed out and I heard Justin say something to me, but I wasn’t interested at the moment. Noticing the broken glass underfoot, I promised to replace them.

By the time I reached the car, Britney’s tears were subsiding slightly. Usually I would have comforted her or said something, but I didn’t know where to start. While I knew the whole idea of an argument in Johnny’s office was the most dim-witted idea I’d ever heard, I also knew that it wasn’t why it started that troubled her; it was the way it’d ended.

Britney confirmed my suspicion when she finally looked away from the window. She took a few more seconds to swallow the lump in her throat. Her voice was shaky and laden with emotion, but she managed to choke out her question.

“He really meant it, didn’t he?”

Once again, I was at a lost for words. We settled for the sound of the passing cars and, as I alternated between the different peddles, the sound of glass crunching against them.