Weekend Plans Crushed

Isabella

Fridays had always been my favorite day of the week, but today felt special. My mind buzzed with excitement as I thought about the weekend ahead. Carlson and I had planned a getaway to his lake house, and I couldn’t wait to escape the endless grind of work, even if only for a couple of days. The day had started well enough, but my bubble burst mid-morning when Logan called me into his cabin.

“Isabella,” he barked, holding a printed stack of papers in his hand, “what is this?”

I blinked, startled. “The quarterly report you asked for?”

“This isn’t a quarterly report,” he snapped. “It’s a mess. The format is all wrong, the data is incomplete, and worst of all, it’s not even your job to make this report! It’s the responsibility of the data analytics team.”

I felt a chill creep up my spine. “I... I thought—”

“Where did you get the data?” he interrupted, his tone sharp.

I swallowed hard, fumbling for words. “Amy told me the files were in the shared drive under ‘Q2 Summary.’ I used those and... tried to piece everything together myself.”

Logan’s expression darkened. “Amy told you? Of course, she did.”

Before I could process what he meant, Logan grabbed his phone and summoned Amy to his office. Moments later, she sauntered in, her usual sweetness firmly in place.

“Amy,” Logan said, his voice icy, “did you instruct Isabella to make the quarterly report?”

Amy’s eyes widened in feigned surprise. “Oh, no, Mr. Sinclair. I merely pointed her to the shared drive and mentioned the data might be there. I didn’t think she’d attempt to create the report herself.” She turned to me with an almost pitying smile. “I thought I explained that the analytics team handles the actual report creation.”

I stared at her, dumbfounded. “You didn’t tell me that,” I said, my voice trembling slightly.

“I’m sorry if there was any miscommunication,” Amy said, her tone laced with faux concern.

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy sigh. “Enough,” he said. “Isabella, I need the correct report on my desk by Monday morning. Coordinate with the analytics team. And next time, don’t try to do someone else’s job.”

His words stung, and I nodded silently, biting the inside of my cheek to keep my composure.

As I returned to my desk, humiliation and frustration warred within me. Amy’s saccharine act was beginning to wear thin, and Logan’s anger, though justified, felt like a punch to the gut.

I picked up my phone and dialed Carlson. He answered on the second ring, his voice warm and cheerful. “Hey, babe. Are you all set for tomorrow? I was thinking we’d leave early to avoid traffic.”

My throat tightened. “Carl, I’m so sorry, but I can’t make it. Something’s come up at work, and I need to stay back to finish a project.”

There was a pause, and I could hear the disappointment in his voice when he finally spoke. “Work? On a weekend?”

“I know,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “I hate this too, but I don’t have a choice.”

He sighed. “It’s okay, I guess. Rain check?”

“Definitely,” I promised, though the pang of guilt didn’t lessen.

After hanging up, I stared at my computer screen, the weekend plans I’d been so excited for now a distant memory. It was going to be a long weekend.

************************************

Saturday evening had finally arrived, and with it, a glimmer of relief. I hit send on the email containing the finished report and leaned back in my chair, letting out a long breath. It had been a grueling day, but the satisfaction of completing the task offered some consolation.

Before I could even celebrate with a quiet evening to myself, my phone buzzed insistently. The name flashing on the screen made me groan: Mom.

“Hi, Mom,” I answered cautiously, already sensing trouble.

“Darling, I need you to join the Sinclairs for dinner tonight,” she said without preamble, her tone full of its usual persuasive energy.

]

“What? Why?” I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Mom, it’s Saturday. I’ve been working all day, and I’m exhausted.”

“Isabella,” she said with a dramatic sigh, “it’s important to show your face at family events. The Sinclairs are your stepfamily now, and you need to make an effort.”

“I’m not even officially part of their family,” I argued.

“Not with that attitude,” she shot back. “Look, it would mean so much to me if you went. Besides, they’ll think it’s rude if you skip it.”

Her tone shifted to something softer, more manipulative. “You don’t want them to think you’re ungrateful, do you?”

I sighed, feeling the walls close in. My mom had perfected the art of guilt-tripping, and I was too tired to resist. “Fine,” I relented, my voice heavy with resignation. “I’ll go.”

“Good girl,” she said, her satisfaction practically radiating through the phone. “Be there by seven.”

I hung up, staring at my reflection in the dark screen of my computer. Just one dinner, I told myself. I could survive one dinner.

As I stood to gather my things, I was startled by the sound of footsteps. I turned to see Logan standing in the doorway of my cubicle, his presence commanding as always.

“You’re still here,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I just finished the report,” I replied, unsure why he was still at the office on a Saturday evening.

He nodded, his expression neutral but his gaze lingering. “Good. I’ll look at it on Monday.”

Silence stretched between us for a moment before he said, “I’m heading out to a family dinner. You’re coming too.”

“What?” I asked, blinking in surprise.

'

“You’re part of the Sinclair family now, aren’t you?” he said, his tone cool but laced with something I couldn’t quite place. “Consider this... a professional obligation.”

“I—” I began, searching for a way out. “I can go on my own. There’s no need for us to leave together. People might... talk.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by my excuse. “There’s no one here, Isabella. The office is empty."

I had no good excuse.

“Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the elevator.

I let out a resigned sigh, grabbing my bag and trailing after him.