Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
For your information, I have not viewed the video you referred to. But if my spank bank ever runs a little low, perhaps I’ll dig it out of my trash folder—along with the standard letter of recommendation your superior had planned to give you.
Sincerely yours,
Richie Rich
I let out the breath I’d been holding. Oh fuck.
Chapter 2
* * *
Grant
“Mr. Lexington, would you like me to order you some lunch? Your two o’clock just called and is running a half hour late, so you have a little break.”
“Why can’t people ever be on damn time?” I grumbled and pushed the button to the intercom to speak to my assistant. “Can you please order me Boar’s Head turkey and Alpine lacy swiss on whole wheat? And tell them one slice of swiss. The last time we ordered from the deli, the guy who made my sandwich must’ve been from Wisconsin.”
“Yes, Mr. Lexington.”
I opened my laptop to catch up on emails since my back-to-back meetings had turned into back-to-wait yet again. Scanning for anything important, my eyes stopped on one particular name in my inbox: Ireland Saint James.
The woman was obviously a drunk, or nuts, possibly even both. Though her email had been more amusing than half the mundane shit waiting for me. So I clicked.
Dear Mr. Lexington,
Would you believe my email was hacked and someone else wrote that ridiculous letter?
I’m guessing probably not. Considering how well educated, intelligent, hardworking, and successful you are.
Am I pouring it on too thick?
Sorry. But I have a lot of shoveling to do.
Is there any chance we can start over? You see, contrary to what you probably think, I don’t drink that often. Which is why when a very unexpected termination letter showed up at my door, it didn’t take much to bury my sorrow. And apparently my sanity.
Anyway, if you’re still reading, thank you. Here’s the letter I should’ve written:
Dear Mr. Lexington,
I’m writing to request your assistance in what I believe was a wrongful termination of my employment. As background, I’ve been a dedicated employee of Lexington Industries for nine and a half years. I started as an intern, received promotions through various news-writing positions, and eventually reached my goal of on-air reporter.
Recently, I went on a much-needed vacation to Aruba with eight women for a bachelorette party. Our hotel had a private section of the beach reserved for nude sunbathing. Though not generally an exhibitionist, I joined my friends for a few hours of topless tanning. A few innocent photos were taken, none of which were posted by me, and my on-air name was not tagged. Yet somehow, I returned home to a letter of termination for violating company policy regarding lewd behavior.
While I understand the reason for having an inappropriate-behavior policy, I adamantly believe my conduct while on a private vacation, on a private beach, was not what it was meant to protect Lexington Industries from. As such, I respectfully request that you review the policy and the termination of my employment.
Respectfully yours,
Ireland Saint James (Ireland Richardson, on air)
Saint James. Why do I know that name? It had sounded familiar when the first email arrived, so I’d looked her up in the company directory. But she was in the news division, which my sister ran and I’d avoided like the plague since I took over as president when my dad died eighteen months ago. Politics, propaganda, and bureaucracy weren’t my thing. Though I was president in name, I generally stuck to the financial side of Lexington Industries.
I dug out the first email I’d received from Ms. Saint James and reread it. While the newest one was certainly more appropriate, the first amused me more. She’d signed the letter with the closing, Bite me…which had actually made me chuckle. No one talked to me like that. Oddly, I found it a bit refreshing. I had the strangest urge to have a conversation with Ms. Richardson after a few drinks. She’d certainly piqued my curiosity. I pressed the button of the intercom on my phone again.
“Millie, could you call down to the Broadcast Media division—the morning news segment producer? I think it might be Harrison Bickman or Harold Milton…something along those lines.”
“Of course. Would you like me to set up a meeting for you?”
“No. Tell him I’d like to see the personnel file for one of his employees—Ireland Saint James. Her stage name is Ireland Richardson.”
“I’ll get it taken care of.”
“Thank you.”
My afternoon meeting only lasted fifteen minutes. Not only did the guy show up an hour and a half late, he was also completely unprepared. I had no patience for people who didn’t value my time, so I’d called it quits and walked out of the conference room after telling him to lose my number.
“Is everything okay?” Millie looked up at me as I strode past her desk. “Do you need something from your office for your meeting?”