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)
With the other women, I’d noticed their bodies first, yet it took me until the video ended and froze on Ireland to even look down—and it wasn’t because her body wasn’t impressive. Her breasts were full and natural. They went with the rest of her luscious curves. But it was the curve of her smile that made me feel like I should suit up in armor.
I shifted in my seat and toggled to the X at the corner of the video to close it. Though she’d suggested I add it to my spank bank, I wasn’t going to be disrespectful. Now, if she’d sent me the video herself, that might be a different story. But I certainly wasn’t going to work up a stiffy in my office replaying the video a dozen times—no matter how tempted the asshole part of me was.
I turned in my chair to look out the window. Ireland Saint James. You seem like a real handful. A woman I should steer clear of, that was for damn sure. Yet I felt compelled to learn more. For a few minutes, I debated digging further, maybe listening to more of her side of the story. But why would I be doing that?
Because I was curious about Ireland Saint James, that’s why.
Though was it because I wanted to ensure fairness at my company?
Or because she had a mesmerizing smile, a killer rack, and a fucked-up history that made me curious?
After a few minutes of deliberating, I knew the answer. Every warning sensor in my brain told me to delete the emails and run the personnel file through the shredder. That was the smart thing to do…definitely the right business decision to make. Yet…
I hit the space bar to power my laptop back up and opened a new email.
Dear Ms. Richardson,
After further review…
Chapter 3
* * *
Ireland
Harold Bickman is such an asshole.
Though I loved my job, my boss was the one thing I wouldn’t miss. The man was a dirt bag. He hadn’t been a fan of mine almost from the very beginning, ever since I’d found out he hired my male counterpart—who had less experience than me and less time with the company—with a salary of twenty grand more than mine. I’d brought it to his attention in a professional manner, and he’d proceeded to explain that there were pros and cons to every employee and every position. He’d said I shouldn’t worry, that I’d see benefits Jack Dorphman didn’t have someday soon—like when I took advantage of the great maternity leave policy the company had.
I’d filed a formal complaint about my salary with Human Resources and gotten equivalent pay. But there was no going back from what Harold Bickman considered treason on my part. We’d found a way to work together without too much friction—mostly by avoidance, though his email today proved once again what a colossal jerk he was. And something in my gut made me think he’d had a hand in the station getting ahold of that topless beach video. Lord knows the man wanted to give my job to Siren Eckert bad enough.
Side note, Siren is her real name, not her stage name. What were her parents thinking? Anyway…
Harold Bickman, a fifty-four-year-old, overweight, balding man who smelled like day-old cheese, wasn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch when it came to women. I bet he thought he had a chance with Siren—the twenty-four-year-old former Miss Seattle runner-up—just because she batted her eyelashes at him. I bet he also thought I would follow the directions in his email.
Dear Ms. Richardson,
In light of the unfortunate events and your recent departure from Broadcast Media, I have scheduled you to visit the office at 10 a.m. on Thursday, June 29th to collect your belongings. I trust you will conduct yourself professionally during your visit. As your employee identification and building card have been deactivated, you will need to check in at the security desk.
Regards,
H. Bickman
Seriously? I wanted to crawl through my laptop and strangle the man. It made me cringe to think that he might’ve viewed the “unfortunate events.” He probably jerked off while watching the twenty-two-second glimpse of topless women, right before walking over to Siren and offering her my job.
God, the one good thing about getting fired was that I’d finally get to tell that man what I thought about him on Thursday. Although, I wouldn’t put it past the wimp to be MIA when I came to “collect my belongings.”
I sighed and hit the trashcan icon to get rid of Harold once and for all. But just as I was about to close my laptop, I saw another new email waiting. This one from Grant Lexington. Curious, I immediately clicked to open.
Dear Ms. Richardson,
After further review of your file, I’ve determined the decision to terminate your employment was warranted. However, I’ll reach out to your immediate supervisor and suggest he provide you with a neutral letter of recommendation based on your performance.