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)
“I don’t know. Maybe someone from your job follows one of us who has a public account.”
I shook my head. “I guess.”
“Did the asshole respond to your email, at least?”
I furrowed my brow. “What email?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Apparently not.”
“The one you sent to the president of your company.”
My eyes widened. Oh shit. Things just kept getting better.
***
Apparently rock bottom has a basement.
Fired.
No severance pay.
One week after I paid the second and biggest payment required on the construction contract for my first home.
The likelihood of getting a good recommendation from my current employer? Zilch after I went on a drunken rampage and told the guy who works in the ivory tower what I thought of him and his company.
Awesome.
Just awesome.
Great job, Ireland!
Between plunking down most of my life savings for the down payment on the land I bought in Agoura Hills, and being a big shot and covering the entire bachelorette party’s alcohol tab for a full week in the Caribbean, I had about a thousand dollars to my name. Not to mention, soon my roommate would be getting married and moving out, taking half the rent she paid each month with her.
But…don’t worry, Ireland. You’ll get another job.
When hell freezes over.
The news media industry was about as forgiving as my bank account after a day at the mall.
I was screwed.
So screwed.
I’d have to go back to independent contract work, writing magazine articles for pennies per word to make ends meet. That part of my life was supposed to be over. I’d killed myself—working sixty hours a week for nearly ten years to get where I was now. I couldn’t walk away from that without a fight.
I had to at least attempt to salvage things—enough to get a recommendation that wasn’t scathing. So I took a deep breath, pulled up my big-girl panties, and opened my laptop to refresh my memory on the specifics of what I’d written to the president of Lexington Industries, since more than half of it was fuzzy. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought. I clicked into my sent box and opened the message.
Dear Mr. Jong-un,
I shut my eyes. Shit. Well, there goes that wishful thought. But maybe he won’t get my humor; he’ll just think I got his name wrong. That’s possible, right?
I reluctantly went back to reading while holding my breath.
I’d like to formally apologize for my minor indiscretion.
Okay…not a bad start. This is good. This is good.
If only I’d stopped reading there.
You see, I hadn’t realized I worked for a dictator.
Ugh.
God, I’m such an asshole when I drink too much. I blew out a loud stream of shaky breath and ripped the Band-Aid off.
I was under the impression that I had the right to do what I pleased while on my own time. Unlike your silver-spoon ass, I work hard. Therefore, I deserve to blow off some steam once in a while. If that entails getting a little sun on my ta-tas while on a girls-only private vacation, then that’s what I’ll do. I wasn’t breaking any laws. It was a nude beach. I could have gone fully nude, but I just chose to go topless. Because, let’s be real—I have great tits. If you’ve watched the “offending video,” which your uptight human resources director saw fit to provide me on a thumb drive along with a bullshit termination letter, you should consider yourself lucky you got a glimpse of them. You might even consider adding it to your spank bank, perv.
I’ve spent more than nine years working my ass off for you and your stupid company. You can both go to hell.
Bite me,
Ireland Saint James
Okay. I had a steeper uphill battle to smooth things over than I’d hoped. But I couldn’t let that deter me. Maybe el presidente hadn’t even read my first email yet, and I could start my next attempt by asking him to ignore the original one.
If I wanted any shot of finding a job within the industry, I couldn’t have a bad recommendation. Since they’d violated my privacy, the least they could do was be neutral. I broke out in a panicky sweat and chewed on my fingernail. I wasn’t above begging. So I copied and pasted the president’s email address and opened a new message. Time was of the essence here.
But just as I started to type, my laptop pinged, letting me know a new email had arrived. I clicked on it, and my heart nearly stopped as I read the email address: Grant.Lexington@LexingtonIndustries.com
Oh God.
No.
I tried to swallow, but my mouth was suddenly dry. This was not good. I just wasn’t sure how bad it was yet.
Dear Ms. Saint James,
Thank you for your email…which this silver spoon read at two in the morning, because I was still at the office working. From the tone of your letter—one littered with grammatical errors from a woman with a journalism degree—I’m assuming you wrote it while drunk. If that’s the case, at least you no longer need to get up in the morning. You’re welcome.