Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Saying it and seeing it are two different things.”
My phone began to buzz again. Both of us stared at Andrew’s name flashing on the phone. Before I could stop him, Bennett grabbed my phone and swiped to answer.
“Hello?”
My eyes bulged from my head as I glared a death warning at him.
“She’s…” He paused for a few heartbeats. At least I think that’s how long it was; my heart had stopped beating. “…busy right now.”
He listened and then shook his head. “This is Bennett, a good friend of Annalise’s. And who is this?”
Quiet.
“Arthur. Got it. I’ll let her know you called.”
Pause.
“Oh. Andrew. Alright, Andy. You take care now.”
Bennett swiped to end the call and tossed the phone back onto the table.
“What the hell did you just do?”
“Gave the undeserving prick something to think about.”
“You have a lot of nerve picking up my phone and answering it.”
He bent his head so we were eyelevel and stared. “Someone has to have balls with that jerk.”
Then he got up and walked out of my office.
Chapter 11
* * *
Bennett
Women are way too fucking sensitive.
I reread an email from Human Resources for the third time.
Bennett,
As you are aware, the recent merger has left many employees feeling anxious about the long-term status of their positions here at Foster, Burnett and Wren. Because of that, statements from management may be scrutinized by employees in a manner that they had not been before. As such, we ask that you, as well as all senior managers, please be cognizant of the sensitivity of your responses to employees. Please refrain from criticisms such as telling an employee that they make “too big of a deal out of things” and to “suck it up.” Although no formal complaint has been filed, these types of comments can be considered harassment and lend to a difficult work environment.
Thank you,
Mary Harmon
I knew exactly who had complained. Finley Harper. Doesn’t the name just scream I have a stick up my ass? This was all Annalise’s fault. Finley was a transplant from Wren, of course. None of my crew had ever gone to HR. Hell, just last week I’d told Jim Falcon I didn’t care if he had to blow the client, I was firing his ass if the CEO of Monroe Paint didn’t come out of the conference room smiling like the fucking idiot he was after our meeting was over.
I shook my head. Annalise and her goddamn color-coding and team spirit. She probably cries along with the people she has to fire. And, come to think of it, where the hell had she been? I hadn’t seen her since yesterday at lunch when I answered the call from her sorry-ass excuse of an ex.
Maybe I should start to say and do the opposite of everything I thought from now on around these people from Wren. Next time Finley spends a half hour complaining that a client doesn’t like designs done to their exact specifications, instead of telling her to suck it up and get back to work, I’ll sit down and ask her how it makes her feel to have a client unhappy with her work. Maybe over some tea.
And Annalise—when she asks me what I think about her so-called break, instead of being honest and telling her that her dick of an ex wants his dick sucked by someone other than her, I’ll explain that it’s normal for men to want a period of separation every so often, and that I’d bet dollars to donuts he comes back a happier and more well-adjusted man because of her understanding.
Wake the fuck up, people.
I hit reply and started to type a response to Mary in HR, then thought better of it. Instead, I went looking for Miss Sunshine who had never delivered the copy for our meeting with Jonas tomorrow.
Annalise’s door was open, but her head was buried in her computer screen. I knocked twice to get her attention and then walked in.
“Before I say anything, are you recording this conversation to bring to Human Resources? If so, let me go back to my office and change into my pink pussy pants.”
She looked up, and it felt like I’d been hit with a sledgehammer to the chest.
Crying.
Annalise was crying. At least she had been recently. Unconsciously, I rubbed at a dull ache on the left side of my ribcage.
Her face was red and puffy, and a streak of mascara ran down her cheek.
I took a few steps back toward the door, and for a split second I debated not stopping. I mean, what could she be crying over? Chances are, it was either work or her ex. I was the least-competent person to give relationship advice to anyone. And work? This woman was my adversary, for God’s sake. Helping her was helping myself right out of a fucking job.