Stuck-Up Suit

By: Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward

Enter bills in blue folder into QuickBooks. (Take all discounts, even if past the discount date.)

Send contracts to Lawrence for review. No direction on this one. I’d figure out why shortly after. She had written across every single page of the document with a bright orange marker. Ridiculous. Not acceptable.

Pick up dry cleaning. (Ticket on my desk. Do not pay him if the mark on the left sleeve of my mohair jacket did not come out.) What the hell was mohair anyway?

Delivery from Speedy Printing this afternoon. (No tip. He was ten minutes late again last week.)

The list went on and on. I had to stop myself from scanning it and posting it on the blog under the last response she gave to an employee who was having trouble with her boss. Instead, I cranked up the tunes (Ida didn’t allow music in the workplace), tipped the printer delivery guy twenty bucks from petty cash, and took a one-hour break with my bare feet up on the desk to play with Mr. Big Prick’s phone some more. Looking down at my wiggling toes, I admired Tig’s latest handiwork—two feathers tatted on the top of my right foot that dangled from a leather ankle bracelet. Very Pocahontas. I needed to stop back at the shop so he could take a picture for his wall, now that the swelling had gone down.

I was nearly at my data usage limit for the month, so I popped Graham Morgan into Google on his phone. I was surprised when the search returned more than a thousand results. The first one was his company’s website—Morgan Financial Holdings. I clicked on the link. It was a typical corporate website, all very sterile and businesslike. The list of holdings was a page long, everything from real estate to a financial investment firm. The site reeked of old money. I would have bet Daddy still had a big corner office and visited every Friday after golf. The common theme of the site also seemed to summarize the business—wealth management. The rich get richer. Who was managing my assets? Oh, wait. That’s right. I had none. Unless you counted my great rack. And I currently had no one managing that either.

I clicked over to the About tab, and my jaw dropped open. The first picture was of the Adonis himself, Graham J. Morgan. The guy was seriously gorgeous. A strong blade of a nose, chiseled jaw, and eyes the color of melting milk chocolate. Something told me he might have Greek in his ancestry. I licked my lips. Damn. Underneath, I read his bio. Twenty-nine, Summa Cum Laude at Wharton, single, blah blah blah. The only thing that surprised me was the last sentence: Mr. Morgan founded Morgan Financial Holdings only eight years ago, yet its diverse client portfolio rivals the oldest and most prestigious investment firms in New York City. Guess I was wrong about Daddy.

After wiping the drool off the keypad, I moved on to the Team tab. Thirty different directors and managers were outlined. There was a common theme there, too. Over educated and scowling. Except for one lone renegade who dared to smile for his corporate photo. Ben Schilling, who was apparently a marketing manager. Bored with corporate life, but still not ready to go back to my to-do list, I scrolled through Graham’s contacts again. I passed over Avery’s name and wondered if it was only women who Mr. Big Prick managed to piss off. A few names down from Avery, I landed on the first male name: Ben. Hmmm. Without overthinking it, I thumbed off a text:

Graham: What’s up?

I got excited when I saw the three dots start bouncing, indicating he was typing a response.

Ben: Working on that presentation. I’ll have it ready tomorrow as planned.

Graham: Great. Tell Linda to get you set up on my calendar.

At least, I had gotten her name right. I watched the three dots start and then stop. Then start again.

Ben: I didn’t think Linda was coming back anymore. After what happened at the meeting yesterday.

Now we were getting somewhere. I sat up in my chair.

Graham: A lot happened at the meeting yesterday. What, specifically, are you referring to?

Ben: Ummm…I meant when you yelled you’re fired, get the hell out of my office.

This guy really was a total prick. Someone needed to fix his ass. I launched Safari and reopened the last page I had visited. Halfway down, I found what I was looking for: Meredith Kline, Human Resources Manager.

Graham: Maybe I was a little harsh. I’m in meetings all afternoon. Could you stop over and tell Meredith in HR to make sure Linda gets a month of severance?

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