Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“I stopped keeping track after fifty.”
“Well, since we both know you’re extremely intelligent, I’m going to assume that you’re pretending to be dense or waiting for me to save you from yourself.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Carter.” I smiled. “I am quite flattered by your compliment, though.”
“Labor laws, Harrison.” He dropped the formalities. “Unbreakable labor laws that make it quite clear what you can and can’t make employees do.”
“That phrase isn’t ringing a bell for me.”
“You can’t work someone on a twelve- to fourteen-hour shift without an official marked break, and you can’t fire someone while they’re on a company-approved vacation.”
“Vacations are no longer approved at this company.” I shrugged. “I don’t see a problem.”
“I thought we were aiming for fewer lawsuits this year, not more.”
“Is this about the receptionist?”
“We can start with that one,” he said. “But there are forty other people who you’re about to potentially mishandle as well.”
I held back a sigh.
“What if the employee in question hasn’t done any real work in years, and they were getting paid ninety thousand to answer the phone and brew coffee?” I asked. “Surely I have every right to cut them for that?”
“Sure,” he said. “With a six-month severance package and a well-written ‘Thank you, but we’re moving in a different direction’ letter.”
“Do I pay you enough to write those?”
“I’ll look at my latest invoice and see,” he said. “Now, about the mandatory lunch breaks.”
“I can offer five minutes.”
“State law requires thirty minutes to an hour.”
“I’m a private company,” I said. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I’ve been on your side for years, and you know it.” He crossed his arms. “You also know that returning to this city means a lot more scrutiny—given the way you left—and I’m trying to prevent you from stepping into a shit storm.”
“I own plenty of umbrellas.”
“Harrison…”
“Damien…” I shook my head. “What happened to ‘the law is meant to be bent until it’s damn near broken’? Isn’t that your motto?”
“It is, and I still stand by it.” He picked up a briefcase and opened it. Then he took out a thick packet and slid it across my desk.
“I didn’t say you had to actually honor the lunch breaks,” he said. “You just need to make sure that your inhumane and medieval policy is never printed or in writing.”
“I see…”
“You’re welcome for intercepting all the new employee contracts and taking out those sue-worthy clauses. Feel free to thank me at any time.”
“You didn’t do it for free.”
“I wouldn’t be your favorite lawyer if I did.” He smiled. “I’ll call Peter tonight with my additional edits.”
“Peter quit on me last month,” I said. “I’m sure his attorney will be contacting you soon.”
“About what?”
I said nothing. He’d receive the details soon enough.
“You should look into programming a robot for your next assistant,” he said. “Or better yet, just hire five assistants and let them split the work.”
“I tried that before, remember?” I shuddered at the memory.
“Oh, right.” He shook his head. “Well, maybe just try to be a little less like Satan and a lot more like a human being this time around.”
I rolled my eyes. “My newest one is a woman named Andrea Stone. I’ll have her contact you.”
“I’m serious about being nice.” He locked his briefcase. “It goes a long way with making people like you.”
“How would you know anything about that?”
“Good point.” He laughed as he left my office.
I clicked his meeting as complete in my phone and glanced over the upcoming time slots.
9:20 meeting with the merch director.
9:50 session with the finance manager.
It meant over an hour until I saw Miss Stone again, and I wasn’t sure if tracking that was a good or a bad thing.
EIGHT (B)
HARRISON
At eleven o’clock on the dot, Miss Stone returned to my office in an emerald green dress that made focusing nearly impossible.
With flushed pink cheeks, she stood in the doorway, glancing between me and Aaron—who’d overstayed his welcome by ten minutes.
“If you’re going to commission new designer-level uniforms, I just think you need to consider whether that’ll have a real effect on sales, you know?” he asked. “It sounds nicer and the designs look wonderful, but…”
His words stopped registering.
I could only stare straight ahead and picture Andrea’s dress pooled at my feet—her sandy-colored pumps wrapped around my waist.
“No wonder Mr. Lewis wanted to keep you to himself…” I muttered.
“Huh?” Aaron’s voice broke into my thoughts. “What do you want to keep?”
“I said Miss Stone is here for my meeting with the Keaton Group.” I cleared my throat and gestured to her. “You can join us over here, Miss Stone.”
Aaron glanced over his shoulder. Then he muttered something I couldn’t quite hear under his breath.
“Andrea Stone, this is Aaron Fletcher—my longtime advisor, and Aaron, this is Andrea Stone.”
“Nice to meet you,” they said in unison, shaking hands.