Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
“Miss Ward, what is this?” he demanded, gesturing to the papers on his desk.
“Er…those are the reports you asked for,” I said, wondering what I could have done wrong now. I had stacked them neatly and stapled them in the top middle of each sheet, like he demanded. When I had first started working for him, he’d thrown a fit because I stapled some documents in the top left corner. He demanded that I reprint all of them and “staple them correctly.” Ever since, I’d been careful to get that little detail right.
“These reports,” he said, glaring at me as he held one out. “The Rainard report is on top. And then right under that, the Connor report.”
“Uh…” I shook my head, mystified. “I’m not sure I understand what’s wrong.”
“Why aren’t they alphabetized?” Mr. Price demanded. “C comes before R in the alphabet—surely even someone as stupid as you knows that, Miss. Ward!”
“Alphabetized?” I repeated, shaking my head. “But Mr. Price, you never said—”
“I did! I told you the minute you became my secretary that I wanted all the reports alphabetized!” he shouted, his narrow face going red. He began ripping the pages apart and throwing them on the floor around his desk. “How can you not understand such a simple thing? How stupid can you be?”
I felt my face go rigid, turning into a non-threatening, apologetic mask it always becomes when someone shouts at me.
“I…I’m so sorry,” I heard myself say. “I’ll take them back and alphabetize them right now.”
“You’re damn right, you will!” He threw the last of the stack of papers on the floor and rose to his feet. “Get down there and pick those up and get them right,” he commanded, pointing at the papers—some of which he was currently trampling. “I’m going to my meeting. You’d better have them done when I get back.”
And he stalked off, the papers crunching under his shiny, hateful shoes.
Stooping, I began gathering the crumpled paperwork with red cheeks and stinging eyes. I hated myself for making that “sorry face”—for backing down and taking the blame when it wasn’t my fault. My boss had never told me he wanted anything alphabetized before today, but of course now he was gaslighting me and acting like it was a rule I’d always known about that I had broken.
I had spent a long time getting all the documents just right—now I would have to spend even longer fixing the mess he’d made of them. And I knew without asking that any papers that had been trampled and torn by his feet would need to be reprinted and re-stapled—I didn’t dare hand him anything less than a perfect stack of alphabetized reports or he would blow his top again and probably call me “stupid” or an “idiot,” or something even worse.
If you’re wondering why I put up with this abuse, well—it wasn’t by choice. I had signed a contract with Bentley Pharmaceuticals early in my academic career. They had agreed to put me through school and help me become a pharmacist as long as I promised to work for them during school and for two years after. I could take most of my classes online at night and work for them during the day.
It had seemed like a sweetheart deal at the time. I knew people who were drowning in student debt and this way I wouldn’t have to take a single loan—well, unless I quit before the contract said I could. At that point, every single dollar that Bentley had loaned to me would suddenly become due—with ten percent interest—in a single lump sum.
Since I didn’t have an extra hundred thousand dollars just lying around, I couldn’t quit. And my boss, Mr. Price, knew that.
I’d tried to get out from under his thumb several times. But the last time I went to HR, Mrs. Renard, the woman in charge, had asked me bluntly if I just wanted to nullify my contract and pay what I owed the company.
“Of course not!” I exclaimed, feeling all the blood rush from my face when I thought of that much debt suddenly coming down on my head all at once. “I can’t afford to pay everything back like that—if I could, I wouldn’t have signed the contract in the first place!”
“Then it appears you have no choice but to go back to your position,” Mrs. Renard remarked. She had short, iron-gray hair and a stern face like a disapproving principal.
“But…but it’s clear that Mr. Price isn’t happy with my performance!” I exclaimed, trying to think of another way to get away from him. “He’s always calling me ‘stupid’ and ‘lazy’ and ‘ignorant’ and things like that. Surely he’d rather have someone else as his assistant!”
“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Renard said blandly. “In fact, he’s given you nothing but glowing performance reviews. I have a difficult time believing that he calls you ‘stupid’ when he seems so happy with your work.”