Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 99918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
“Whatever, man. They all fall for you,” Rob murmured, too. The roar of the engine almost drowned out his words as the plane began its taxi down the runway.
“You guys are completely off the mark. Now focus. There are millions of dollars on the table. No more of this thing you two are doing. We’re professionals. I spent fifteen thousand dollars to look the part—now act like it.” When he got the eye roll from his team, he leaned in as far as he could.
“You promised to give me three days.” He eyed both of them, waiting for them to respond.
“All right,” David finally relented. “I’ll ward off her advances, but you owe me, bro!”
Tristan walked into the front doors of his Irvine, California, corporate offices as he’d done a million times over the last ten years, but this time things were different. From day one, his entire corporate culture had been founded on the concept of being open and friendly. For Tristan, cubicles, closed door offices, and departmentalism sucked his will to live. He tried hard to keep that from happening in any of his companies, but he did recognize the difficulties of those core business philosophies with as many employees as he now had. Regardless, even as large as they’d grown, he still managed to maintain a personal touch with free, open spaces. Yet now as he entered the building, he was met with a reception desk in the middle of the atrium with a mid-size clear wall stretched across the length of the lobby on both sides of the desk.
Instead of a friendly face greeting him, now sat three armed security guards. Regardless of Wilder, Inc. being scrawled across the bottom of the reception desk, he’d done an about-face and walked back outside to make sure he’d entered the right building.
Yep, Wilder, Inc. was displayed proudly at the top of the building so he went back inside. He bypassed the desk and tried to enter through one of the half opened walkways in the clear glass wall.
“Excuse me, sir. That’s a restricted area. Only employees are allowed beyond this point.” A security guard stopped him. Although Tristan wore a suit coat and tie today, he never required any of his employees to dress business formal. This security guard, standing in front of him with a serious case of the don’t-fuck-with-me attitude was dressed in the standard issue Men in Black kind of suit and tie. He was burly, big, beefy, and intimidating as hell with his hand on his hip, moving the jacket back enough to expose a gun holstered on the side of his belt.
“I’m an employee here,” Tristan answered with a smile. It actually took him a second to realize they had no idea who he was. Since he didn’t rest on formality, he shouldn’t have been surprised, but surely there was a photo here or there of the founder of the company.
“I need to see your employee badge,” the no-nonsense guard said.
“When did we start needing employee badges?” Tristan asked, pulling his phone from inside his suit pocket. He swiped his finger across the screen until he found his notes app. He typed a quick reminder to ask why and when they had implemented that regulation.
“It’s been that way since I’ve been here, sir,” the man said a little condescendingly.
“And how long has that been?” Tristan asked, looking at the guy’s name badge and typing that into his phone too.
“Sir, you need to show your ID or move on back to the reception area and explain your business here,” the guard said, his tone turning hard.
“I don’t have an I. D.” Tristan pronounced each letter very clearly. He texted Landry to get his ass down there and fix this problem. “I do have a question for you. Is this how all guests are treated when they enter this building?”
“Sir, please step this way.” The guard took Tristan by the elbow, and he let the manhandling happen as they guided him to a small office behind the desk, escorted now by two of the guards. “If you’ll write your name, job title, and direct supervisor down on this piece of paper, we’ll contact someone in that department, but you get only one free pass. Next time comes with a written warning,” the guard stated, holding a hand over the weapon at his hip.
Was he freaking for real?
Tristan did what the guard asked. Signed his name, gave the title of president and CEO, and marked himself down as his own direct supervisor. He pushed the paper toward the guy, who reached for it, never looked at the written words, and left the room. “Stay here.”
Tristan got up and tried the door, finding he was actually locked inside. The whole experience was so different than anything he’d ever had happen in his business that he scanned the room to see if there was a hidden camera. Surely Ashton Kutcher or whoever was about to pop out and laugh at the ridiculousness of all this.
Two minutes later, Landry and the guard were back through the door.
“I’m sorry, sir. I was just doing my job,” the guard apologized the second the door opened. Unmistakable fear was written all over his face and showed in his actions. Probably concerned about losing his job, which seemed reasonable to Tristan given the circumstances, but instead of acknowledging the excuses, he turned to Landry.
“This setup has to go. I don’t like this. It should have never been approved.” Tristan stepped out of the room, making sure everyone in the area heard him.
“It’s because of the proprietary nature of our—” Landry started, but Tristan shook his head.
“There’re better ways. We need to review this policy by the end of the day.” Tristan walked toward the elevators directly behind the reception desk. “People should be greeted by a friendly face when they walk in. And why don’t I have an employee badge? Do you have one?”
“Who would have thought you needed one to step inside your own building. Everyone knows who you are,” Landry quipped, pushing the up button to call the elevator.