Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I had the hairball from I.T. install monitoring software on all of the computers in the office so I could view employee’s screens at any time. I let them all know they could be watched and made a habit of flicking through their screens, hoping to find someone egregiously off-task so I could start building a case to fire them. Most of them occasionally got on social media, or in one case, worked on a weird ass blog about how to train your cat to flush the toilet for you–not how to use the toilet on their own, simply how to get them to flush after you’d done your business.
Weird ass employees.
My own day was mostly consumed by the articles being sent to me for edits and approval. When I wasn’t watching over the employees or editing, I was continuing to perfect my broad strategy for the magazine. This job was my chance to prove I could build something from nothing. Sure, The Squawker had a somewhat respectable following, but only in state. I wanted to make it national. I wanted to widen the scope. I wanted it to give readers everything they could want from intellectual junk food to a side of political informity.
That was the trick, as I saw it. We’d lure them in with the junk food and trick them into getting informed.
I was smiling to myself when my door opened again.
Darcy visibly swallowed, then closed it behind her with a soft click. She had on a white blouse that was just transparent enough for me to see the outline of a white bra beneath. I wondered if she knew, or if the lighting at her place was different.
Ever since I’d given her shit about the jeans, it seemed like skirts were her weapon of choice. I almost regretted ever saying anything. The truth was those fucking jeans had been distracting as hell for me. Her ass and legs were absolutely incredible, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus if she was prancing around like that all day. Was I an asshole for setting the dress code because I couldn’t keep my eyes to myself? Of course I was. But I was also a dumb asshole, because the skirts were worse.
She had a goddamn arsenal of them from tight blacks to frilly grays and even a baby blue one with flowers that was just short enough to be criminal. I wanted her gone because she made me feel out of control. I was always in control. I always had a tight leash on my emotions and my body. But not around her. She got straight past my defenses and into my head, and I wanted to punish her for it.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Did you have a chance to look at my pitch yet?”
She’d sent me some long ass email with a bunch of attachments late one evening last week. I had enough on my plate, so I’d stuffed it in the “maybe never” folder.
“No,” I said. “I have a lot of work to do.”
Darcy looked uncharacteristically meek. She actually wringed her hands and still hadn’t taken a full step into my office. Her back was against the door like she was ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. In fact, I’d barely interacted with her since the day I had Steve’s desk moved. She just came in, sat down, worked her ass off, and never got off task. I’d never once checked her screen and seen anything but her researching for a piece or actually writing it. I had to admit I was already impressed, but I wondered how long she could keep this up.
I hadn’t seen this nervous side of her, and some dumb part of me wanted to relieve her of whatever was stressing her. I wanted to promise I’d take a look at the pitch, but I was stronger than that. Maybe I could’ve simply given in. I could’ve been the nice boss for a change, but I knew what a slippery slope that was. I had mountains to prove at this magazine my father thought was beyond saving. If he thought there was a chance I could actually turn it around and make it profitable, he wouldn’t have dared leave me in charge of things.
No. My father expected me to fail here. He thought I’d come crawling back to him with the seared in knowledge that I couldn’t hack it on my own–that I needed my dear old man to hold the wheel. It was a power play, and I intended to turn it on its head.
To do that, I needed to run things here without mercy. I couldn’t make the “nice” decision because it felt good. I couldn’t overlook underperformers because I didn’t want to hurt feelings. I needed to be ruthless, especially when it came to Darcy McClain. Because whether I wanted to admit it or not, she was a distraction. The sooner she was gone, the sooner I could get myself back under control.