Saga of the Wobbly Boot, Melissa Williams [the best e book reader txt] 📗

alone. “Excuse me?”

Tom Collins stood in front of her desk, holding a manila envelope. “There is a $5 bill on your floor.”

Illuminated in hazy sun streaked rain, Abraham Lincoln stared straight at her. Ben Franklin was the only dead president to ever reside in her wallet; it must have belonged to one of the assistants. Or Appletini. Her suit looked cheap. “Do I look like someone who carries a $5 bill?”

“Well,” the tweedy little man shrugged under his heavy suit jacket. “Not exactly.”

She snorted. “Just put the report on my desk. I don’t pay you to act like an idiot.”

“Absolutely, ma’am.”

She turned her back to yet another peon, gazing across the city. One day, she would own this town. Whats-his-name with the toupee wouldn’t be able to touch her empire. Maybe she would go on to host her own TV show in order to hire the next dimwit to fetch her coffee. Another thud rippled throughout, and she peeked over her shoulder to ensure she was properly alone.

Nothing.

With a great sigh of relief, two very high heels were kicked into the base of her desk. Dirty Martini’s actual height sat around five-foot-four. Her desks and chairs also elevated, giving her a significant height advantage over anyone else near her. Desks on the main floor, however, were lowered by three inches. The decorators were ingenious. If only they could be her assistants – maybe things would be done properly the first time.

Sitting atop the manila envelope lay the homeless $5 bill. “Unbelievable.” she muttered. Idiots. All of them. Scrawled across the front of the envelope, in thick black marker, read “BOSS LADY”. The sophomoric idioms refused to cease, regardless of the multiple threats that had been issued. One of these days she would find the culprit, flay him, and fire him. Or her, she wasn’t sexist.

Newcastle retreated to the other side of town by the time Appletini’s meeting with his tyrannical boss was complete. Lunch was late today, but any time out of the office was good time. His date was running behind, but that meant a few cold drinks to enjoy by himself. Nothing was worse than spoiling an afternoon with a lover than wasting it away with work rants. By the third round, however, he was becoming a little loose.

“All work and no play makes you one silly boy,” Tom Collins mused, laying his wet jacket on the adjacent bar stool. “This is what happens when I leave you alone?”

“I’ve been eating peanuts,” Newcastle replied, licking the froth off of his upper lip. “What took you so long?”

“Boss Lady wanted her reports done right that second. Considering they needed a little doctoring, I had to stick around a while longer. The usual on ice, please,” he smiled at the bartender.

“Right away, chief.”

“Doctoring?” Newcastle’s vain attempts to covertly sturdy himself were overridden by Tom Collins’ word choice. “Why doctoring?”

Tom Collin’s mouth slid into a straight line. Newcastle found his furrowed eyebrows intimidating… and attractive. “Nothing. So, how was Herr Bitch?”

“Oh, God,” Newcastle slumped into his chair and rolled his eyes. “If I have to listen to her childish analogies one more time, I might just throw up the playdoh I ate in kindergarten.”

“What was it today? She wasn’t chatty when I saw her last, if ever.”

“Red Rover. Red Rover

.” He let out a giggle. “She compared business partnerships to a game I played in grade school, while lecturing me about how we didn’t run from… bullies… I don’t know. She’s ridiculous.”

Conversation shifted from typical work gossip to food choices as they browsed the menu. Newcastle and Tom Collins had to keep their relationship quiet within the work place, for fear of losing their harrowing yet needed jobs. It was difficult to say whether Dirty Martini was prejudice against anyone, but the risk was not worth it. She was completely vile, and her hatred for people in general ran deep. After dishes had been selected, they lapsed into silence.

“What’s going on?” Newcastle asked his drink.

A sigh emitted from the tweedy man with the large jacket. “Can I trust you?” An eye roll served as an answer. “Don’t do that. This is a very serious matter. The company is – well, it’s not doing very well.”

Newcastle froze, mid gulp. The abrupt action caused him to choke on the liquid that made it passed his lips. “What?”

“She’s running it into the ground. You’re telling me you haven’t noticed? The entire floor knows about it. For the past two years, the stocks have been dropping like daisies and..”

“Daisies? Really? I know we’re a little different, but that is what you’re going to…”

“Never mind. Never mind. If you aren’t going to take this seriously, then fine.” He collected his jacket and threw a twenty on the bar. “I’ll see you at work. Maybe.”

“Wait, wait. Wait. I’m sorry. Please, I’ll be quiet.”

His mouth returned to a straight line. “Look,” he murmured near his ear. “The company is going under, and fast. A few of us have taken it upon ourselves to ensure we’ll make it out ok when it does. If I were you, I’d get out while you still could. I have a feeling it’s going to happen soon.”

Newcastle blinked. “What have you done?”

“Hush.” he hissed. “Just take this as a friendly warning, and leave.”

With that, he slid his jacket onto his shoulders and made his way into the ceaselessly damp, busy street life of NYC. It was never going to stop raining at this rate. Newcastle took a full minute to digest the conversation they just had. Didn’t she have millions of dollars stashed away in a vault somewhere to fix this? How were they going under if she was just meeting with an investor to grow the company? Unless that was why? Burying his head in his hands, Newcastle began mumbling to himself. If what Tom Collins said was true – and he had no reason to lie to him, did he? – what was he to do? Where was he to go? After drowning his confusion in another drink, he dug for his company phone in his messenger bag. The others could be left to their own devices; he never liked them much anyway.

Cosmo with a Twist’s obnoxiously innocent voice answered the line. “Tell her I’m not coming back. And while you’re at it, tell her she can take that job and…”

“He said what

?" Dirty Martini roared. “That rodent knows who he is dealing with, doesn’t he?!”

“I-” Cosmo with a Twist squeaked. Death glares had silenced her.

What a worthless, ungrateful piece of pulp! The half twit dared to abandon her? He was the only moron in the bunch who didn’t forget she only drank half-caf lattes, and actually carried brain cells. “How hard is it to find decent help these days? What is wrong you with people?"

“Well-”

“Leave!”

Cosmo with a Twist shot out of the doorway, almost dropping her headpiece in the process. What a day to forget her anxiety pills at home.

Dirty Martini slumped into her desk chair and hurled a pointed heel at the door. Ingrates. All of them. She began stamping around her office, but it only quelled her only slightly. She hated new hires more than she hated her existing staff. There wasn’t time to deal with this business proposition and finding another halfwit. The other two couldn’t function properly on their own.

Mid stomp, her computer announced an incoming email. “Oh, is it his letter of resignation? The coward.”

Tom Collins nervously wiped the sweat pooling above his upper lip as his thumb touched the Send key. Six months in the making, this was. He leaned against the box holding his belongings as the letter icon made the slow progression across his phone’s display screen. “Well, gentlemen – it’s done.”

Five men in untucked business suits shook hands and patted one another on the back, with sighs of relief and disbelieving laughter. All of them had loosened their ties and held boxes of professional belongings at their feet. The end was a sweet relish. Their dedication had finally paid off, and in a big way.

“I uh – wow. I can’t believe we actually were able to do it,” Seven and Seven sheepishly scratched the back of his head. “I mean, we practically destroyed the Wicked Witch.”

“Let me tell you fellas,” Scotch on the Rocks slapped him on the back. “You were great. Wonderful, really. I couldn’t have asked for better guys.”

“Hey man, we couldn’t have done it without you,” Bud Light shook his head. “My wife is going to bake you a giant pie.”

“She does make a great pie,” Heineken winked. Bud Light threw a fake sucker punch. “This guy!”

Scotch on the Rocks laughed. “Tell you what, guys. Have fun on your much deserved vacations, and when you all come back tanned and hung over, we’ll get this company moving. She can bring the pie then.”

“Will do,” Tom Collins scooped up his box. “Thanks again.”

“No, no! Thank you, guys. Believe me, it was very much reciprocal,” he tipped his hat and slung his jacket over his shoulder. “See you soon.” As he made his way through the parking lot, his pocket buzzed. A quick glance at the display alerted him of the caller – Appletini. Well, this should be interesting. “Babe! I see you got my email. Listen, about that client you were about to pick up..”

Dirty Martini’s face was etched in stone as she read the report in front of her. A fifth reading was required to take it all in. Her life’s work, her father’s legacy, her empire – just like that? White hot anger flooded her face. With a guttural scream, she jammed the intercom key. “Get me an accountant. NOW.”

“Um, they’re all gone, ma’am….” a timid voice trailed off on the opposing end, as if bracing for impact.

“What do you mean, they are all gone?” She spat.

“They’ve been gone for a week, ma’am.”

“Were any vacations approved?”

Silence. “No, ma’am.”

A hard, plastic and rather expensive phone went flying off her desk. Another scream erupted from her core as she began hurling everything she could find at the door. Once there was nothing left to throw within reach, she made her way to the private liquor cabinet and grabbed the strongest, darkest liquid she could find. What was left to do, but toast to the end? “Hire the biggest damn lawyer in town. This is far from over.”

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Publication Date: 09-25-2009

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