Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 17082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 85(@200wpm)___ 68(@250wpm)___ 57(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 85(@200wpm)___ 68(@250wpm)___ 57(@300wpm)
It’s crazy. Don’t even think about it. My logical mind screams, but the other half turns in a different direction. Prone to violent outbursts when he’s upset, what if Joel Abrahams had something to do with Claire’s wheels?
A few minutes go by, giving me enough time to glean the most important information in Joel’s file. Not a minute too soon, it seems, and Joel steps into my office with a shit-eating grin plastered over his mouth. He dressed up for the occasion, wearing a black suit and red tie. His hair is neatly combed in a thinning side path, and the only stubble on his face is a five o’clock shadow.
“Vaughn,” he greets, walking over to me. Hearing my name out of his mouth feels an atrocious lack of respect. In the five years I’ve worked here, he’s never called me anything other than Mr. Valentine, so maybe there’s more reason to smile by him getting axed.
“Joel.” I stare at him straight-faced, showing no signs of my suspicions. “Have a seat, let’s get started.”
He sits, kicking one leg over the other. “You know, I could sue you for declining me a worthwhile severance.”
His threat might have scared me under different circumstances. He’s good with numbers, has a semi-decent understanding of the law, and knows how a company is meant to operate regarding terminations. He’s done enough of them to know what goes into them.
“You could,” I say calmly.
I want to see where this train of thought is going to carry him before I deliver my death knell.
“And I will.” He rests one hand under his chin, stroking it with his thumb to convey seriousness. “I worked for this company for nine years. I deserve a decent severance package. From my calculations, oh, let’s say, eight hundred to a million.”
“More than reasonable.”
“So?” His brow furrows in frustration.
“So, what?” I force my face to remain neutral, doing everything in my power to keep from smiling.
“Get your fucking checkbook out and start writing it up,” Joel hisses.
“Oh. No, I’m not going to do that.”
“What did you just say to me?” He drops the hand and sits forward in his seat, flexing his chest in some failing intimidation tactic.
Mocking a man with violent tendencies isn’t the smartest thing I could do, but damn is it fun.
“See, Joel, it would have been a reasonable assumption and I would have paid it fairly had you not stolen from our company. It’s all in this folder—proof of every transaction you made from our accounts into some offshore bank.” I slide the file over my desk to him, but he doesn’t need to look at it to know I’m right. It isn’t some smoking gun in case he comes running back with his lawyers. Valentine Group was very clear about why he was being dismissed from the start.
“Ninety-seven thousand, three-hundred and forty-two dollars, and twenty-seven cents.” I list the exact amount he stole from us. Joel’s eyes widen and his jaw drops, realizing he set up and walked into his own trap. “You can thank Victor for not wanting the bad press that comes with a trial, but your sticky fingers pocketed your severance from the day you started working here.”
“You can’t … I’ll call my lawyers, and I’ll…” he stammers, searching for a way to fight back.
“You’ll get out of my office, get in your car, and go home. You’ll put your time at Valentine Group behind you and go on doing whatever it is people in your position do. And you’ll be grateful that you were given an opportunity to move on because if you come after us, Joel, we will destroy you.”
“This isn’t the end of this, Vaughn.” Joel stands and makes his way to the door.
“For your sake, Joel, it better be.” I give him a few seconds to walk before launching out of my chair and following.
There’s no way I’m letting this psycho wander through my office unattended, especially not when Claire’s alone in her office.
8
CLAIRE
Is every day going to be this hard working here? The people are great, all kind, and very helpful, but it’s not them making it challenging. It’s my ever-increasing need to fend off excuses to see Vaughn. Walking into his office in a slow, sultry saunter. Circling his desk with the false need to give him something. Dropping what I’m holding or knocking a pen off his desk and bending over with my ass in his face to drive him crazy.
Goosebumps run over my arms at the thought alone. Knowing it will drive him crazy. That he wouldn’t be able to control himself, and his hands would graze against my legs. Travel up my skirt to my soaking core and deliver me unto a whole new world of pleasure.
Okay. It’s my second day. These thoughts will calm down. Right?