boss would like me to do, such as: Call Mr. Easton to follow up on his last appointment, confirm that he’s happy, and ensure he doesn’t have any further questions. Book appointment if necessary.
By lunch, I’ve made all the calls and whittled down my list to just a few things. I knock on Mr. Lewis’ door. “Lunch call,” I say, opening it up to find him sitting at his desk.
He doesn’t pull his attention away from his work. He just holds up a slip of paper that contains his lunch order even though it’s the same damn thing every damn day. I walk over, take the paper, and turn around to leave, saying, “It’s always a pleasure, Mr. Lewis.” I let the door close a little too loudly behind me.
I swing by the sandwich shop and get his usual turkey breast on rye with lettuce, mayo, and mustard. After paying for his order, I grab myself a shake-and-go salad from the cooler at checkout and head back to the office to have lunch at my desk. After giving Mr. Ungrateful his sandwich, I go back to my desk to eat. I pour my fat-free salad dressing on the salad, replace the lid, and shake it up. I’ve only had one bite when he’s calling me back to his office. With a sigh, I stand up and walk in there.
He has his sandwich open and lying on his desk. “What is this shit?” he asks, motioning toward it.
I take a few steps in, peering at the sandwich. “It looks like turkey breast on rye with lettuce, mayo, and mustard.”
He glares at me. “This is low-fat mayo; it tastes like saddle soap.” Of course little rich boy knows what saddle soap tastes like.
“Horse lessons as a child?” I ask, trying to hide my judgment.
“What?” he replies, confused and clearly not picking up on my sarcasm.
I shake my head but pick up the sandwich and toss it into the bag. “Would you like me to get you something else?” I ask before walking out of his office.
“No, I’ve lost my appetite. It’s the same damn lunch every single day, Poppy. I swear, if you’re not screwing something up, you’re not doing it at all.”
I can’t take the smug, arrogant look on his face any longer. “Oh, screw you, Matthew Lewis III! What kind of fucking name is that anyway? Who were you named after—Thurston Howell from Gilligan’s Island?”
He looks up at me like I’ve lost my mind, but maybe I have. Maybe I’m tired of putting up with his prissy ass. What man worries about the mayo on his damn sandwich? I guess the same kind that requires non-dairy, low-fat French vanilla creamer for his coffee every morning.
“What did you say to me?” he asks slowly and quietly, like he can’t believe I’ve insulted him in such a disrespectful manner.
“Which part? The part about your ridiculous name or the part about you being named after a character from Gilligan’s Island? I can’t keep track with you anymore.”
“That’s it. That’s the last straw,” he says, sitting down and opening his desk drawer for what I can only assume is a termination slip. “I’m sick of you always being late.” His hand scribbles across the slip. “I’m tired of the stupid-ass excuses.” He looks up at me. “I mean, come on, a grade school kid has more believable excuses than you.” He goes back to writing. “And I’m tired of you either not doing something or screwing it up when you do. You’re fired.” He says, tearing off the slip and trying to hand it over.
My eyes widen and my mouth falls open. “I’m fired? I’m fired?” I yell, taking the bag with his sandwich in it and throwing it onto his lap. “Good fucking riddance, you entitled prick! You think you’re going to keep an assistant with your attitude? With your whiny I’m rich and better than you demeanor? Ha! Good fucking luck. Deuces, Mr. Matthew Lewis III, Esquire.” I throw both middle fingers in the air and leave his office, slamming the door behind me. Daniel has clearly overheard everything and he’s leaning against my desk with his arms crossed over his chest, laughing his ass off.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, moving around my desk and grabbing my things. Lucky for me, I don’t have much here—just my purse, jacket, and phone.
He shakes his head. “I’ve just never heard anyone tell him off like that before. Funny shit.”