26. Female Rage
Female Rage
It seems that Sam has only one game: to bombard me with photos of his dick until I weaken and sleep with him. Ha! Fat chance that’s happening.
I’m the opposite of enticed. My knuckles turn white as I stare at Sam’s latest come on. How many dick photos does he have? Maybe Rhys was right and Sam does have a photo grid of dick selfies, which he sends to unsuspecting women whenever the mood strikes him.
And the mood has struck him in the middle of my presentation.
I’m gripping my phone so hard I could break it in two, my face as red as hot coals.
This time, there’s no mistaking who the dick belongs to. Sam is posing like he’s Ernest Hemingway on safari, except, you know, with his dick out.
He has his scuba suit peeled down to his hips (and lower, obviously), Bondi Beach behind him, and what looks like the carcass of that poor stingray on the sand next to his feet.
So he thought, “I just killed an endangered species. Let me just take a photo of my hard-on so I can save it for later… for Carina. And since she mentioned she’s into marine biology, she might get a kick out of the stingray. That’ll get her to sit on my cock.”
Sick. He’s sick! He should be locked up!
He couldn’t hold his horses for one second until after the meeting’s over to send me another photo? Either he’s displaying a horrifying lack of self-control, or he’s trying to throw me off my game.
Furthermore...
What pisses me off the most is the fact that I’m the Director of Data Analytics, the sole expert on the ASSET. I’m about to make him and all his cronies ten million dollars richer… I’m the freaking asset to this company, but to the CEO, I’m just a piece of ass. Again, allow me to repeat: fuck him.
My thumbs fly in a white-hot rage, sending off another batch of round-robin dick mails to Angie. She should be at work, haggling over cantaloupes. I hope she gets this soon. I’m in desperate need of emotional support.
I paste the photo to Rhys since he’s only half-paying attention to the presentation, anyway. He picks up his phone right away, recoiling on reflex at the offending sight. He checks over his shoulder for a fraction of a second to make sure I was okay while sending me a quick message:
Rhys
I’m starting to dread texts from you. WTF?
He did it again!
Rhys
Right now?
He can’t control himself. This just killed my employee morale.
With an impressive poker face, Rhys eyes Sam.
Rhys
Do you want me to beat him up? Just say the word.
He’s not serious, is he? Despite my dilemma, I stifle a giggle. At least I’m not that mad anymore. I decide to play along.
You think you can take him?
Swiveling around, Rhys measures up his mark. Sam is as ripped as any CEO with a home gym, an abundance of free time, and a personal trainer can be. Rhys is just lean and if he had muscles, you’d need a magnifying glass to see them. It wouldn’t be a fair fight; Rhys knows it.
Rhys
I fight dirty.
How?
Rhys
I read The Art of War. Always maintain the element of surprise. And if that doesn’t work... I’ll throw something at him.
What?
Rhys
Your laser pointer. Right between the eyes. Used to play minor league softball. Best arm in Vacaville.
I’m learning something new about Rhys every day. I chew on my inner cheek, grateful for the distraction.
Angie’s text slides in.
Angie
Why do you keep sending me pictures of dicks?
Why does CEO Grab Ass keep sending me dick pics?
Angie
What’s that beside him?
A stingray.
Angie
***
It’s a long story.
Angie
Aren’t you supposed to be in the middle of a presentation?
Yes. Yes, I am. And with a random drone shot of a beach in Cancun, the presentation concludes to a chorus of confused applause. As the lights switch on, I’ve decided to forward the photo to one more person in my contacts, along with a brief message.
To Rhys and Angie, I send an even briefer message:
This ends right now.
With an exhausted sigh, I step back into the limelight. “I hope that was enlightening for you,” I begin. “I think that pretty much says it all.”
Rhys stifles a cough. “What does it say?”
“I think the message is clear,” Sam pipes in, looking very proud of himself. “The ASSET is going to make us a lot of money, right?”
He looks at me, smug, like he expects a gold star (or in his case, a blow job…) for putting two and two together.
I nod, humoring him. “That’s the gist of it. Before I get into the numbers, let’s take a detour to address a tiny issue.”
“Issue?” Sam smiles, a bit taken aback. “What issue?”
“Oh, just a tiny liability. It’s nothing but a little prick... I mean, blip, in the success of this company.”
Rhys watches me closely, anticipating my next move. In the back of the room, my four direct reports tense up, shocked by my deviation from the script.
Paulina catches my eye and mouths, “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry,” I mouth back. And I do feel terrible about blindsiding our carefully crafted presentation. I’ll most definitely regret this, especially when I’m broke and unemployed, but I have to do it.
I can’t fucking suppress it any longer.
Taking a deep breath, I AirDrop a piece of media into my slide deck and project the photo onto the screen.
“This is the liability,” I say and watch as the room fixes their eyes on the next slide.
Some absorb the information in silence, a horrific silence, but with dignity and a bit of confusion.
Somewhere in the back of the room, someone yelps, “Whoa!” Must be Ramin.
The general reaction is stunned mortification.
No one is as mortified as Sam. He tugs at his collar, his cheeks boiling with anger and humiliation. Oh yeah. I’m so fired. But you know what they say? If I’m already toast, I might as well go down in a blaze of glory.
Rhys peels his eyes from the projection and, with a sigh, scrubs a hand over his face. Lifting his head, he stares at me as if he’s witnessing a slow-speed car crash. “Carina... what are you doing?”
I ignore him and gaze around the room. My direct reports are, understandably, traumatized.
Luke has his arm around Paulina, shielding her from the lewd photo.
Lilly’s hands are clasped over her mouth, her gaze flickering from the projection to the back of Sam’s head while Ramin discreetly shifts his eyes to the window.
I feel terrible about jump-scaring them and wish I could have warned them to step out of the room. But they have to grow up one day.
“Ms. Wu!” Tabitha, the owner of an adorable pony, sounds like she’s about to lecture me on propriety. “Is this some sick joke?”
One of the oldest board members slips on his glasses. “Ah, Sam! There’s that stingray you caught. And look…” He frowns, peering closer. “Oh… oh dear. I think you might have a wardrobe malfunction.”
Another board member, more ancient than the first one and blind as a bat, speaks up. “What’s this? Some kind of earthworm?”
“No, Bob,” Tabitha practically screams in his hearing aid, “though I don’t blame you for mistaking it for one.”
“I wish my eyes were as bad as yours,” comes another comment, followed by a laugh.
“Is this an April Fool’s joke?” one of them asks me.
“Sir,” I say calmly, “it’s October. And to answer your question,” I click my laser pointer and draw a zig zag from subject to subject, “what we have here is a vacation photo,” I point to the dead stingray, “the poaching of endangered marine life, and finally,” the laser pointer circles the last bit of damning evidence, “our very own CEO’s penis. ”
Tabitha clears her throat. “Why do you have this photo?”
“Funny you should ask. This was just sent to me by our CEO, as you can see by the timestamp.” To make my point, I circle the timestamp with my laser.
“It seems Mr. Rylan has a backlog of photos of his dick and a sick impulse to share them with me. And for the record,” I scan every face in the room, meeting the eye of every uncomfortable board member, “I never asked for this.”
“I wish I could unsee this,” one of the board members say.
“You and me both,” I mutter. “You and me both.”
Suddenly the table vibrates as a giant baby bangs his fists against its surface. Sam’s face is as purple as the carcass of the stingray he murdered for sport. “My office. Now.”
“I’m not going anywhere alone with you, sir,” I say, holding firm. “You want to grab my ass again, you do it in front of witnesses.”
My revelation garners gasps from my direct reports, yet the board members are either too old to react or they’re veterans to corporate dramas far more scandalous than this. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt and choose Option A.
“You’re done. You’re fucking done!” Sam’s calling me all the derogatory names in the book. I’ll never work in this town again. Blah blah blah. You know, the usual rant from the playbook of tiny pricks.
I nod along, unfazed by his tantrum. “Showing your true colors now, are we?”
“Get out. Someone call security and drag this bitch out of my office.”
“Sit down, Sam,” I say like an unamused headmistress. “I’m expecting a call.”
My composure pisses him off even more, and, letting loose a few more curses, Sam springs out of his chair and comes at me.
I don’t know if his intention is to seize me and kick me out of the building in lieu of security, but Rhys topples his chair and plants himself in Sam’s way.
“Get out of my way, ASSET man,” says Sam, attempting to shoulder past him.
Rhys stands firm, scowling at Sam with his fists furled.
I really hope Rhys doesn’t intend to fight Sam.
Sam harpooned a stingray for his own entertainment, and he’s probably into extreme sports given all the time he has on his hands.
Rhys is a computer nerd who, while taller than Sam by a few inches, is twenty pounds underweight.
David vs. Goliath situations never actually work out for David in real life.
It’s not even a question of who will win. It’s a question of how badly Sam will wipe the floor with Rhys.
“This doesn’t concern you, man.” Sam eyes me over Rhys’ shoulder. “She’s some dumb cocktease who’s about to be unemployed for life! I hope this is worth it when you’re begging for scraps on Skid Row.”
“She’s a fellow ASSET expert,” Rhys calmly strips off his blazer and rolls up his sleeves, “and my friend.” He looks uncertainly at me. “My only friend, technically my best friend. So yes, it does concern me. Apologize to Carina, or I’ll —”
Sam snorts. “You’ll what?”
“Be forced to make you.” If he had a glove on hand, he would’ve smacked Sam in the face with it. It’s come to this.
With a shake of his head, Sam reluctantly strips off his jacket and plucks at his cufflinks. “Alright, ASSET man. I don’t want to do this because I like you, but I’ll make it quick.” He gazes around the cramped conference room. “You want to do this here?”
“Let’s go outside,” Rhys says. “By that grassy patch next to the soft-serve place…”
“Wait,” Paulina says from the other side of the room, “are they going to fight?”
“I think ASSET man challenged Rylan to a duel,” Luke mutters.
Lilly sighs. “ASSET man is defending the Director’s honor…”
“Yo! ASSET man!” Ramin begins to roll up his own sleeves. “Need help?”
The meeting is quickly getting out of control.
If I don’t step in and put a stop to this, Sam is going to put Rhys in a headlock in front of my favorite soft-serve spot, ruining the ambience while scaring off the tourists.
And Ramin, itching to fight in the name of synergy, might get hurt as well. This could go wrong in so many ways.
I have to stop this. Now I’m rolling up my own sleeves and ready to grab the boys by the ears when my work laptop buzzes with a notification to open an incoming video call.
“Wait! Everyone, sit down. We have a visitor…” I hit Accept and project the familiar face on the whiteboard.
Rhys does a double take as recognition sinks in. The last time he saw this lady was at Coyote Flame. “Jackie?”
“Rhys!” Jackie, who appears to be lounging by the pool in a cheetah string bikini, sits bolt upright. “What are you doing here?”
Before he could reply, Sam notes Rhys’ surprise and turns to the projection. “Mom?” He whirls on me in horror, looking like he’s close to lunging over Rhys to strangle me. “You called my mother?”
“Sam! You idiot!” Mrs. Rylan snaps at her son over the video call. “Carina sent me a transcript of your texts, photos included. What is wrong with you?”
“Mom,” Sam wipes the sweat from his brow, “it’s not what you think. I can explain everything.”
“Oh, I’d like to hear this,” she folds her arms across her bountiful chest, “and you better offer this poor girl an apology. It’s a sick thing to do.
Imagine sending photos of your privates.
Exposing yourself like this. Poaching a stingray…
” She shakes her head in disgust. “I raised you better than this.”
As Sam’s mom fires off a list of the many ways he’s disappointed her, I set my laser pointer down and quietly leave the room.
Consider this my resignation, effective immediately.