Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 23753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
0/10 stars. If I could give this a**hole CEO a negative rating, I would. He’s never been wrong a day in his life, turns our meetings into hostage situations, and I swear he cuts people off mid-sentence just to hear himself talk.
I thought employee surveys were supposed to be anonymous.
I also thought it was a great idea to fill one out after half a bottle of cheap tequila… instead of finishing the quarterly project he’s been hounding me about for weeks.
Turns out, I was wrong.
One week later, our CEO is in the middle of a boardroom speech about “transparency” when he pulls my survey up on the big screen—and reads it aloud, word for word.
Including my name.
I’m so effin screwed…
Firing me would’ve been the merciful option.
Instead, he decides to “make an example out of me.”
Now I’m his shadow—dragged into every meeting, roped into client dinners, and shoved onto impossible deadlines that mysteriously appear on my desk after midnight.
He says it’s a “lesson in professionalism.”
I say it’s punishment from a devilish bully with a very long memory.
And if hell hath no fury like a scorned boss, mine is about to make me believe it
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
THE CEO
LUCIAN
Welcome to Hell on Earth…
The digital screen in my executive lounge blazes fiery orange, my face burning at the center of the flames like a storybook villain.
I sip my coffee, waiting for the next insult.
Remember: NEVER make eye contact with Satan, our “beloved” CEO.
Now my face is slapped onto a serpent, above a collage of every person I’ve fired this year—all of them in matching T-shirts: Fuck Lucian Pearson.
On any other day, I’d probably find this amusing, but with a huge IPO looming, the last thing my staff should be doing is plastering this nonsense on every screen in my building.
I’m definitely firing whoever did this.
“You know…” My father stares at the screen, shaking his head. “When I was in charge of this company, I knew every employee by name. I knew when their kids’ birthdays were, and hell, I even got invited to all their weddings.”
“You had twenty employees—total, and your company was nothing like the one I’ve made it into today.”
“My employees loved coming to work, and they never compared me to Satan because I treated them like family.”
“Family on a payroll…”
“Your mom and I wanted them to be happy because happiness equals productivity. And when you add those things together, what do you get, son?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I’ve never believed in that equation.”
“Clearly.” He crumples his cup and tosses it toward the trash bin.
He misses it—as always—and my assistant Brian picks it up and re-shoots.
“That was a very nice shot, sir.” He lies. “You’ve still got it!”
“I know.” He smiles. “I would’ve been in the NBA if I didn’t get into business.”
Right… “Brian, can you give him a tour of the conference level I renovated last month?”
“Don’t bother.” My father huffs. “I’ve seen enough of what you’ve turned my business into, and I’m sure it’s just as soulless as everything else.”
I grit my teeth.
“Isn’t being worth one billion enough, son?” He looks at me. “Do you really need to go public with an IPO to strive for even more money?”
I don’t say a word.
We’ve traveled down this road of conversation too many times before and our final destination is always Misunderstanding Lane or Animosity Avenue.
Somehow, he’s forgotten that he begged me to take over his company when he was bleeding money, when his “family” employees were taking his kindness for weakness and stealing millions right in front of his eyes.
Within five years of me taking over—after putting a lot of distance between me and the growing staff and taking a far more ruthless approach to “business”—Pearson Industries grew from a small upstate paper supplier to the top supplier in the country.
I still pay him and my mother CEO-level salaries even though they’ll never have to lift a finger for the rest of their lives.
“I’m worried that you’ll never find true happiness in life, Lucian.” My father is still talking. Unfortunately. “You barely have any friends, I never hear about you dating anyone, and your mother is worried we’ll never get any grandkids from you.”
Okay, that’s enough for the day. “I need to get to work, Dad. It was nice seeing you here uninvited. Again.”
“You looked beyond handsome on the cover of GQ last month.” He ignores my wish for him to head for the exit, pulling a wrinkled magazine from his breast pocket. “I refuse to believe that you can’t pull a single woman in this city. Unless—are you bad in bed? Is something wrong with your dick?”
Jesus… “There’s nothing wrong down there. Trust me. I just don’t have time.”
“Well, you would if you reconsider the IPO,” he says, putting the paper away. “Rethink that for me and your mom, please.”
“Okay, Dad. I will.” I nod, even though I won’t.
I can’t… I’ve come too far.
He smiles and looks at Brian. “Before I leave, can you post a reminder in his schedule about his mother’s upcoming birthday celebration? It’s a multi-day event.”
“It’s already been done, sir.”
“Good.” My father walks to the hall where his personal driver is standing near the elevator bank.
As always, Brian and I wait until they descend out of view. Then we walk to the windows and make sure that they actually get inside the waiting town car. Sometimes, my dad will turn around and return to the building to chat with my employees.
We’re in the clear today, though.
His car pulls into Manhattan’s traffic, and I exhale.
One crisis down. On to the next.
“Okay.” I look at Brian. “Tell me that he hasn’t spoken to any media lately, and that he didn’t do any damage while he was here today.”
“He sent a mass email to every employee, encouraging them to fill out ‘Rate the CEO’ surveys ahead of the next all-hands meeting.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “It went straight to spam as always, right?”
“No.” He hands me his tablet, showing me the subject line of an email that came from my account.