Rich and Bossy (Rich Boys)

2. Hazel

CHAPTER 2

Hazel

“Honey?”

I jolt when Mom touches my shoulder, which makes her jump, too.

“Sorry!” She gasps, laughing. “I knew you couldn’t hear me talking to you.”

“Sorry. Just absorbed in this.” I look down at the open textbook I was supposed to be studying from, knowing damn well I was just zoned out.

“You hungry? I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s okay. I mean, yeah, actually I am a little hungry.” I didn’t even realize I was hungry until she said something. It’s so bizarre how the body and brain work like that.

She runs a hand over my hair, the way she’s been doing since I was a kid. It’s the same shade of brown as hers, though I’ve always wrestled with curls that don’t want to behave. “You work too hard.”

“Could you write a note to my professor? Tell him that? Maybe I could get out of midterms.” I force a smile, because I want to smile, but I’m so exhausted.

Her laughter is as gentle as her touch. “I think notes from parents stop carrying weight after elementary school.”

“Sounds about right.” I manage to maintain a grin.

It eases some of the worry lines on her forehead. “I’ll make you a sandwich, that work?”

“Yes. Thank you so much.” I take a deep breath. “Should probably get back to this.” I gesture with my head toward the textbook.

The book looks so daunting. Probably because I’ve read the words and can’t remember a single one of them tonight. I could blame it on the fact I finished a shift already. That I’m tired and cranky and don’t want to be putting in the work on my studies, and that’s why.

It’d be a lie.

I know exactly why I’ve stared at the book, mind on edge, hackles raised. I know exactly what’s distracting me from focusing on what I need to do to get this done.

Once Mom walks off to the kitchen, I push away from my desk, throwing my arms overhead in a desperate attempt to stretch out some of the tension that’s built up. Tension that has nothing to do with how many boxes I packed today, but everything to do with what happened at my job.

I had him right in front of me. It was the opportunity I’d been waiting for.

I said what I wanted to say. Said it for all my coworkers; the only reason I’m still working there. I mean, I like the extra money, but I could make extra money anywhere with a lot less work. They’re like a second family to me.

All he did was smirk and snicker, talk down to me like I’m a spoiled brat. That was my chance, the last shot we had at getting something, anything to change down on the warehouse floor.

He wasn’t supposed to be a complete asshole and laugh it off. He wasn’t supposed to treat me like a joke. In all the fantasies I’ve had about finally cornering the CEO, I hammered him with complaints to the point he couldn’t believe it. Then he started firing everyone making these changes and everything went back to when workers had dignity and respect. In those fantasies, he asked all of us to forgive him. Then he’d pledge to implement changes at all the warehouses, and treat all the employees with the respect portrayed on pamphlets and to the media, about a family-friendly workplace where everyone gets along and works toward the life they want for themselves.

I knew my version was a pipe dream, but I thought he’d at least take it seriously. At best, he’d start asking questions and making inquiries. At worst, he’d say something apologetic and then we just wouldn’t hear anything back and nothing would change.

When he treated it like a joke, I just lost my cool. I have no doubt I’ll be written up for it, but I don’t care at this point. I have enough padding on my work record to absorb a write up and keep my job. If they fire me, I’ll be sad, but I can find more work.

It needed to be said. Someone has to stand up to this company. They’re bullying people.

At least I got the last word in and got to see him look a little worried. That was the only part that happened too fast . I still can’t believe he didn’t fire any little jokes back at me.

So that part was a small victory, but in the grand scheme of things, I got my ass kicked.

It wasn’t even a fight, just a comedy show. That jerk! I couldn’t believe it. How could he stand there and make jokes about stuff that affects so many of his workers?

Because he’s rich and hot, duh. The worse he treats everyone, the more money he makes.

Cheryl tried to look normal during her shift, like she wasn’t in pain every second she’s away from her baby. Anyone with half a brain could tell it was an act. I just kept looking over at her and getting more and more angry by the second. I even tried to see if we could band together and cover her shifts, everyone do an extra hour here and there. Everyone would do it, hands down, no questions asked.

We were told no, that it’s against blah blah blah company regulation, etc. She has to work so many hours a week to still qualify for her health insurance and keep her full-time status. Yeah, it can’t be relaxed one time? Give me a break. Basically, it would probably mean some extra clerical paperwork for someone in an office, and we can’t have that now, can we?

If Paxton Briggs won’t do anything, there’s no hope. That’s where my opinion falls on this.

How the hell could he just not know? What a liar. His business is behemoth and growing all the time. It’s one of the largest companies in the world. You can’t tell me they got to that point without having a clue about major workplace policies.

I’m sure a lot of people would say, “Hey, why don’t they just go get another job if they don’t like it?”

Yeah, yeah, that sounds great in theory and all, but no matter how miserable the working conditions are, people need to work, they need to eat. They’re desperate. Rapid has literally bought every competing business in our state and rolled them all up into their company. So, it’s not like there are a lot of choices out here.

The post office headquarters are like over an hour away. The bus runs straight from the city to here at Rapid, so it makes it easy for people who don’t have a car to get here.

It’s not like a lot of the workers here have the highest levels of education, either. Most of them are lucky to have a high school diploma, but they work so hard. They work as hard as anyone else, and they deserve to be able to support a family for working that hard.

Not to mention, employment is tied to health insurance. There’s absolutely no way Cheryl, with a newborn in the NICU, could up and leave her job, and go without insurance until the next job benefits kicks in. The interim insurance programs they have for people in that situation are way too expensive for her to afford anyway, even if she wanted to. She could use FMLA, but it’s unpaid. She’d get evicted. She told me.

My heart breaks for her. This would never happen in Europe. Those people know how to treat workers. I talked to a friend in the UK, and I couldn’t believe the type of benefits they get. They take months-long vacations. Yes, months, as in plural. I’m sure not all the grass is greener on the other side, but it seems pretty dang green.

Fortunately, for me, I’ve never had to worry about any of that. Sometimes I almost feel bad, knowing how good I have it at work. No, my family’s not rich, but there was never a question of how I’d support myself while going to college. I work because I don’t want to be a mooch while living at home. I want to work for everything I have.

It was one thing in high school, but college is a different story. They don’t ask me to give them rent or food money, but I do it anyway because I wouldn’t feel right. I’m also not going to borrow a dime to go to school, just in case something happens and the economy goes down the tube.

I’ve seen way too many people with insane amounts of student loan debt. The crash in 2008 happened, and then the interest just kept piling on. Throw in Covid and you have a disaster on your hands.

No, I’m so lucky that I won’t have any loans either. For some people it’s impossible to chase their dreams without racking up a ton of them. For some people right now, it’s impossible to survive without debt. I know for a fact there are some people here living paycheck to paycheck, and putting bills on credit cards to make sure their kids eat.

My parents still handle my health care, since I’m still eligible, and it’s better coverage than Rapid provides. They handle a lot of things for me, until I graduate and land on my two feet in a career I want. I have a roof over my head, a decent car that gets me where I need to go with minimal maintenance needs and good gas mileage. I’m safe. I have security.

That’s what I want for other people, security and dignity. I can’t imagine the anxiety of not being secure.

How many people at Rapid don’t have that security? How desperate are they? So desperate they’ll pee in a bucket to avoid being written up at work, possibly fired.

Maybe I’m an idealist. People my age are supposed to be, aren’t we? We’re supposed to rage against the man, and not know anything because we haven’t lived in the real world yet, right? I think that’s an excuse to shut up people who have the energy to fight. People who haven’t been beaten down by reality yet.

I get the sentiment though. I get it, I want to have some humility, but I’ve seen this stuff happening with my own two eyes. It’s not right.

Nobody is going to convince me that’s just doing business as usual, and that it’s okay because it’s what’s best for the shareholders.

I thought this country was past all that when we passed labor laws. The days of sweatshops and treating poor people like dirt. These people will do anything, and I mean anything, to make some extra money they don’t need.

“Oh crap.” I look at my book, and I just read like four pages and didn’t retain a single word of it.

Should I go back to studying? Oh no, I continue the epic rant in my thoughts.

The fact that this asshole Paxton Briggs smirked like human resources would do anything when we complained. Like anyone really thinks any kind of a whistleblower system for anything ever works. Oh no, it just identifies the troublemakers who won’t do what they’re told, and they get secretly, but legally shown the door.

There’s no way he can really be that naive. Right?

I’m sure I was an afterthought the second he got off the elevator.

I highly doubt he looked into any of our concerns. I would’ve heard about it from Paul Morrison, the manager of our warehouse. I wasn’t hauled into an office, so it means he forgot about me immediately. No, he didn’t forget. He just didn’t care.

“Here you go.” Mom sets a sandwich down.

I jolt again at the way she keeps ripping me out of my daydreams.

“Sorry. Sorry. You’re so jumpy.”

“No, Mom. I’m sorry. Seriously, I’m just a little on edge.” I was so busy feeling sorry for myself and fuming I forgot Mom went to make me a sandwich.

I glance down at it. Turkey and Swiss, my favorite, complete with a pickle spear and potato chips on the side.

She then pulls a glass of chocolate milk out and sets it beside the plate. “You look like you have a lot going on.”

She knows I love chocolate milk. I want to chug the whole thing right now and see if it’ll drown my problems away.

You really are a child. Like Paxton said.

That was uncalled for! Who doesn’t love chocolate milk?

“Thanks, Mom. Seriously.” I lean toward her, so she can give me a hug.

“Don’t work too hard. Get some sleep.”

“I will.” Probably a lie.

I’m too irritated right now to eat, but she’ll worry even more if I don’t at least take a bite.

So I do, grinning as she stands by the doorway.

She smiles a little when she sees it, then disappears into the hallway.

At least one of us is happy. I chew slowly, almost too full of resentment to swallow. Then I realize what I’m doing and pull the bread off, smother a layer of chips inside the sandwich, then smack the bread back on top of it.

The crunch is extremely satisfying.

You’re not a child?

Leave me alone, brain!

How do people like Paxton Briggs sleep at night? I wonder what he’s doing right now. Probably jerking off in a pool of hundred dollar bills.

Oh, we could watch that.

Dude!

Okay, yeah, he’s not ugly at all. He’s gigantic in fact; way bigger than he looks in the pictures.

Six-four, dark chocolate brown hair, and light gray eyes. His hands looked big and strong enough to crush walnuts.

Okay, stop!

His physical appearance and demeanor mean nothing to me. He’s heartless, shallow. I love comedy and humor as much as the next person, but you don’t make the kinds of jokes he did. It wasn’t funny. What his company is doing is not funny.

It’s literal evil villain comic book stuff.

Oh, and right after Paxton and I finished our little chat, Jim Schultz almost lost a finger because he was going too fast trying to remove plastic from a pallet of boxes. Went right through his finger, blood everywhere, cut to the bone.

What happened next was hazy at best.

Management did not look happy that he decided to go to the hospital for it. Insisting our on-site medical team could get the bleeding to stop.

Oh yeah, can they fix nerve damage too? The medical people at work try their best, but there are no neurologists there. It’s a three-person office for thousands of employees.

Management wasn’t happy because it’ll mean a worker’s comp claim. Not to mention, if they lose a guy for the afternoon, production will be down. It’s insanity. Every single day.

I slam the book shut and take a giant chomp into the middle of my sandwich, just to hear the crunch.

Why am I even trying to study? I’m just wasting time. I might as well be reading The Iliad in Homeric Greek.

Instead of going through my notes to try to get something out of this study session, I open the browser on my laptop and do a little mindless scrolling through social media. Maybe it’ll help with this mood I’m in. A few videos of dogs and cats becoming best friends ought to get this train turned around.

What catches my attention and holds it, though, is an article about Campbell Page. The sight of her name grabs my attention and makes me sit up a little straighter. I love her so much and follow all her accounts. She is such a kick-ass woman, a union leader from Chicago who now lives in New York City. She does so much good for so many workers. As soon as I learned about her, I had to know more, to the point where I went to Chicago once to hear her speak when she was in her hometown for a conference. She’s basically my professional lady crush.

Honestly, if it weren’t for her, I don’t know if I would’ve had the courage to say those things to Paxton in the elevator.

Even right now, it feels weird thinking about him by his first name. That’s how they do it. Elevate these people at these companies so that you feel like they’re above you. Just thinking of him by his first name feels wrong, like he should be Mr. Briggs. It’s ridiculous.

I read the new article Campbell posted on her account. As the words sink in, I can feel my adrenaline spiking. I sit back in my chair and let out a deep sigh all at once, like something hit me. Something big.

I know what I’m going to do. It’s ambitious as hell, but I don’t think there’s any other way.

Paxton Briggs is not going to like it. Not one bit.