Rich and Bossy (Rich Boys)

13. Paxton

CHAPTER 13

Paxton

I’m at my desk, but I might as well be miles away. I haven’t stopped grinning like an idiot all morning, and I really need to stop before people around here get suspicious.

I don’t think they’d deduce who I’m smiling about, but they don’t need to know anything about my personal life.

I’m not surprised she decided to leave. A shower would be great, but I’m sure she had things to do today, the same way I did.

What a fucking shame this all has to be so complicated. Then again, I’d probably have never met her if she hadn’t ambushed me in that elevator. There are thousands of employees at that one warehouse. She could work here for forty years and there’s a good chance I’d have never met her.

If it were up to me, I would fix everything. I’d restructure the entire operations department, put an end to some of this. Everybody would get a raise, they’d stop being monitored, everybody would get more than enough time for breaks, extended maternity leave. I’d love to be able to go through each and every employee’s file and make sure they have everything they need, within reason, to make them happy.

It just doesn’t work that way. Especially now. The Minnesota warehouse is kind of like a test warehouse, where they try out new policies, and from what I hear, they’re really happy about the productivity there.

I asked around, and it’s getting ten percent more packages in and out, with a twenty percent reduction in staff to do it, with all the automation and the new robot tech. It’s great for shareholders, investors, executives. Fucking amazing, actually.

If those numbers are replicated across the whole company, it will make us unstoppable. The stock price will go through the roof, there will be gigantic dividends and bonuses. I will be out the fucking door the second I say, “Well, hold up guys. Maybe this isn’t so great after all.” Large investors don’t see our workers as people, no matter what our core values and PR statements say. We hired someone to come in and design the website and make us sound all family friendly, paint a good image. We give to charities around the area, but it’s all calculated just to make people think we’re a good company, for tax write offs. Everyone does this. That’s how the game is played.

At the end of the day, it’s about numbers. Profit, stock prices, and if those don’t keep going up, they replace John and I with someone who makes those numbers go up. The board is so happy with the results from the Minnesota warehouse experiments, already, they will not tolerate any pushback on it whatsoever.

I wish I could get Hazel to understand. I actually don’t agree with a lot of this. I think it’s too far. My hands are tied. But at least I can still have some control, can attempt to steer things as lightly as possible, if I maintain the reins. They will hire a literal dictator to replace me.

Her and the other people over there aren’t thinking about this. All they think about is how bad it sucks now, and not how bad it will suck if John and I are forced out. It’s not like the days when we controlled everything and we were private. We’re public, and a lot of the reason we are as big as we are, is because of the same people who want a return on their investment now.

It’s a fucking balancing act trying to keep everyone happy. It’s an impossible thing to do. I’m going to piss people off no matter what, but how could they expect me to give up control of something I started in a dorm room? It’s my life.

This was so much easier when those workers were just numbers on a spreadsheet. When you analyze numbers, it doesn’t tell you shit like, “Hey, this lady has a kid in the hospital. She’s struggling to put food on the table and her husband just got laid off. This guy is taking care of two disabled parents and has a chronically sick kid.”

No, the numbers just say, hey, this person produces x resources, and consumes y resources, and then it gives you a green or a red light. Asset or liability. Then you slowly shed the liabilities.

But now? Hazel’s humanizing everyone. I mean, I know they’re real people, but when you’re as big as we are, you have to make tough choices. Choices that are good for the company as a whole, not one small speck of sand on a beach.

Can you just ignore the shit we’re doing at that warehouse, though?

I asked around a little, and it’s true. They are having employees wear monitoring bracelets. IT fucking loves it. They’re getting all kinds of data to analyze about how people move through the warehouse. They make logistics flow better and they’re updating procedures to make us more productive.

It doesn’t seem as bad as Hazel made it out to be.

They said management gets sent the information, but it’s just to help them improve, not to discipline anyone. I don’t know. This shit makes my head hurt, thinking about it.

HR didn’t have any reports of people pissing into containers to help keep their numbers on par with what’s expected. Maybe they’re hiding them from me though?

Is Hazel just exaggerating things?

“Knock knock.”

I groan, my head falling back as John enters the room. “You know I fucking hate that. You don’t have to say knock knock when you knock on the goddamn door.”

“And you know I know you hate it, which is why I do it.” He flops down into a chair like this is my living room rather than my office. “Classic troll bait.”

“Don’t be a bitch, dude.” I laugh.

It’s a quote we both laughed at to no end, when Jonah Hill says it in Get Him to the Greek , when he’s doing all of Russell Brand’s drugs so he won’t do them. We’ve been saying it to each other for almost a decade.

He laughs back, like it’s the first time he’s ever heard us say it.

Classic.

At least his presence gives me a reason to think about something else. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to let you know we got the final figures for the quarter ahead of the quarterly report. Everybody is going to be happy. Projections for the holiday season are a solid twenty percent over last year. Which means nobody should fuck with us for a while.”

We hit record profits last year, too. “No shit. That’s great news.” I only wish I felt as great as I should. At what cost did we get these numbers? That’s a shit ton of fucking money. We could take one percent of it, and distribute it to employee benefits, and they’d be the best paid employees in the world. In our industry anyway.

“I have my managers in operations trying to do everything we can to hit the estimates, especially with the holidays coming up like a fucking express train.” He looks at the numbers, studying the information in front of him.

“Oh, and in case you weren’t aware.” He glances up from his report. “We’re going to squash that little annoyance over at the Minnie warehouse.”

He’s doing what? “Little annoyance? Squash?”

“You okay? The fuck?” He stares at me like I’m an alien and shouldn’t look as dumbfounded as I do.

My voice is way tighter than it should be. I should be playing this off better. It’s just this unbelievable rage is firing up in my chest, at hearing Hazel described as a little annoyance. “Just trying to get clarity.”

He grins. “Oh, well, we’re going to shut that little bitch’s mouth, with all due haste.”

I just stare at him, blankly, doing everything I can not to unload on him.

What the hell is wrong with you? He’s your best friend. He’s trying to protect what you built together. Don’t care.

“The union bitch? Jesus, I don’t know her name.” He looks away, like he’s thinking hard about it.

“Hazel?” I growl her name, teeth clenched.

You need to hold it together, right now.

I’d rather him give me shit for knowing her name than hear him call her a bitch again. He has no idea how close I am to being right in his fucking face.

Calm. Down.

“That’s the one. Hazel. Kind of a fucking name is that? Can tell she’s young as hell.” He laughs at his little joke. “Anyway, it’ll be taken care of shortly.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“You sure?” His laughter is almost uncomfortable now. “Because it’s been keeping me up at night. That chick running her yap up and down the floor.”

If I grit my teeth any harder, they’ll start to crack. Does he not feel the tension in here and not know to drop it or get the fuck out?

It’s a relief when my phone rings.

It’s Bree. “I have Mark Hampton and Dan Walters for you.”

Hampton. Walters. In other words, two of the company’s biggest shareholders, which they own through their hedge fund.

I meet John’s gaze.

He lifts his brows when I lower mine.

“Hampton and Walters.”

“Shit.” He even straightens his tie, as if either of them can see him.

Though I’m starting to wonder if there are cameras hidden in my office, listening to us too. This place is going full-Orwell in a hurry, at least according to Hazel. She’s got me paranoid about my own damn business.

“Yeah, we can take it.” I tell Bree before putting the phone on speaker, then waiting a beat for the call to transfer over. At least we have good numbers reports to keep them off our asses.

“Mark, Dan. I have John here with me. How are you?” I hardly need to ask.

The fact that they’ve gotten together like this, even through a conference call, tells me John isn’t the only one excited about our numbers.

I glance over at him, and he looks down at his reports, then shakes his head at me like they haven’t seen these yet .

Well fuck. What is it then?

“We’d be a lot better if we were sure things were under control over there.” That would be Mark, who always sounds like he’s about three seconds away from dropping dead. Old bastard.

How much money does he need? It’s all just a game to him, amassing as much as possible, like a gambling addict.

Granted, he’s got a hell of a lot of energy for a man his age, and we wouldn’t be where we are now without his investment. But still, every wheezing breath makes me cringe to think I could end up like that one day, still bitching about profit numbers.

“What would lead you to believe things are out of control?”

Fuck, fuck, I already dealt with John about Hazel’s shit. How the hell do these guys have their hand in what happens at the Minnie warehouse? Jesus. Don’t they have anything better to do? It’s one warehouse.

There’s silence on the other end for a moment before Dan clears his throat. “So the labor organization rumors we’re hearing are just rumors?”

John throws his arms into the air, like the fuck did I tell you?

“It’s a non-issue. We’re handling it. Couple rogue employees making a few waves, but nothing to be concerned about.” I shrug at John.

He gives me a thumbs up like it sounded okay.

I swear to god his wheezing gets worse, like he’s on oxygen.

“Any talk of unionization is something to be concerned about. So we are worried.”

“Not saying it’s not concerning. Just shouldn’t be concerning for you. A few employees out of hundreds of thousands. They haven’t even had a meeting yet. We’re watching it closely.”

I’m being way harsher on these guys than I usually would be, but they need to back the fuck up and stay out of my company. They don’t know the shit we do. They didn’t build it. They came in after it was successful.

John winces like I’m going too far. Fuck that. I’m not letting anyone scold me like a child.

“You’d better be. These things spiral, fast.”

“I’ll send you our current projections, then you can call us back and thank us. How about that?”

John’s eyes about pop out of his head, but fuck that, I know how these guys operate.

“We would like to see some positive news. It would help matters.”

“Prepare to have that hairpiece blown off your head then, Mark.”

John’s trying not to laugh his ass off. Thank God I have these reports right now, to play in this conversation. Maybe it’ll distract these old cocksuckers for a while.

“I’ll scan them in and email them right over. You won’t be disappointed.” John manages to sound professional as he says it.

I hit mute on the phone. “Twenty bucks says his old dick gets hard one last time.”

John keels over in his chair. Then suddenly, I hear Bree laughing.

Fuck, I think I accidentally went to her line instead of muting it. “Sorry, Bree.”

I click back to the conversation and hold a hand up at John, like play it cool .

This time Dan is speaking. “Okay, we’ll have a look at the numbers.” Fortunately, he’s in his sixties and isn’t a complete condescending fuck head. He’s always even-keeled, unemotional. “And we look forward to hearing nothing more about the warehouse issue.”

“Sounds like a winner.”

I wish Hazel could see this side of the business, the shit I have to deal with. I get it, it sucks.

We have to kiss a little ass and smooth some ruffled feathers from time to time. Everyone thinks a CEO is the best and easiest job in the world. It has perks, but it’s stressful as shit, trying to balance everything. A parent has to make a couple kids happy. I have to try to make hundreds of thousands of people happy, not to mention millions of customers who will tell me to fuck off in a second if I do something they don’t like.

Neither man says a word, so I press on. “The warehouse issue is dealt with. John’s overseeing it now.”

John nods.

I feel myself balling my hands into fists because I know they’re going to talk about it some more. They need to take their good profit reports and fuck off until next quarter. I don’t owe them shit beyond that.

“It needs dealt with immediately.” Mark’s old voice hardens a little.

“Well, we’re managing the company. So thank you for the advice.”

“That is true.” Mark takes a deep breath like he’s struggling for air. “And we can dump our investments at any time, and that will cascade, the same way a bunch of union organizing will.”

I do so love having my balls in a vice. I especially love it when some old fucking geriatric bitch who never worked a day in his life, living off multiplying an inheritance, wants to tell me how to run my company that’s made him over a billion dollars.

“Well, if you want to dump a winning investment, be my guest. I thought you were good with money. Show the world you’re not.”

John’s eyes get big.

“You know what, kid, I actually like you. The fact you’re willing to fight, makes me think maybe you are going to do something about the problem.”

I’m so done with these assholes. I want to break this old man’s neck for calling me kid . Now I know how frustrated Hazel must’ve been when I called her a child.

I need to go court some different Wall Street guys, maybe force these dicks out of their shares. The problem I’m facing is the same one Hazel doesn’t understand, that she’s not thinking about. Who would replace them? And would they be worse?

Either way, this is a shit sandwich. Dress it up however you want, it doesn’t change a fucking thing. I have to find a way to get Hazel to stop, or it’s going to get ugly around here, no matter how good our projections are.

“Already done.”

The men seem to accept that and even manage to sound upbeat before getting off the call. John must’ve sent them the reports and they’re looking at them when they hang up.

John’s smart enough to read the room and can tell I’m pissed off.

Before he leaves, he makes sure to look at me like I told you so , asshole . He closes the door behind him, and finally I can release the breath I was holding.

I grab the edges of my desk and squeeze, as hard as I can, until I hear the solid maple starting to crack. Motherfucker.

Even now, after all that, all I can think about is one thing.

When can I see Hazel again?

Soon. That’s when it’s going to happen. I don’t give a shit. I’m not done with her.