Page 9 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

Not unlike the certain ex-husbands who couldn’t wait totrade you in for a younger model. Ex-husbands who were threatened. Who were cold, were calculating.

Ex-husbands who made you regret the decade or more years you’d spent doting on them just for them to walk out the door without a second glance.

Ex-husbands like mine.

The elevator dings as it lands on my new office’s floor, and I shake off the memory.

And speaking of doting…

Today, I’m the very picture of it. Because it’s my first day in my new position.

I adjust my blazer - navy today, because wearing red two days in a row feels a bit on the nose - and stride through Drake Enterprises' gleaming lobby like I belong here. Like I didn't just create Seattle's most expensive wet t-shirt contest with their CEO less than seventy-two hours ago.

"Ms. Gallo!" The receptionist practically jumps to attention. "Mr. Drake said to expect you. I have your security badge and... um..." She glances at her screen, clearly confused. "Access to the executive floor?"

I bet that directive caused some morning drama in HR. Nothing says "welcome aboard" quite like giving the woman who assaulted you with Dom Pérignon unlimited access to your office.

"Thank you..." I check her nameplate, "Jenny."

"Oh, everyone calls me JennyFromTheBlock." She grins, then immediately looks mortified. "I mean, not everyone. Just... you know what? Never mind. Here's your badge."

I take the badge, already mentally drafting my next blog post.

Note to self: Tech companies trying to be "fun" and "casual" by encouraging nicknames is definitely getting a paragraph in my next takedown.

The second elevator opens directly onto the executive floor,all gleaming glass and mahogany. Very "we have more money than taste." My kind of target.

"Ms. Gallo." Emma Martinez, Drake’s executive assistant I remember from last night, approaches with the cautious air of someone dealing with a bomb disposal. "Your office is this way. We've set you up next to Mr. Drake's suite."

Of course they have. Keep your friends close and your champagne-wielding enemies closer.

"How thoughtful," I say, following her down the hallway. "I assume that's so Alex can keep an eye on me? Make sure I'm not stockpiling any more beverages?"

Emma's professional smile doesn't waver. "Mr. Drake thought it would facilitate better communication regarding your... cultural initiatives."

My cultural initiatives.

Because that's definitely why I'm here. Not at all to gather intel for the biggest tech industry exposé Seattle's ever seen.

My office is exactly what you'd expect from a company trying too hard to look progressive: One wall entirely glass (because apparently privacy is for people who don't value "transparency"), a standing desk (because sitting is death), and - I kid you not - a meditation cushion in the corner.

"The meditation corner is a new initiative," Emma explains. "We're very focused on employee wellness."

I resist the urge to ask if they considered maybe just not working people to death instead.

"Perfect," I say instead, setting my laptop bag on the desk. "I can already feel my chakras aligning with our synergistic vision."

Emma's eye twitches slightly. "Mr. Drake has asked that you join this morning's executive meeting. Nine-thirty in the main boardroom." She pauses. "Coffee will be served. Not champagne."

"Shame. I do my best work slightly buzzed and heavily vengeful."

She leaves quickly after that. I wait until the door closes before pulling out my laptop and opening a private browser window.

Time to let @MizzByteMyAlgos weigh in on corporate wellness initiatives:

"Breaking: Major tech company thinks meditation cushions will fix toxic work culture. Because nothing says 'we care' like making you do yoga while answering midnight Slack messages. #TechBroLogic #WellnessIsForWinners"

I hit post and start setting up my workstation, trying not to think about how surreal this is.

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