Page 3 of Devilish Bully
I open my email—searching for the words “quarterly report.” Within seconds, an entire page of emails from me to [email protected] appear.
Twenty-six. All sent. All unanswered.
Confused, I immediately call Brian.
“Yes, Mr. Pearson?” he answers on the first ring as always.
“Who’s the director of the auditing department?”
“Sean Garrett,” he says. “Oh, wait actually…You fired him for incompetence three months ago over not turning in some reports.”
Well, that checks out. “I still don’t have the reports, though.” I lean back in my chair. “Did I ever hire a new auditor?”
“No, sir. You, uh, told Human Resources to promote the next person in line.” He pauses, and I hear his keyboard clacking. “The current head of auditing is Miss Kendall Clarke.”
“Don’t tell me I’ve been emailing a dead account all this time.”
“Doubt it, since we no longer give out name emails,” he says. “Just position-based ones. Her address should be [email protected].”
I check my sent box again, double-checking my spelling.
It’s correct.
“How sure are you about her having access to this email account?”
“One thousand percent, sir,” he says. “She emailed me a few questions about a budget yesterday.”
“I see.” I tap my chin. “So, this woman is ignoring me…”
“The entire financial department is really overwhelmed and overworked, sir.” He always tries to take up for these people. “I’m pretty sure it’s not personal.”
“Okay then, Brian.”
“Would you like me to look into this for you tomorrow?”
“No.” I type a new email. “I’ll be nice and give Miss Clarke one last chance…”
THE ACCOUNTANT
KENDALL
The following morning
“Why can’t you tell your boss that he’s an insufferable butthole?” My niece Myra stares at me through my bedroom mirror. “It’s not fair that you can’t get off early on Fridays…”
“Trust me, I know.” I adjust my shirt, amazed at her level of wisdom at just eleven years old. “But I told you before why I can’t do that, remember?”
She taps her lip. “Because he’s a reincarnated demon?”
“Exactly.” I smooth my hair one last time before spinning around.
Setting out money for delivery drivers and the activity list, I make sure she has everything she’ll need while I’m away for the day.
“I really don’t need a babysitter, Aunt Kendall,” she whines. “I’m almost a teenager.”
“Um-hmmm.” I kiss her forehead and head to the door. “Don’t keep her waiting outside today. It’s raining.”
I wait a few seconds before opening the door, anticipating a usual morning meltdown or a faux emergency, but Myra simply shoots me a sad smile and waves.
