Page 11 of Devilish Bully
“I guess morale is a lot better than you expected, huh?” Penelope smiles at Mr. Pearson, motioning for him to take the mic.
“Thank you all for ranking me so high.” He smirks as if he knows his score is a fraud. “I’m looking forward to ushering in a new era of transparency here to make your time in my company better, and to show you that I mean that…”
He pauses.
“I’ll read some critical reviews at random to show you how serious I am about change.”
“What a great idea!” Penelope exclaims. “Here, let me put on the randomizer for you, so you can read them off the screen.”
Behind him, a score and a bolded paragraph appear.
“10 out of 10,” he reads. “Mr. Pearson is the best CEO I’ve ever worked for, and my only complaint is that he doesn’t get the recognition he deserves.”
I cross my arms. That review could only be written by one person—Brian, his personal lapdog.
“The next one is an eight out of ten.” He smiles. “My only issue with this company is that sometimes there’s not enough breathing time between tasks and communication.”
“I’ll do better with that.” He smiles at the crowd as if we’re his fans.
“I knew I should’ve slept in and come late…”
“Read the one out of ten, Mr. Pearson,” Penelope says.
“Thewhat?” He looks at her.
“Eh, I’ll read it.” She clears her throat. “If I could give this asshole a 0/10 I would.”
The entire auditorium falls silent.
Mr. Pearson narrows his eyes as she reads.
“He’s never been wrong a day in his life, turns our meetings—which he only attends DIGITALLY—into hostage situations, and I swear he cuts people off mid-sentence just to hear himself talk.”
I try not to nod; whoever wrote that has balls of steel, and I hope they’ll reveal themselves later so we can throw them a party in solidarity.
“Okay.” Mr. Pearson clenches his jaw. “As far as this review...”
“Hold on, wait. There’s more,” Penelope says. “I don’t think he knows how to actually RUN a company, or how to treat employees. And despite the fact that he has time to star on GQ covers, nab features onAmerica’s Top Billionaireslist, this asshole still has time to harass me (DAILY) about a stupid report.”
Oh my god…That’s MY review!
The recognition of my words dawns on me, and my blood runs cold. Panicking, I search for the nearest exit sign.
Then again, no one knows it’s me, and I’m sure I’m not the only one he harasses. I can’t be.
“If he really wants to improve morale around this place, he can either start putting himself in our shoes or shut the fuck up and enjoy staying in his. Sincerely, Kendall Clarke.”
My face burns hot, but my hands are ice cold and slippery against the seat. My lungs won’t pull in enough air, like the whole room is closing in on me. I look down at my heels, praying they’ll move on to another review.
Nothing.
The only sound in the room is chairs creaking, people coughing, a soft squeal from the mic.
No, no, no. This isn’t real. It can’t be real. But the pinch on my wrist stings, and the room refuses to disappear.
I force myself to glance up, and every eye is on me.
Unsure of how to tell my colleagues to stop making it so obvious, I look around, and my eyes catch sight of Mr. Pearson glaring at me from the stage.
