Page 5 of A Good Girl's Guide to Dominance
Jeremiah suddenly lowers his voice to a whisper. “Mr. Thomas is in his office with boxes. So are Eddie and Jake. Everybody is trying to sneak and watch them while they pack up their stuff. The police are standing next to Mr. Thomas’s door, watching as he sulks and grabs his belongings. We think he got fired.”
“Mr. Thomas can’t be fired, Jeremiah. He’s the Chief Marketing Officer. He owns the place.” I drop down in my seat and close the door, suddenly in a hurry to get to Sandcastle.
“From what I’m staring at right now, hewasthe Chief Marketing Officer,” he says as I start up my car and back out into the street.
“What the hell? Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes if the traffic isn’t crazy. But, it’s Philly so I’ll see you in half an hour.”
Jeremiah sucks his teeth. “Do yourself a favor and get here faster than that. You don't want to miss this.”
My drive to work is as annoying as it always is. Stopped traffic comes into view the second I steer the car toward the highway exit, and I come to a complete stand still behind a forest of brake lights. While I’m stuck, I think about what could possibly be happening at my office. I’ve been at Sandcastle for nine years, and Mr. Larry Thomas has been the Chief Marketing Officer, or CMO, the entire time. He owns the company and has staffed it with a couple of his annoying ass sons who strut around the place in high positions with the knowledge that they will own it after Daddy is gone. The nepotism alone should guarantee that the Thomases will remain in control of the ad agency for the next few generations, unless they decide to sell. For the life of me, I can’t think of what could have happened that all three of them would be departing. Maybe they did sell. But why would they do that?
Working for Mr. Thomas hasn't been all bad. He is your typical boss who thinks he’s better than everyone who works beneath him, but he’s not racist, sexist, homophobic, or islamophobic, and he doesn't make passes at the women who work there. He has promoted me three times since I started working for him. Considering how ugly the world is these days, things could be a lot worse than him just being out of touch and inconsiderate. We’ve never had any run-ins that made me want to quit and go job hunting, but the thing about people in the upper class like the Thomas family is that you never truly know them. It wouldn't surprise me if there was a treasure chest of secrets that Mr. Thomas keeps stashed away from us lowly employees. On the other hand, his sons are little pieces of shit who don't deserve the privilege their father's hard work affords them.
Jake is the oldest, and he’s as arrogant as he is ugly. While the younger brother, Eddie, just graduated from Temple last year and already thinks he runs the place. He even started sleeping with one of his father's secretaries, and when the relationship fell apart he got her fired. If Mr. Thomas really is leaving, I pray he takes those little fuckers with him, because I’d hate to be stuck working for either of his offspring.
When traffic finally has a breakthrough, I weave my way up the road and into the Sandcastle parking lot as fast as I’m able. I check my phone one last time for messages on FET—I’m a glutton for punishment, I know—and hurry out of the car, jogging all the way to the door. When I step inside, I’m shocked to find exactly what Jeremiah described, the scene still playing out in perfect detail. Larry Thomas and his two sons are in his office holding large brown boxes. Jake and Eddie’s offices are already cleaned out. The three of them take their time taking pictures and diplomas off the wall, filling their respective boxes with everything Mr. Thomas owns. I keep my eyes on them as I walk to my office and find Jeremiah standing in the doorway with a puzzled look on his face.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask, turning to the side so I can slide past him. “They’re really leaving? No one knows why? This is crazy.”
Jeremiah pulls at the bottom of his burgundy button-up to straighten it out, keeping his brown eyes on the unfolding scene in front of him.
“As of right now, no one has been told a thing,” he says.
“What about Sierra? She’s VP of Marketing, surely she’s heard something. Is she taking over?”
“She has been in and out of Mr. Thomas’s office, but she hasn’t addressed the rest of us. They had a conversation when he first arrived, but it didn't last long and Sierra didn't look happy afterward.”
I sit at my desk and start up my computer, hoping that maybe something came down to the heads of each department, informing us of a pending change of leadership. Brushing my locs over my shoulder, I scan my inbox, skimming through the subjects of each new email and finding nothing from Mr. Thomas.
“There’s nothing in my email either,” I inform Jeremiah as I lean back in my seat. “So, it’s a blackout. No new information in or out. Something big must’ve happened.”
“Clearly,” Jeremiah answers. “The police being here certainly adds a thick layer of mystery and awe. Surely there must’ve been a quieter way of doing this if they’re trying to protect a big secret. Now they have the eyes of the entire marketing department on them. Were they really expecting us to just go back to wo—”
The sound of my phone vibrating on my table cuts off Jeremiah’s last word. He turns around and catches me grinning as I open up the Tinder app to see that I just matched with someone—a dark-haired personal trainer with a perfect hairline and a strong jaw. His skin is caramel brown, just like mine, and he has hazel eyes. In his profile pic, his smile is mesmerizing as he stares directly into the camera lens like it is a person instead of his phone. His name is Marcus, and I swiped right on him two days ago.
“Really, Nia?”
Jeremiah’s voice snaps me out of my lust-struck gaze, and I look up to find him staring at me with a twisted mouth.
“What?” I say with a shrug.
“Tinder? Now?” he asks. When I don't respond he continues. “So the butt plug situation wasn't enough to put you on hold for a little while?”
“Okay, number one—no it wasn’t,” I answer. “And number two—mind your business. A girl has needs, and Zane wasn't evenallowed to try to meet them. I’m not a big fan of masturbation, so yes, I’m going to keep playing the field.”
Jeremiah gawks at me for a moment, shaking his head. “You do you then, I guess. Good luck with all of that.”
“Thank you, because clearly I need it.”
Jeremiah and I laugh just as the silence in the rest of the building is finally broken.
“Umm, excuse me. Can I get everyone to gather around for a second?”
Jeremiah snaps his head over as I jump out of my seat to see what’s going on. Mr. Thomas and his sons are standing in the center of the office, their boxes placed at their feet while the uniformed officers stand next to the exit watching. Everyone who owns an office leaves it, while the people from the bullpen stand at their cubicles to see what’s about to happen. I step out of my office and lean against the wall by my door. Jeremiah goes to his desk in the bullpen and stands behind his chair, clutching it as he awaits the news.
Mr. Thomas stands in the center in a wrinkled white button-up and blue jeans. His thinning hair is a mess and he has newly formed bags under his eyes that stand out amongst the rest of the wrinkles. His entire aura is disheveled, and his sons don't look much better. He clears his throat, his expression one part sadness, two parts embarrassment. Jake and Eddie both look down at the floor as their father begins to address the room.
“Some of you may have already heard the news. Most of you probably haven't. While it would've been easier and less humiliating for me to do this in the middle of the night while you were all at home, I decided to do it now because I wanted to be the one to inform you of what has happened. If you haven't figured it out from the fact that my sons and I have cleared out our offices, I will be stepping down as CMO of Sandcastle. I am leaving, as are my sons, Jake and Eddie.”
