Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Out of that door strutted Shirleen.
I was focused on her surprise appearance and the bags she was carrying in our very minimal time together the night before.
I didn’t miss her fabulous winter white sweater dress and bronze pumps this time.
“You rock a sweater dress,” I told her.
“I own seventeen of them,” Shirleen told me. “Guaranteed to get me a little somethin’-somethin’ when Moses sees my ass in a sweater dress.”
I started to smile but stopped when Marjorie declared, “Nightingale Investigations and Security Employee Handbook section three, paragraph two, subheading one, inappropriate topics of office discourse are to be reported directly to the office manager and dealt with in an efficient manner. First instance, a warning. Second, a written warning. Third, possible termination. Also, same section, subheading three, use of foul language in the office is prohibited. No report needed this time. I’m sitting right here.”
Whoa.
She totally did have the handbook memorized.
“You aren’t the boss of me,” Shirleen said.
“I’m the boss of this office,” Marjorie retorted.
“But you aren’t the boss of me,” Shirleen repeated.
“You’re in this office, I manage this office, ergo…” Marjorie let that trail off.
This could go on all day, so I cut in to ask, “Um…Marjorie, you know who you work for, right?”
“I do,” she snipped.
“And who works for them, yes?” I went on.
“There is no ‘boys will be boys’ allowed in this organization,” Marjorie replied.
“I hear you. That’s gross. Do the guys talk about sex a lot?” I tacked on that last one out of sheer curiosity.
“Never. Only Shirleen does,” Marjorie answered.
Interesting.
“But they have very foul mouths,” Marjorie added.
“I don’t want to push your buttons, honestly,” I said. “But, I mean, how bad is it really to curse?”
“The allowance of it is the end to a civilized civilization,” Marjorie declared.
I was skewing towards Shirleen’s side on this.
“I heard there was a study that said that people who curse, primarily using the F-word, have higher intelligence and verbal fluency,” I noted cautiously.
“I would need to see this study, and peruse who conducted it, assessing if they have valid credentials to research such a topic, because I don’t believe a single word of that,” Marjorie retorted.
I couldn’t share this information, because I didn’t bother to memorize this information when I was reading about it due to the fact I didn’t think I’d ever be called to cite my sources. But if memory served, it was an authoritative organization.
As I couldn’t do that, and Marjorie would accept nothing less, my only shot for a response was, “I think we might have to agree to disagree on this topic.”
“I don’t work with you. You can talk however you want,” Marjorie said.
I smiled. “Well, thanks.”
At this juncture, the door to the command deck opened and Knox strolled through.
“Hey, honey,” I greeted.
“Babe,” he replied, coming to me and giving me a quick peck.
Man, I loved watching him walk, his voice, his overall hotness and his quick pecks.
“I’m sure you’ve noted he stopped using his sling some days ago,” Marjorie bitched.
Shirleen rolled her eyes.
“Hit my head against that wall, sister,” I told Marjorie, and that was the truth.
She assembled some papers that were in front of her, tapped their edges smartly against the desk, put them back down, shot a look to Shirleen, a slightly less severe one to me and Knox, then bent over the papers.
“You see what I’m dealing with,” Shirleen said not-so-sotto voce.
I didn’t respond to that.
I said, “Those shoes were amazing. And the hat is perfect. Thanks for finding them for me.”
“Gotta say, buying a cowboy hat is a first, but I bested the challenge.”
“You totally did.”
“Nightingale Investigations and Security Employee Handbook, section one, paragraph four, subheading four, employees whose duties are confined to the office have two fifteen-minute breaks, one morning, one afternoon, and one lunch break, one hour, to be taken between eleven and one. This does not cover leaving early to go shopping,” Marjorie looked up from her papers to declare.
Shirleen watched her say this then turned to me. “The minute those handbooks were delivered from the printer, my life became a living hell.”
Marjorie opened her mouth, but Knox nabbed my hand and started dragging me toward the door.
He did this fast.
“We’re gone,” he announced.
Shirleen immediately turned and walked to the door to the inner sanctum, saying, “Good luck.”
“I want a verbal report,” Marjorie called after us. “From Luna!” she finished loudly and urgently as we made it through the door.
“I’ll call!” I yelled from the hall at the closing door.
After I did this, I wondered if shouting in the office and/or office building was permitted, and if so, Marjorie herself just committed a no-no.
Knox pulled me to the elevators.
“That isn’t as fun as I thought it would be,” I told him as we waited for the elevator to come.
“It could be funny, before the handbook. Now it’s just a pain in the ass.”