Monday, 13 July 2015

Fucking Interns: African Job (episode 5) part 2

....Continued from Previous Episode

13.13 hours
“Guys, you do realize we have got to steal this Style Guide before work closes at two?” Wendy asked as we were all back at the Intern Floor brainstorming about what to do next. All around us, everyone was glad they’d be witness to Maggie’s transformation on Take A Look At Me Now. Some of them wishing the hours would just speed away or they’d just die (Selfina) since they had tickets and didn’t want to miss it. Others were just thrilled they would go home and settle for the pre-recorded version which would be aired later in the day on national television.

In the Hall, there were two opposites. The ones humming to Pharell’s Happy and us who were giving the former the stink eye.

“More importantly, we have to nick the Style Guide before Winfred gets back.” I stated. That left us with a lot of hours on our hands. And we all shared a few seconds of silence grateful for Tracy Bloom’s opportunity, though we’d die to voice that we were grateful to anything that vile. Shudders.

My gaze busied itself idly around the floor, people-watching with no ideas in my mind. Really, how could we bust the Style Guide in full view of cameras? The moment we stepped into the office, we were walking into a bear trap. Heck, did we even know where the cameras were?

In my moment of boredom, and lack of ingenuity, my eyes fell oncorBootylicious Penny who was arriving from the elevator with her trademark seductive walk with too much wiggle if you asked me. Though I'd be lying. Whatever she was doing with her butt—damn—I was very fascinated. Shake on, Sister!

“Woah!” The geeky guys at the tech department chorused as she walked by. Obvious of their attention she took her time. A few of them whipped out their phones and began snapping away.

Instinctively I turned to Wendy, she’d noticed the guys with their cameras and was probably thinking what I was thinking too. This was all gross. Really, were they allowed to do that? My lids flew wide open an instant as though something foreign had been injected into my system. Oh, my God! Wendy’s lids were wide apart too revealing eyeballs the size of a plastic deodorant ball. She was definitely thinking what I was thinking.

“The tech guys!” We both screamed in synchrony at Justin who was being too hard on himself he hadn’t thought of a plan yet by banging his head repeatedly on his keyboard. He stared at us questioningly. “The tech guys.” We repeated. I let Maggie speak because I would have found it eerie if we both said the same words. “We could let tech guys help us!”

“You think?” Justin asked huffily.

We both sensed his reaction was down to jealousy. He obviously didn’t like to think there was someone a few inches away smarter than he was. Naturally, we would have let this slide. Let him have his position as first place in class. But Wendy and I knew we needed the Style Guide more than we did his ego.

We shot up from our cubicles and together we headed for the tech guys to discuss our idea. Hoping they’d somehow be willing to help.

13.18 hours.
“No!” Just like that a guy who happened to be the brain behind all the other interns in the IT department, their very own Justin, crashed our hopes.

He was tall, caramel-complexioned and broad-shouldered—the kind of guy Wendy appeared to be flirting with. There was only so much tension that could translate into chemistry. For a while I was beginning to feel like a third wheel, and if not for Wendy hooking my arm tight in hers I would have back-pedaled towards our department.

“This is really not fair.” Wendy cut the guy off as he stared down at her from his snobby nose. “You could help, but you are not willing to? Should I grab this conversation by the balls and show you how much I really need this to go down well.”

“Even if you did, there’s nothing I would do to make you happy. Thanks for coming but I’d appreciate it if you go back and pretend we didn't have this con—ahem—versation.”

Christ, I could tell he’d wanted to say consummation. Kill. Me. Now. It felt so awkward standing in the way of two bulls on heat looking like they wanted to tear each other apart as much as they wanted to mount each other. Grr.

He walked off around us, obviously checking out Wendy’s butt. Then he headed for his cubicle.

Wendy spun which made me follow suit. “An arrogant cock, don’t you think?” She spat without waiting for my reply. “Look, Kobby, I can’t deal with another guy with a smug expression.” She gestured towards Justin who had on the I-Told-You-These-People-Wouldn’t-Help expression and dragged me towards the elevator. “We’d walk around for a while, then come back telling him we were pondering on their request to help, but decided against it because we saw they were amateurs.”

All I was thinking was: WHEN DID THE STYLE GUIDE BECOME THE LEAST IMPORTANT TOPIC OF DISCUSSION, ANYWAY? But I didn’t say, I put on my best behaviour and walked with her to the elevator.

In the elevator, a girl rushed to join us before the doors shut close. Wendy pressed a button to the highest floor even though we had no business there. I turned to the girl to ask what floor she’d be getting off at. But I found her staring already. She looked away the split second our eyes met. I recognized her as the girl from the IT department. The only girl who didn’t look any different from the geeky guys wearing contact glasses, a dull top and unflattering pants which if you looked closer, from their cut, you’d admit they belonged to her father passed on by his own father. Now I was impressed by her cherished family possessions, but not their values.

“We have company.” I whispered to Wendy, before turning and finally deciding to speak to this girl. “Hey, are you following us?”

She looked behind her as though there was someone else, pretending she had no idea what I was on about. Then after a few seconds of my unflinching gaze, she covered the distance between us tentatively. I had an image of a man moving closer to pat a lion on the back. Wendy and I exchanged We’ve Got One Weirdo On Our Hands glances.

“Um, Hi.” She began shakily. “I’m from the IT department…” she faltered, her shifty gaze looking between us and the blank over our heads. “I might have been listening in on your conversation with Eric. That guy, he’s called Eric.” Wendy and I nodded in synchrony afraid if we said a word she’d run over to a corner of the elevator cowering in fear. “I think I can help.” We nodded again. “Not me, haha. The idea I can help you… Anyway, Eric, um, he’s a bit difficult.”

“You mean, a jackass.” Wendy couldn’t help keeping her mouth shut.

“Yes.” She giggled nervously. “You could say that.” An awkward silence settled between us, during which the elevator’s humming sound dominated the atmosphere. She looked like she was battling with revealing something. “OK, so the thing is,” she began in break-neck speed, afraid if she slowed she might stop being brave. “Eric and the team are working on an app called Boot Your PC. It’s a collection of videos taping the movement of that girl with the big bottom—“

“Bootilicious Penny.”

“Yes, her. Yes, the app has videos of her butt. Up-close and personal videos of her butt doing... things as she walks. Nasty and sexist if you ask me. I’m not the brain behind this idea, neither am I a part of it. Because it’s so wrong. And should they be doing something like that without her concern?”

“No, they shouldn’t.” I backed. “That’s hardly legal, is it?” I looked to Wendy who shook her head vigorously as though she had any legal knowledge whatsoever.

“I think you could use that to—“

“Blackmail him!” Wendy was grinning, then turned to me. “We could blackmail him into helping us.”

This was so wrong. We should invite the cops. We should terminate work on the app. But I found myself thinking of that Style Guide in Winfred’s office desperately waiting on us to bust it out.

“Do not tell him I said any of this to you.” Weirdo Girl who’d suddenly gained some confidence was barking at us, then surprised at her own reaction she plastered a hand to her lips. “The thing is,” she spoke still with her hands clumping down on her mouth. “I, err, want him to teach me stuff, err, coding stuff, he does really neat apps. He’s not budging yet. But… I am sure he’d come around.”

Wendy and I stared at each other. A grin threatening to break at the corners of our lips. If we were translating right, this girl meant: I want Eric to like me. And he’s not liking me. Yet! But eventually one of us would die anyway. And there’d be nothing left of my love for him and his resentment towards me.

The elevator ground to a halt.

“Oh, yes, why on earth would they call that app Boot your PC?” Wendy wanted to know.
Seconds later, she was running towards the IT department, dragging me by the arm and banging her fist on Eric’s desk upon reaching her destination.

“I hate it when you come so soon.” Eric stood up from his desk, crossing his arms over his chest like—I had to side with Wendy—the arrogant cock he was.

Wendy’s smile was deadly, and had this you-do-not-mess-with-me air. “How about I boot your poppy cock?”

13.25 hours
“All clear.” Eric announced after hitting several keys on his computer like the genius he was. The genius Justin who was far behind Wendy and I on the Editors’ floor near Winfred’s office didn’t want to be around. “I’ve deactivated all the cameras. You should be happy now, shouldn’t you?” He hadn’t stopped glaring at Wendy since she revealed she could take down his app if he didn’t help. Clearly blanking my existence. Christ, from their gazes only, you could tell the nasties they’d be doing if they had the building all to themselves. They’d probably start on Winfred’s desk…

Just as Justin who’d moved past us seconds ago was already doing. Together we searched all Winfred’s drawers. And surprisingly, there was nothing like a Style Guide in there. Unless you considered a recent issue of GQ, no, there was nothing.

Wendy and Justin stared at each other with a look that said, what now? But I wasn’t having any of their shit. I wasn’t giving up, I was hauling the contents of his drawers onto his desk, cussing every time I was through with one and seeing no Style Guide. There were lots of papers, lots of stapler pins, lots of issues of GQ. And there was a black diary. I lifted it up.

This guy?” Bummy was suddenly laughing in my ear as I roamed my hands along the leather-bound spine. “How do you say obsessive compulsive in Spanish… I spend minutes watching him rush back to and fro a taxi with a planner in hand reciting his to-do-list or something, then stamping his feet hard on the pavement when…”

“Kobby.” I was immediately transported to reality at the concerned voices of Justin and Wendy realizing I had zoned out. I sunk into Winfred’s seat and flipped open the diary, the others coming behind me. I was hoping somehow I was staring at this Style Guide. But sadly, there was nothing that was a detailed account of the mode a particular publication employed to keep its content in line with its decided format, I recalled from my research on Google earlier.

In my hand was Winfred’s planner, true to bummy’s words and there were nothing like words, only…

“What’s all these series of numbers?” Justin inquired leaning on the desk with Wendy and peering closer.

“Coding.” We hadn’t noticed Eric was still in the room. We also hadn’t noticed he was an inch away from Wendy whose butt was jutting out as she leaned against the desk. It was all so weird. I’d thought they’d start over at Winfred’s desk but I hadn’t realized they’d like Justin and I to watch! His hips wasn’t grinding her butt… yet, but he was so close you could tell that was what he had in mind and more. And Wendy wasn’t perturbed. He had a thing for butts and she had a thing for arrogant cocks.

“It’s a language people use in place of words.” Eric took up the diary and although naturally we were supposed to turn to face him, Wendy remained in her position. He scrunched his eyes over the text, speaking, “Remember back when we were young in school we used to say one-four-three instead of I-love-you which was generally code for telling girls you’d like it if they flashed you?” Justin and I looked at each other curiously, then nodded anyway. “Your boss is writing in numbers but each of these numbers represent a word.”

He placed the book down on the desk. I scanned through the series of numbers on the dim black lines against the paper’s white background. Each of these series of numbers ended with a nine. And despite, Eric’s enlightenment, I couldn’t put words to these numbers.

“Could you help?” Justin asked hopelessly, giving up. He couldn’t always be the smart one, by his voice you could tell it pained him to ask.

“No.” Eric shook his head sadly, he went on speaking giving us an education on special coding and normal coding. Normal coding was the one-four-three kind, he said, making inconspicuous thrusting movements towards Wendy’s butt. That was a code easy to translate and it had nothing to do with the love-kind, it was a code fuelled by lust in which pronouncing the second word would lead you to sinking your teeth into your lower lip. I was disgusted and turned away looking back on the desk, flipping the pages of the planner as Eric spoke. He gave reasons why Winfred’s coding was special pointing the nines that ended each serial number on a line. I remembered why Bummy mentioned Winfred found it hard recalling his to-do. Why would he put it in this form anyway? I was forced to think Winfred was keeping a lot of secrets. Secrets he didn't want anyone finding out at any cost. Secrets we were looking at.

“Hell.” The word escaped my lips as I stumbled on a page that had 'Style Guide' written boldly and underlined. The page was empty except for the words, ‘It’s Safe and Sound’ also underlined.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

My heart skipped a beat at the voice that had found its way into Winfred’s office. Wendy leaning on the desk, next to me, gasped. I forced myself to look away from the page in the diary. I found myself staring at a ferocious-looking Taylor.

“Kobby, I had a dreadful feeling you were here when I didn’t find you at your cubicle.” She was standing at the entrance, looking into the office dubiously.

“Taylor, you can come in now, we’ve disabled the cameras.” I announced, sending my gaze back to the diary.

“Really, this foolishness has got to stop,” Taylor inched closer folding her arms across her bust. She reminded me of my mum when her buttons had been pushed too far. “What the heck are you on to? Do you want to be sacked from your programme?”

Wendy cast me a glance that said, who’s this girl and who does she think she is. Exactly my thoughts.

“It’s no biggie, Taylor. We are just…” my voice trailed off wondering if I could trust her. Hell, this was Taylor I was talking about, the girl who single-handedly introduced me to a new club every night I was down as a butt intern. She was the yang to my Grey. “Looking for the magazine’s style guide.”

Taylor’s mouth dropped in shock, then she stared as though deciphering if we were really serious. Naturally, I was supposed to explain what a style guide was. Because no intern would actually know what a Style Guide was. But by her reaction, I could tell Taylor already knew what it was. A different look flitted across her features. A look that I was finding hard to read… until…

Taylor turned her back at us and headed for the door. I gasped. Was she…? Did she…? “Are you guys following or what?”

We scrambled towards the exit. Well, except Wendy and Eric who insisted on giving us a few minutes head start (—"Because someone has to tidy up this mess.")

13.45 hours.

The supply closet was tucked on the last floor. Taylor led all three of us as she went on about a place called The Cellar. It was housed in the supply closet and contained all documents Glitz considered highly confidential. Ideas for future shoots, bureaucracy to booking expensive locations for shoots, layouts for pages the art directors had designed to be used by Glitz anytime there was need for a template change. All these were information competitors would die to have. Hence, they were secretly housed in The Cellar which was guarded by top security.

“You understand that this is very foolish,” Taylor spoke, stepping out of the elevator, we followed after her. “If we are caught…”

“Let’s not think of getting caught then.” Wendy cut her off. “This is important to our programme. Winfred isn’t training us at all for whatever reason. He’s making us think he is training us.”

“If I didn’t hate him and my boss so much, I wouldn’t be helping.” Taylor stated.

But there was something that was nibbling at my brain.Something I needed to find out before all this new information about some cellar we all whispered about like it was some kind of Voldemort, despite the inexistence of life around these parts. “How did you know about the Style Guide?” I wanted to know. A teensy part of me was disappointed she knew this and never cared to tell me. But I wanted an explanation before I made a great show yelling: HOW COULD YOU? ET TU, BRUTUS? HOW COULD YOU?

“Before anyone has to get to The Cellar they have to access the Supply Closet. And all employees are banned to enter the place owing to recent cases of clothes disappearing into thin air.”

“Clothes, what kind are we talking of?Are they a lot?” Justin inquired, he seemed thrilled by this info.

“Lots.” Taylor answered dismissively and resumed where she left off. “Cruella sends me anytime Winfred wants to have a look at the Style Guide. I really had no idea it was important you guys saw it. I just thought it was something secretive just for the editors’ eyes only.” We halted at a door. “Call Eric.” Taylor ordered us. She’d earlier sent Eric on an errand to handle matters of security. The Supply Closet was being monitored by a host of security men who made note of the entrances and the exits of every single person, Taylor had informed. Eric, who now was into our idea—or very into Wendy, suggested he could distract these security men a bit. He said something about needing people to test his beta app anyway

.

Whatever he was doing, Wendy nodded as she ended the call. “He’s given permission. We could enter.”

“Not you, me.” Taylor ordered. “Guys, hand in your tickets. And step far away from this door.”

We obliged, seconds later, hiding down the corridor, we watched a trio of squealing girls rush out of the Supply Closet. The Supply Closet Girls, Taylor had informed. It was as though they’d been liberated from decades of slavery.

Ugh.” Justin grunted. “We could kiss watching Maggie’s transformation goodbye.”

“Not all bad,” Wendy said soothingly. “We could watch the pre-recorded version.”

“We should have bargained hard.” Justin said relentlessly. “We should get something for losing our tickets, shouldn’t we?” He was parting from us.

“Justin!” I called out with warning as he headed for the Supply Closet. “Do not enter! Abort this minute! Retreat!” But my military lingo was only understood by me as Wendy scuttled away into the Supply Closet with him. I shrugged. Perhaps, there was no harm in checking out the place

.

“Oh. My. God.” I heard Justin yelp on my way in. I silently prayed he didn’t follow that up with the next line of Nicki's Anaconda. But fortunately he was lost for words. And so was I as I took my first steps into what was called The Suppy Closet.

The room was huge with a ceiling lined with fluorescent tubes reflecting a glow that made the place seem like a science lab. But instead of lab rats and cages… There were clothes. Clothes everywhere. Clothes on hangers. Clothes folded up on shelves. Clothes worn by mannequins. There were accessories. Accessories dangling from torso mannequins. A tingling sensation pricked my skin as I stared and stared. Was this the feeling Alice had when she’d stepped into Wonderland?

“Guys!” We heard Taylor call from some room at the back we all guessed was The Cellar. “I told you not to enter!”

But we were having none of her complaints. We were too engrossed in our surroundings to give a damn about the real reason we came here. Someone remind Wendy that she wasn’t supposed to be cooing next to a Donnie and Brouke bag. Someone remind Justin he wasn’t supposed to be stopping around every mannequin and howling in her ear. Someone remind me I wasn’t supposed be wiping the white floorboards off every dirty footprint the others left on my sleeve, considering the place as heaven and should be remained pure, dammit.

Wendy and I watched as Justin zipped past us, we realized he wasn’t just howling at the mannequins, he was stealing their clothes off them.

“Justin?” I called after Wendy and I had shared a curious look wondering if early senility had set in. “You do realize those are female mannequins, don’t you?”

He turned to us sharply, remembering he hadn’t been the only one in the room. “Oh.” He smiled wryly, embarrassed. “I just, err, wanted to fold them up in a neat file and place them on the shelves.”

If we weren’t so wise we’d have believed him. Yeah, Justin, just as we shit through our mouths and speak through are arse

"It seems, Justin, our friend, who is a boy,” Wendy huddled close to me saying sotto voce, “loves to play dress-up.”

“Don’t you think I know?” I whispered back and together, like shy school girls sharing a secret, we broke into impish giggles “Hehehe.”

“Guys! Guys!” Taylor’s call rounded us up to the door that led to The Cellar. She sounded so worried I thought she’d awakened Dracula who might be holing up in there. It was called a 'cellar' after all.

“Taylor, this door doesn’t open.” I tried effortlessly spinning the metallic rudder but it didn’t budge. I looked to Justin for help who in turn gave me a "Not me" expression.

“I locked you out.” Taylor replied from the other end. “I didn’t trust that you wouldn’t come in here. Anyway, listen, there’s a safe here. You need a code to unlock it. I didn’t know.”

The three of us exchanged horrid glances.

“Try, Winfred.”

The two stared at me like I was the dumbest human they’d ever encountered. Even Bummy would have been smarter.

“It’s a safe, Kobby, numbers not letters.” Wendy informed with an eyeroll.

Numbers? The word triggered a memory. Immediately my mind transported back to Winfred’s Planner. But how on earth could I have memorized any of the series of numbers? All I could remember seeing most was the dominant nine that ended every line. Then as if by instinct my mind flipped the book back to the page in which Style Guide had been underlined boldly. “It’s safe and sound.” The words fell out of my lips lightly. I screamed to interrupt Wendy and Justin who were guessing numbers off-hand. “It’s safe and sound!” I pulled out a sheet of paper from the little notepad I carried around everywhere to jot down the specifics of Winfred’s coffee orders. “Four! Three! Five!” I yelled to Taylor on the other end, my voice expectant.

“It didn’t work.”

My heart sank. My hope plummeted

“Four, three, five, nine.” Justin yelled over my gloom. “Add a nine, Taylor.”

16.00 hours

The TV was showing Tracy Bloom speaking into a mike to a live audience who were cheering her.

“I really can’t wait to see what Maggie would turn up as.” Wendy spoke, raising her glass of frothing beer to her lips.

We were at the pub down the street Maggie and I frequented a lot of times. The very pub Justin had vowed it was the last place he’d enter. And true to his words, though he’d entered he was eyeing the place as though it was a dump and wrinkled his nose anytime one of the busty waitresses leaned over the round wooden tables dropping off orders. The bar ahead of us was smattered with smokers who were creating halos on each other’s heads with their fumes. Besides the smoke, the place smelled like puke which hadn’t been scrubbed off the stained floors diligently.

But I loved the cosiness of the place still; The barman who was chatty and showed the pics of his adorable twins anytime anyone ventured a greeting. The waitresses who winked at you anytime you caught their eye. The singer who had a scratchy voice butchering Old Man Donald and the guests who looked so laid back and didn’t give a crap about the harmful effects of second-hand smoking, never missing an “ee-ya-ee-ya-oo” line.

After our little stressful heist, Taylor had run off to Cruella who’d left a thousand messages on her phone, her anger increasing with the number of exclamations she used in each. We had called Maggie dying to see her transformation and she advised if it was really necessary we should meet at the pub. Justin had protested, he'd rather we have a classy late lunch at La Chaumiere along with Wendy who walked into the place and was surprisingly not filled with self-loathe as the former.

“I pray she really has transformed.” I backed Wendy’s speech, sipping from my glass. “I promise, if I see her wear one of those stupid hats reserved for English weddings I’m going to yank it and ship it to Pippa.”

“They are about to show her.” Justin shushed us as he pointed at the TV. We turned to watch as the live audience engaged in a countdown from ten Tracy Bloom had begun.

“Six, five,” Wendy joined, “four, three, two, one!”

“Hey, guys.”

Suddenly we weren’t concerned about the TV anymore, we cared more about reality. And standing in front of us was Maggie holding shopping bags who didn’t look anything like the transformation we’d envisaged. Shit, we’d thought she’d picked the Taylor Swift hair. But there was Maggie, grinning at us with a load of bags, her blonde Nicki-lookalike wig constantly falling over her lids.

“Guys, really, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She came closer to our table. “It’s same old Maggie.” Which makes us so sad. “Is that what I think it is?” she squealed pointing at the hugely bound white book on our table.

I spanked at her hands. “We were waiting for you to arrive before we opened it. We are yet to even decide who’s taking it home tonight.”

“I’m sorry, guys.” Maggie shook her head lowering herself onto the empty chair by me. “Not me, I have got something to see to.” She waved the bags in our faces. “Bummy needs these more than I do. I figure it would be exhausting teaching her to style her hair without leaving any signature twigs or dried leaves. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from the vile Tracy Bloom, it’s never to give up.”

“Not me either.” Wendy was next. “I have something to see to.” I stared at her closely. She was not letting anything. But over her shoulder, I heard a group of guys holler at something on the screen. Oh, I realized Eric had been the reason her protests had been silenced the moment she walked into the pub. Someone was going to get shagged out tonight.

“Not me too.” Justin spoke, eyeing Maggie’s bags.

Together Wendy and I shared a conspiratorial wink. We knew what he was up to. Hehehe.

“So, I guess I’m taking it tonight?” I asked pulling the Style Guide from the centre. I was supposed to be the one to take shots of all the pages and return them to Taylor as agreed so she placed it back. I had a long night ahead, I guessed eyeing the ginormous book.

“Oh, I’m dying, let’s open it already.” Maggie said eagerly, a visible shudder running through her from her excitement. She subconsciously reached for my beer. I spanked her hand. When one was dying the last thing they needed was beer.

“First,” Justin took out a bottle from his bag. “We should never end the night without Dom.” He signalled a waiter for separate glasses though we’d protested we were very much fine with creating a concoction of beer and wine.

“Here’s to us,” I was the one to raise my glass first. “like Winfred calls us, the Fucking Interns.” Together we clinked our glasses with smiles the size of fingers of plantain.

“Ready?” Justin drew the Style Guide to his side and opened it before we nodded assent. “First rule,” He read like Anderson Cooper, who we were sure loved to play dress up too. Hehehe, Wendy and I shared the look. “Italics shouldn’t be used anyhow. Do not italicize a word unless it’s not English. Note: Capitalization should be applied to clipped words invented by the crazy fashion editors—who in this extensive writing I refer to as the Fucking Eejits. Words such as GORG, FAB, WOND, STRON.

We all guffawed loudly. I cast my eyes around me, watching the others listen with interest as they sipped their wine. It was teamwork that had got us this far, and acknowledging we’d need to stand together in order to fight our horrible boss. We’d grow stronger this way, accepting our fate that we were, after all, Fucking Interns and had to take the law into our hands sometimes. I thought of how livid Winfred would get wondering how we were ‘editing’ without his help, and a satisfied smile crossed my lips. What's funny bitch? What's funny?? I shifted my focus to Justin's reading and listened attentively.

"Oh, so he calls the fashion editors 'Fucking Eejits', and the beauty editors 'Fucking Barbies'?" Wendy was shaking her head in disbelief. "The boss might be Fucking more in his writing than in person—"

"Oh, and the plot thickens," Justin interrupted Wendy to inform us of another complication. We drew our heads closer to listen eagerly...

But of course, we hadn’t realized opening the book would lead to a chain of events we never predicted and wouldn’t ever wish on ourselves.

But what was risk without a little danger, eh?


Author's Note: Thanks for reading. Again, all feedback goes to kobbytettehgyampoh@gmail.com if you need a reply. I do not publish comments on this blog and I would like to have a more personal relationship with each commenter. Stay tuned for Next week's episode.

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READ FIRST EPISODE: A Good Day To Learn Hard.


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