“Listen, Rob, Roy, Rick, whatever the hell your name is. I need those invoices processed and on my desk by nine o’clock Monday morning.”
Justin Pearce made his way down the hall, Bluetooth in his ear, as he continued to berate his hapless assistant on the other end of the phone. Pearce was the model for the successful middle man- agement type. A graduate of Northwestern University’s school of business at twenty-one, he was aggressively recruited by Baxter and Marshall right out of college. By the time he was twenty-three, he had risen to the rank of Junior Analyst. At the age of twenty-five, he was a Senior Analyst. By the age of twenty-six, he found himself in a private office on the forty-second floor, and he made his first million by the time he was twenty-eight. If the rumors going around had any truth to them, he was on a shortlist of potential names for an upcoming junior partner spot. Of course, assuming that his assistant pulled his head out of his ass and got those invoices finished.
“I’m sorry, did I somehow give you the impression that I gave a fuck as to whether or not you have plans tonight?” The frustration was almost enough to bring him to tears. What part of this request did this fuckwit not understand?
“Just to make sure there is no miscommunication, let me make this clear for you. Either you get it done, or I will have them find me somebody who can follow simple directions. Do you understand me?”
Pearce shook his head in disgust as he approached the elevator bank. This was the third assistant he had gone through in the last two years. Unlike most of the other departments in the building, Pearce had no in with HR. This meant there was no way to find out who was responsible for this seemingly endless parade of incom- petents. Whoever it was, he couldn’t shake the suspicion that they were just as useless. He reached out and hit the call button for the elevator.