I had to at least attempt to salvage things—enough to get a recommendation that wasn’t scathing. So I took a deep breath, pulled up my big-girl panties, and opened my laptop to refresh my memory on the specifics of what I’d written to the president of Lexington Industries, since more than half of it was fuzzy. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought. I clicked into my sent box and opened the message.

Dear Mr. Jong-un,

I shut my eyes. Shit. Well, there goes that wishful thought. But maybe he won’t get my humor; he’ll just think I got his name wrong. That’s possible, right?

I reluctantly went back to reading while holding my breath.

I’d like to formally apologize for my minor indiscretion.

Okay…not a bad start. This is good. This is good.

If only I’d stopped reading there.

You see, I hadn’t realized I worked for a dictator.

Ugh.

God, I’m such an asshole when I drink too much. I blew out a loud stream of shaky breath and ripped the Band-Aid off.

I was under the impression that I had the right to do what I pleased while on my own time. Unlike your silver-spoon ass, I work hard. Therefore, I deserve to blow off some steam once in a while. If that entails getting a little sun on my ta-tas while on a girls-only private vacation, then that’s what I’ll do. I wasn’t breaking any laws. It was a nude beach. I could have gone fully nude, but I just chose to go topless. Because, let’s be real—I have great tits. If you’ve watched the “offending video,” which your uptight human resources director saw fit to provide me on a thumb drive along with a bullshit termination letter, you should consider yourself lucky you got a glimpse of them. You might even consider adding it to your spank bank, perv.

I’ve spent more than nine years working my ass off for you and your stupid company. You can both go to hell.

Bite me,

Ireland Saint James

Okay. I had a steeper uphill battle to smooth things over than I’d hoped. But I couldn’t let that deter me. Maybe el presidente hadn’t even read my first email yet, and I could start my next attempt by asking him to ignore the original one.

If I wanted any shot of finding a job within the industry, I couldn’t have a bad recommendation. Since they’d violated my privacy, the least they could do was be neutral. I broke out in a panicky sweat and chewed on my fingernail. I wasn’t above begging. So I copied and pasted the president’s email address and opened a new message. Time was of the essence here.

But just as I started to type, my laptop pinged, letting me know a new email had arrived. I clicked on it, and my heart nearly stopped as I read the email address: [email protected]

Oh God.

No.

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was suddenly dry. This was not good. I just wasn’t sure how bad it was yet.

Dear Ms. Saint James,

Thank you for your email…which this silver spoon read at two in the morning, because I was still at the office working. From the tone of your letter—one littered with grammatical errors from a woman with a journalism degree—I’m assuming you wrote it while drunk. If that’s the case, at least you no longer need to get up in the morning. You’re welcome.

For your information, I have not viewed the video you referred to. But if my spank bank ever runs a little low, perhaps I’ll dig it out of my trash folder—along with the standard letter of recommendation your superior had planned to give you.

Sincerely yours,

Richie Rich

I let out the breath I’d been holding. Oh fuck.

Chapter 2

* * *

Grant

“Mr. Lexington, would you like me to order you some lunch? Your two o’clock just called and is running a half hour late, so you have a little break.”

“Why can’t people ever be on damn time?” I grumbled and pushed the button to the intercom to speak to my assistant. “Can you please order me Boar’s Head turkey and Alpine lacy swiss on whole wheat? And tell them one slice of swiss. The last time we ordered from the deli, the guy who made my sandwich must’ve been from Wisconsin.”

“Yes, Mr. Lexington.”

I opened my laptop to catch up on emails since my back-to-back meetings had turned into back-to-wait yet again. Scanning for anything important, my eyes stopped on one particular name in my inbox: Ireland Saint James.

The woman was obviously a drunk, or nuts, possibly even both. Though her email had been more amusing than half the mundane shit waiting for me. So I clicked.

Dear Mr. Lexington,

Would you believe my email was hacked and someone else wrote that ridiculous letter?

I’m guessing probably not. Considering how well educated, intelligent, hardworking, and successful you are.

Am I pouring it on too thick?

Sorry. But I have a lot of shoveling to do.

Is there any chance we can start over? You see, contrary to what you probably think, I don’t drink that often. Which is why when a very unexpected termination letter showed up at my door, it didn’t take much to bury my sorrow. And apparently my sanity.

Anyway, if you’re still reading, thank you. Here’s the letter I should’ve written:

Dear Mr. Lexington,

I’m writing to request your assistance in what I believe was a wrongful termination of my employment. As background, I’ve been a dedicated employee of Lexington Industries for nine and a half years. I started as an intern, received promotions through various news-writing positions, and eventually reached my goal of on-air reporter.

Recently, I went on a much-needed vacation to Aruba with eight women for a bachelorette party. Our hotel had a private section of the beach reserved for nude sunbathing. Though not generally an exhibitionist, I joined my friends for a few hours of topless tanning. A few innocent photos were taken, none of which were posted by me, and my on-air name was not tagged. Yet somehow, I returned home to a letter of termination for violating company policy regarding lewd behavior.

While I understand the reason for having an inappropriate-behavior policy, I adamantly believe my conduct while on a private vacation, on a private beach, was not what it was meant to protect Lexington Industries from. As such, I respectfully request that you review the policy and the termination of my employment.

Respectfully yours,

Ireland Saint James (Ireland Richardson, on air)

Saint James. Why do I know that name? It had sounded familiar when the first email arrived, so I’d looked her up in the company directory. But she was in the news division, which my sister ran and I’d avoided like the plague since I took over as president when my dad died eighteen months ago. Politics, propaganda, and bureaucracy weren’t my thing. Though I was president in name, I generally stuck to the financial side of Lexington Industries.

I dug out the first email I’d received from Ms. Saint James and reread it. While the newest one was certainly more appropriate, the first amused me more. She’d signed the letter with the closing, Bite me…which had actually made me chuckle. No one talked to me like that. Oddly, I found it a bit refreshing. I had the strangest urge to have a conversation with Ms. Richardson after a few drinks. She’d certainly piqued my curiosity. I pressed the button of the intercom on my phone again.