KICK IT | JENLISA

8

Jennie

I couldn't have been hotter under my collar. On the day that nine-to-five workers cherished, I sat as miserable as a neutered dog wearing a cone of shame.

Why? My ass, specifically the book keeper's cheek, was fired.

The admission, and the smallest box of 'take your shit home' in working human existence, burned my face with heat. I left YG Accounting with a minuscule severance check, two chocolate bars, my notebook, and a white YG Accounting coffee cup. I sidewalk-smashed the cup outside the entrance. Petty? Yes. Deserved? I thought so. I lasted five fucking days. No, four and a half. What the fuck was I supposed to tell Jackson?

Discovering all five charities in Lisa's foundation withheld almost all of the total proceeds to recipients further provoked my disgust. Yet, being a glutton for punishment, I applied my highest due diligence, drilling into the expenses with a focused effort that the tongue-flicking ass didn't deserve.

Initially, I thought a decimal was misplaced, but balanced numbers didn't lie. Click for click, five sets of bloated expenses and paltry recipient pay-outs unfolded into a directionless map. One percent. Four percent. Half a percent! Three percent. Two percent. Disgusting.

My efforts earned me tired, dry eyes from staring at a damn screen for two days straight. And fired. Fucking Lisa Manoban.

After two days of wading up to my armpits in exorbitant manager salaries, advertising costs, and incidentals, I shared my concerns with Mark. He jumped into an NFL analysts' assessment of how likely Lisa would start next season while I guessed how much French roast coffee was required to drown her. Mark only took me seriously when I threatened to stand on my chair and announce the awful numbers and an underestimate of Lisa's dick size, on a bullhorn. Kinda seriously.

"Close it out." Mark shrugged, tossing up a foam football. "It started with Lisa's money. If she doesn't care, then why should you?"

In hindsight, any discussion on moral, human decency needed was a red flag. So entrenched in the weeds, I missed the trees in the forest.

"The donors are being deceived." I waved the audacities in my notebook. "Maybe she doesn't know."

"If that's your way of admitting your crush on her..." his singsong voice teased. He whipped up a wobbly spiral. "Go for it."

Second red flag.

"I don't... no." I snatched the ball. Air and squish poofed between my fingers. "I'm going to tell Yang."

Mark's head shake bounced his black waves. "Lost cause."

More flags than a golf course.

"And I ran into Yang Hyun-suk's office like my notebook was Willy Wonka's last golden ticket, or worse, a fan seeking his autograph." I muttered, squeezing my steering wheel. "Fucking waste of a human existence."

I gathered my most compelling arguments, waded through the maze of half-cubicles, and knocked on our boss' open door. "Mr. Yang?"

A taller, thinner, balding version of my boss hunched over Yang's screen. My dickhead boss pointed to his over-the-shoulder gawker. "My brother, Min-suk. Min, this is Jennie Kim."

"Hi." I frowned at the familiarity of Yang Min-suk, but I couldn't place the name or face.

"Finally finished, Miss Kim? Min-suk is here for the signed-off paperwork."

"Yes, Sir." I closed the door. "I'm sorry. All the Manoban charities share the same problem."

"Problem? On Manoban's account?" Min-suk stood upright. His eyebrows joined, and wrinkles compressed his forehead. "Hyun-suk, you said that was closed two days ago."

I shook my head so fast that strands of my hair tickled my forehead. "Sir, the recipient pay-outs..."

He lifted a hand, dragged it down his goatee, and glared flamethrowers out his eyes.

The prick's exaggerated sigh still bothered me.

"Miss Kim, you were tasked to balance one charity's numbers, not dispute their reported amounts, and certainly not examine other charities." He turned to his monitor. "My apologies, Min-suk. Miss Kim, since you're not performing your duties as assigned, I'm afraid we'll have to let you go."

"What!?" I coiled my fingers around my notebook, hugging it to my chest. "Sir, I..."

"You heard me, Miss Kim." His eyes narrowed, and his fingers flew over his keyboard. "I don't feel your opinions align with the priorities at YG Accounting, Miss Kim. Thank you for your services, but please clear out your desk accordingly."

The keyboard his index fingers single-typed on caught my eyes. I wanted to smash it into his forehead. "With all due respect?" I coiled my hand around his door handle. His dismissal, in front of his brother, was a professional slap in the face. Heat simmered beneath my skin, and I sank my ragged nails into my damp palms. I slanted my eyes into slits so narrow that his indignant face blurred.

"Fuck you, Sir."