Alex
"You've got to be kidding me."
"I'm serious, Joan. I'm so fired." I sighed, before downing yet another shot.
I was already maybe four or five shots in.
"This is some deep shit." Derek whispered to himself as he ordered another round for us. I had finally made it to Tully's at around close to midnight. It was now far past bar closing, but since Joan's brother (Tully) owned the bar, we weren't in any hurry to leave.
"Well here's to Alex having to look for a new I.T. job after he fails to salvage one very messed up laptop!" Joan's cheered. We all took another round of shots.
I was definitely starting to see double. Or triple. Or really nothing at all. I couldn't tell anymore.
The last thing I do remember telling the gang was that they might be carrying out a body by the end of the night.
Christian
When my body finally hit those sheets, the feeling of content washed over me. I pulled out my second laptop that was securely charging on my bedside. I wasn't sure what was compelling me to pull up the building security cameras, but curiosity was definitely a factor.
My mind wandered back to earlier this evening.
It was only when I made it down to the main lobby, did I then realize I'd forgotten my key card in the office. As soon as I arrived back on the fifth floor, that's when I overheard the conversation that was flowing out from my office.
"I can't even fucking explain it. I was brought in by some guy to take a look at Christian fucking Ivanov's laptop." The man said.
Christian fucking Ivanov? Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Other than our I.T. guy apparently.
"At first I'm thinking fine. Okay. Whatever. I'm literally going to have to send you a picture of this laptop. It's been smashed to pieces, Joan. Looks like someone put this through a freaking wood-chipper."
Wood-chipper, huh?
I was about to barge into the room, but stopped myself short in the doorway. There was a man sitting at the chair of my desk, examining the laptop like it was a beaten up puppy.
He didn't look any older than his early twenties yet the bags underneath his eyes were insane. Large framed glasses overtook the majority of his face, but they framed his chiseled features well.
I'd never seen this guy before in my life.
"I think it's hard for rich people to see the common sense and consideration behind their entitlement." I heard the man say. I decided that was probably enough bullshit I could tolerate for the night.
I cleared my throat, and the man looked up from my desk, to me. It looked like I might have startled him.
His gaze was... different. Before I could put a handle on what felt strange, realization settled in for him.
He looked like a dear caught in a headlight. Almost as if I had found him with his hand in the cookie jar.
I watched the phone that he was holding against his ear, slip through his fingers and tumble to the ground. "You must be the I.T. guy." I noted.
"I-Y-Yes." He forced the words to push past his lips. They seemed strained and foreign, unlike what his voice sounded like a few moments ago.
"You're here to fix this laptop, correct?" I had asked him. It looks like he was just about ready to faint.
"Y-Yes." He croaked out.
"Is it fixable?" I continued. Something about him getting all flustered and uncomfortable brought out the sadist in me. It was nice having people fear you. It really was. He proceeded to inform me on how non-fixable the device was.
"Looks like it went through a wood-chipper, huh?"
His face paled at my words. There was an uncomfortable silence that hung in the air before he finally composed himself enough to reply. "It'll take time... to retrieve all the parts."
"It's a good thing you're on my companies payroll then, isn't it?"
Something flashed across his face. I recognized it instantly as annoyance. I was now annoyed because he had the audacity to be annoyed with me.
The camera screens flickered on my computer, and I changed the time stamp to just after I had left him in my office. There wasn't any audio, but judging by the faces he was making over the phone again, he looked pissed.
I spent the rest of the night watching him order parts for the computer, and attempt to start taking the rest of it apart. I convinced myself it was because I wanted to make sure he didn't mess around with anything, but really, I didn't know why I was looking at the footage.
I also didn't know why I had put up with his disrespect. I mean, I've fired employees for a lot less...
Alex
"Oh fuck me." I whispered to myself as soon as the light rays hit my very sensitive eyes. All I felt was intense throbbing.
I thought I was in my bed.
I had definitely passed out on the bean bag chair in my living room.
Actually, just making it home in general was a big enough accomplishment for me.
There had been some mornings where I'd woken up in a park, or at a transit station...
Or in Louisiana...
I felt around for my phone, but couldn't find it anywhere.
"Fuck." I whispered again. What time was it anyways? As I stumbled into the kitchen and glanced at the microwave, I almost tumbled back into my dining room table. It was 10:43am.
10:43 am.
I was suppose to pick up the laptop parts at 8:15 sharp!
I mean, I could probably make up a solid excuse for my tardiness. And it wasn't like Christian fucking Ivanov was going to personally oversee the reconstruction of one stupid fucking laptop... right? My teeth clenched at the thought of our conversation yesterday. The guy seemed like a real verified jackass.
I didn't have the time to figure out where my phone was, and I decided that if I couldn't find it tonight, I would just replace the damn thing.
-
"Oooh you're late as hell." Joan commented as soon as I entered the third floor. Inconveniently, the third floor was also where we signed in with our badges.
"What the actual hell happened last night?" I groaned. Both Derek and Joan chuckled.
"You got so fucked up." Derek spoke up over the chuckles. " You tried juggling whiskey glasses and broke all three of them. That was when Tully said we had to get you home."
"Nah, I'm pretty sure it was when Alex tried making out with a poster of Rosie the Riveter by the jukebox." Joan added.
I both mentally and physically face palmed.
"Please text Tully and apologize on behalf of me and my inadequate tolerance for alcohol." I barely whispered.
"I'll just send him a snapchat of how terrible you look. I think he'll feel bad enough." Joan replied. She was right, though. My everything was a mess, and I was sporting some serious bags underneath my eyes... although I guess I always had bags. I had basically just thrown on whatever I could and left. Almost made it out the door without any pants.
"Today is going to be bullshit too with that fucking laptop Christian fucking Ivanov wants me to fucking fix."
Joan and Derek shared a glance.
"You might want to maybe just not talk... like at all today..." I gave Derek a look.
"I'm hungover. I have to literally go work for the devil himself. Today is too hard a day to give a fuck about, man." I mumbled. Derek and Joan shared yet another glance. Today was going to be one of those days.
-
"You're late."
"I couldn't find my keys." For two hours? I mentally face palmed.
I guess that was the best excuse I could come up with. I was currently speaking with the same man that had made that call a minute before I was supposed to leave this god forsaken place last night. I still didn't know his name.
"You were looking for your keys for two hours?" He asked me.
Micromanaging much?
"Excuse me?" He asked. Fuck. I couldn't distinguish between whether I was thinking shit or saying shit anymore. Now I felt like I should've just called in all together.
"Nothing. Nothing. I'll get right on it." I sighed again. My head felt like it was going to fucking explode.
He said nothing as he left me to get to work. I had carefully laid the remnants of what was once a functioning computer, in my bottom drawer. As soon as I pulled out that same drawer to retrieve the laptop, my heart dropped all over again.
This thing was so fucked up.
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