by Whitney G.
“We need to go to Paris,” he said. “Now. Tell Heath to refuel the plane and then get us there ASAP.”
“Yes, sir.”
I unbuckled my seatbelt and moved to the front of the cabin. “Did I just hear you say that we’re about to go to Paris?”
“Yes.” He looked completely unfazed by this, as if there was no need for him to ask me if this was okay. “There’s been an incident with the senior management at my hotel. We’ll need to be there for a week.”
“Can I at least go home first and get new clothes?”
“I’ll buy you whatever you need there.” He handed me a black card and I noticed my name was now printed under his as an authorized user.
“I just worked with you for two weeks straight in Mexico.”
“And now you’ll work with me for a week straight in France.”
“With all due respect,” I said, feeling an oncoming headache. “I need a break.”
“Then feel free to go to sleep.” He pointed to his private suite in the back. “It’s a nine-hour flight.”
“What if I have plans in New York this week?”
“Do you?”
I groaned and bit my lip. Of course, I didn’t. His plans were my plans. His life was my life, and I couldn’t even separate the two anymore.
“I thought so,” he said. “This week will give you more time to work on your mock presentation since you’ll soon be attending meetings on my behalf.”
The plane began to move forward, preparing for take-off and I made my way to the back. I started to slam the door, but Preston caught it and glared at me.
“Is there a problem, Miss Lauren?”
“You. You are my fucking problem.”
He had the audacity to smile, the audacity to step closer to me. “If you’re still this upset with me, I can think of a way we can fix it once and for all.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve already thought of how I’m going to fix this once and for all the second we get home.”
He raised his eyebrow—looking confused, and before he could say a word, his town car driver stepped into the room.
“Mr. Parker, the general manager of your Lexington Hotel is on the phone for you. He says it’s urgent.”
Preston sighed and looked at me. “Hold that thought.”
“I won’t.”
He left the room, and I promised myself that no matter what, the second we returned to New York, I was finally going to do what I should’ve done months ago.
I’m done with his ass ...
FOURTEEN
Tara
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:
I would like to thank you so much for being my asshole boss for the past two years. I truly appreciate all the shit you’ve put me through—especially all the late-night phone calls, never-ending meetings, unrelenting trips at the very last minute, and unnecessary tirades about the grammatical errors in my emails. (By the way, I never—ever, pointed out the fact you constantly used dangling participles or split infinitives in your sentences, but that’s a story for another day.)
As of this moment, I’m officially done working with your condescending ass and I bet you’ll wish you’ll find someone HALF as good as me for your next assistant. (Yes, I’m aware my previous sentence is grammatically incorrect. Deal with it.)
GOODBYE.
Tara Lauren
THIS LETTER DOESN’T look like any of the templates.
Rereading the article on “How to Quit Your Job the Right Way,” I deleted my words and took a deep breath. Pouring myself a fourth glass of wine, I tried to think like a true professional and typed a second draft.
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:
I am writing this letter to formally announce my resignation from Parker International (and the arrogant, condescending CEO) effective two weeks from today.
This was a VERY EASY decision to make, as the past two years have been utterly miserable. I wish his next executive assistant all the luck in the world (she'll need it) and if my boss should need me to do anything over the next two weeks, kindly tell him that he can do it [his] goddamn self ...
Sincerely (Not Really),
Tara Lauren
I STOPPED AND STARTED again, drinking glass after glass of wine, until the letter sounded completely professional. Until there wasn’t a hint of malice or annoyance in my words. And when I was one hundred percent sure that it was perfect, I printed it on bright white vintage paper (He hated regular copy paper when it came to important letters), signed it in black ink, and braced myself to hand it in first thing Monday.
FIFTEEN
Tara
“TWO LARGE COLOMBIAN coffees with four flavor drops at exactly one hundred and fifty-five degrees?” The barista at Sweet Seasons called out my order Monday morning. “For a Miss Lauren?”
“That’s me,” I said, taking the drinks and heading to the town car. As I sat back in the seat, I shut my eyes and went over the words I’d committed to memory over the weekend, making sure they sounded as clear and concise as they did on paper.
DEAR PRESTON PARKER,
I would like to formally thank you for hiring me as your most recent executive assistant. I appreciate all I’ve learned while working at your company, and I’ve gained a new respect for the hard work that goes into making a hotel a home away from home for its guests. I also appreciate the fact that you’ve awarded me multiple bonuses for my work on the marketing campaigns, and that you took my advice on the Keiserman deal. I also appreciate the fact that you awarded me the Golden Room Key–the top employee award at Parker International after helping you finally land discussions with Von Strum.
All of those things said, this letter serves as my Two Weeks’ Notice.
As of August 3rd, I will no longer be an employee of Parker International and will no longer serve in any capacity as your executive assistant.
I wish you all the best in your search for another one, and I will do my best to help spearhead the process. I promise to give you my best work until my last day.
Thank you again for all of the opportunities, and I truly hope you’ll be able to offer me a great reference in return for the excellent work I’ve done for you over the years.
Sincerely,
Tara Rose Lauren
I TOOK A DEEP BREATH and sighed. It’s perfect, Tara. Don’t back down. Don’t back down.
When I made it to his office, he was already sitting behind his desk, and the new intern was unwrapping his breakfast.
“Good morning, Miss Lauren,” he said, smiling. “Was there a problem with your phone this weekend?”
Other than the fact that I temporarily blocked your number? “Maybe.” I shrugged. “I think I heard some people were fed up with the service they’ve been getting, so maybe they decided to cut it off.”
“I hadn’t heard that.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Was there also a problem with your email address this weekend? I sent you a few emails.”
“Thirty is not a few.”
“So, you did receive them?”
“Yes.”
“Do you plan on answering them?”
“Yes, Mr. Parker.” I realized the intern was struggling to uncap a bottle of orange juice, so I took it and opened it for him. “I’ll answer those emails when I get a chance.”
“When you get a chance ...” He repeated my words as if he was unsure what they meant. He looked as if he was about to say something rude as hell, but his phone rang and he answered it.
I immediately knew it was George by his tone, so as he redirected his attention to his desktop, I pulled my two weeks’ notice from my purse and placed it under his bagels.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I left his office and locked the door to my own. I dropped my purse to the floor and looked around my office for what I hoped would be one of the last times.
I wonder if I should take all the bookshelves with me when I leave.
I took my time walking around my office, appreciating all the space I never truly had the tim
e to use. From the chaise lounges and the flat screen television that hung in the far corner, to the private en-suite that housed a small bed for napping (Ha!) and a luxury Jacuzzi. I couldn’t help but shake my head at the first days when they were installed. When I thought I would actually get a chance to use them.
By the time I finally forced myself to sit at my desk and do some work, it was ten o’clock and a new email from Preston was at the top of my inbox.
SUBJECT: YOUR TWO WEEKS’ Notice
I don’t think so.
Preston Parker
CEO, Parker International
SUBJECT: RE: YOUR TWO Weeks’ Notice
It’s not really up for debate.
Tara Lauren
Executive Assistant to Preston Parker,
CEO of Parker International
SUBJECT: RE: RE: YOUR Two Weeks’ Notice
Then it’s up for legal litigation and serious financial (and professional) consequences. Surely after working here for two years and knowing what my legal team is capable of, you don’t want to put yourself through that.
Preston Parker
CEO, Parker International
SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: Your Two Weeks’ Notice
Are you threatening to sue me in order to prevent me from quitting? Seriously?
Executive Assistant to Preston Parker,
CEO of Parker International
SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: Re: Your Two Weeks’ Notice
Quite the contrary, Miss Lauren. I highly suggest you read the fine print at the bottom of the contract that you signed upon your hiring. Also, read the secondary fine print regarding the acceptance of the bonus offers you’ve been awarded over the past two years.
When you’re finished, please ask another intern to bring me the correct breakfast. (You know I hate American style omelets.)
Preston Parker
CEO, Parker International
[TaraLaurenemploymentcontract.pdf]
[conditionsofemployment.pdf]
[conditionsofbonusacceptance.pdf]
I ROLLED MY EYES AND sent the documents to my printer. I read them with a red pen in hand, underlining a few questionable clauses about travel and employee discounts, but there was nothing glaring about quitting.
The only thing remotely close was a non-compete clause regarding the “attempt to seek out other employment while still employed by Parker International without first notifying [the boss],” but I’d long given up getting another job while still working for him. After eight straight final interviews and eight straight rejections, I no longer had the time for false hopes in my life.
I reread the contracts one last time, sending them to Ava to see if she could catch something I couldn’t, but all she said in response was, “What the hell is he talking about? There’s NOTHING here! FUCK. HIM. (Not in the literal or sexual way. Like, in the mean, forget about him type of way.)”
I shook my head and sent Parker an email.
SUBJECT: THE FINE PRINT
I’ve read the contract several times over. There is no fine print regarding me leaving ...
Executive Assistant to Preston Parker,
CEO of Parker International
SUBJECT: RE: THE FINE Print
Come to my office, and I’ll show you that there definitely is.
Preston Parker
CEO, Parker International
I GRABBED ALL MY PRINTED papers and walked to his office, leaving the door wide open.
Dropping the sheets on his desk, I crossed my arms. “I don’t see any rules about me quitting anywhere.”
“It’s on the last page.”
I reached over him, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his cologne, and flipped to the last page. There was only one paragraph at the top and my signature at the very bottom of the page.
“You’re referring to the clause about me agreeing to all of the above rules?” I asked. “The above rules that make no mention of penalties for quitting?”
“No,” he said, smirking. “I’m referring to the five paragraphs right above your signature.
My stare was as blank as the middle of this page was.
“Okay, look,” I said. “I’m not sure what type of mind game you’re trying to pull right now, but I’ve given you my two weeks’ notice, and I’m going to submit it to Human Resources once you comply with clause six and give me all the vacation time I’ve earned in dollars. I also want a written reference from you that I can take with me to any job interview I get in the future.”
He laughed and opened his drawer, pulling out a grey highlighter. “I don’t play mind games, Miss Lauren, and the next time you sign a contract, I’m sure you’ll take a long look at it first.”
He began pressing his highlighter against the blank section on the page, and words in fucking white ink began to appear. He took his time highlighting all five paragraphs, keeping that smack-able smirk on his face, and then he handed the paper to me.
“There,” he said. “Like I was saying, I highly advise you to read the fine print.”
My eyes caught sight of the words “indefinite employment term,” and I damn near screamed. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“You never asked.”
I felt my blood boiling, felt my hand being seconds away from giving him the slap he deserved.
“Careful,” he said. “We both know that whenever you’re angry, you tend to say things you don’t mean.”
“I fucking hate you.” I seethed. “Truly fucking hate you.”
He smiled, completely unfazed.
“This can’t count ...” I still couldn’t believe this. “You printed the most damaging terms in unreadable, white ink.”
“And?” he said. “Legally speaking, that doesn’t excuse you from reading them, and as someone with a law degree, surely your professors taught you to be wary of too much white space in a contract for the sake of hidden clauses.”
“So, you’re admitting that you purposely hid it?”
“I’m admitting that you should’ve read it.” He smiled. “Would you like to go over the Von Strum files now that you’re officially my partner on the project? This looks like it’ll be your most promising effort yet.”
I stood still, glaring at him.
“Then again,” he said, sounding somewhat sincere, even though I knew he wasn’t, “something tells me you need a break, so you’re free to go home and we can pick up tomorrow.”
I didn’t say a word in response. I stormed right out of his office, straight to the elevator, and went the hell home.
FIFTEEN (B)
Tara
“THERE IS NO WAY YOU can call yourself a lawyer after signing something like this.” Ava paced our floor as she read the highlighted sections of my contract later that afternoon. “Not to make you feel even worse, but I don’t know if I’d hire you if I got into trouble anymore.”
“He printed it in white ink, Ava. White Fucking Ink!” I picked up a pillow and screamed into it for the umpteenth time.
Ava ignored me and continued to read. “The employee is indebted to her employer for the full term of the contract which is a minimum of seven (7) years unless he/she should perish. The employee agrees that he/she will not submit a two weeks’ notice or any other notification regarding a self-requested termination without advance written approval from the employer. The previous clause is null and void if the employee is submitting the aforementioned notice within the final (seventh) year of employment.”
I tossed a glass across the room and uncorked my third bottle of wine for the night. I couldn’t imagine working for Preston for one more year, let alone seven.
“The employee agrees to discuss any issues with her employer as she is a C-level executive/employee and upon completing the first one hundred twenty days of employment (120 days) is no longer under the sole jurisdiction of the Human Resources Department.”
“Okay, stop. Can you help me fake my death?” I asked. “I think I can live on the run for a whil
e.”
“No thanks.” She shook her head. “It says that for every bonus you’ve accepted, that adds an additional year to your contract. How many have you earned?”
At least twenty. “Oh god!” I brought a pillow up to my face again, screaming even louder. “Why is this happening to me?”
“It also says that if he dies, you’re out of your contract immediately, so you can always go the poison or allergy route. Is he allergic to anything?”
“Every level of human decency.”
She laughed. “Well, maybe try talking to him. You never know. He may just let you out of your contract just because you’ve been a great employee. I mean, outside of trying to get him to fire you, what other choice do you have?”
“Wait, what did you just say about getting fired?”
“The only other way you can get out of this thing is if he fires you for lackluster work and poor performance.”
I smiled. “I can definitely do that.”
SIXTEEN
Preston
I FELT BETRAYED AS hell.
For two goddamn years, I’d worked alongside this woman and I never thought I would see the day when she had the audacity to turn in a two weeks’ notice. She was now my highest paid employee by far and her recent benefits were so over the top and beyond the scope of what any Fortune 500 CEO offered, that George made me submit to a quarterly psychiatric exam to make sure I knew “what the hell she was being offered access to.”
I knew we had our heated arguments from time to time—that a lot of it was the result of pent-up tension she failed to acknowledge, but I refused to believe that I was as terrible a boss as she often made me out to be.