Layers: Book One Read Free Page A

elevator doors close.
    I press the button for the CEO floor and lean back.
    Pete exhales. “That was just crazy.”
    “Yeah.” Shit-shitcrazy!
    When we reach the CEO floor, Pete holds the elevator while I step out. We march down a short hall that leads us to the reception foyer. We then trek past Ann at reception where she gifts me with her customary fuck you look, and I return with my customary go fuck yourself look. She hates my guts because she has a thing for Ryan, and he has a thing for me. Enough said.
    Just past reception there are two hallways. The hallway to our right leads to the Executive Suite, sometimes referred to as The Lion’s Den, The Tower of Ryan, The Prince Palace—and my personal favorite—The Fuck-n-Chuck Manor. The suite features a PA office, an executive office, and a studio apartment.
    We take the one to our left, which leads to the Holy Grail of meeting rooms…the Executive Conference room.
    Once at the room, Pete opens its glass door and we meander in. He shuffles to the middle of a table and glides out a chair. “This is your assigned seat.”
    I roll my eyes. “Wow. My very own assigned seat.” I drop my bags then sink my ass into the soft leather of my chair. My chair is placed right smack in the middle of a crackled glass table that could seat the Twelve Apostles and twelve––no fifteen of their guests—it’s friggin’ huge.
    The Apostle table is the only furnishing in the space; the space being your typical meeting room with the exception of a bank of floor to ceiling windows that overlook the Manhattan skyline.
    The walls are painted a boring beige—I think it’s boring anyway—and they are bare except for one large mural-like painting. It’s a painting, if you can call it that, of a grouping of bizarre twisted trees. I think they’re trees. Anyway, I like art—even weird abstract art—some of it anyway. But the trees in this painting are just plain scary. Even the Lorax wouldn’t save them.
    Sitting on the table in front of me is a legal pad, pen, and a bottle of water. I take the cap off the water a take a big swig.
    Pete clears his throat and I look up. “I’m sorry Alexia but I need to ask for your cell, tablet and laptop.”
    “Seriously?” I all but laugh.
    “Yes, I’m sorry.”
    I sigh. “Pete I know you’re just doing your job, but it’s not happening. I’m not handing over anything. You can tell whomever , that you asked me in a polite and professional manner, and I respectfully refused.”

    He gives me a half smile. “Okay, I’ll tell Mr. Ryan. He shuffles to the door then turns. “Alexia, I’m really sorry about all this. I’ll be right outside, if you need anything.”
    “Pete,” I say with a smile. “No hard feelings.”
    He nods. “Thanks Alexia, it’s good to know.” Pete walks out and shuts the door.

 
WHAT THE?
     
    My gut tells me this drama has something to do with the emergency partners meetings.
    Thirty minutes pass and I’m going crazy. I’m not one to remain idle. I could never be the queen bee; I’m a worker bee. I need the structure and consistency, or chaos and carnage will prevail. What the hell? Chaos? Carnage?
    Ten more minutes pass and all I can think about is the freakin’ Sims audit and all the other work that is piled on my desk. I take out my laptop, turn it on and type in my password. INVALID PASSWORD. I try again, INVALID PASSWORD. I try again, and again, then the system shuts me out. Oh my God, I’m being: fired, canned, axed, expelled, dismissed—anyway you put it—it sucks balls.
    But why? What the hell did I do? And why didn’t my manager say—“Hey, Alexia have a wonderful vacation, and by the way make it permanent.” I could have stayed in France at the villa. Okay, not the villa— maybe Paris. What I’m I going to do? I’m jobless, workless, career-less. I’m just freakin’—less.
    I love my job. I love my department. I love my coworkers—not all of them, but I love working at Ryan.
    I