*It is not how much help but the quality of help that matters when the job is on the line*
*
Stephanie Lamborne stood in her office Tuesday morning wondering where to begin. The two security guards stood at the door keeping an eye on her. A man walked in, looked around with distaste and came around the table with a file-folder full of papers.
"I have some paperwork for you to sign before you leave," he said. Stephanie tried to recognize the man, but couldn't quite place him. In way she was thankful for that. She had faced too many of their smiling, triumphant faces of her co-workers celebrating her downfall on the way in. They had known how fast her fall from grace had been.
"What am I signing?"
"Non-disclosure agreements, payment of missing funds agreement, cease all client contact orders, permanent suspension of all dividends and rewards, sale of all stocks back to the company, etc."
"I'll lose everything," she wailed.
"Technically no, you will keep all uninsured jewelry and clothing. Your house, your time share, your cars ... they will all become corporate property. Also, you don't have to go to jail for your numerous crimes you've committed," the man responded.
"But everything I've worked for ..."
"Don't you mean everything you lied, cheated and stole?" the man said bitterly.
"I ..."
"Sign the damn papers," the man growled. Stephanie signed them in silence.
What am I going to do now?" Stephanie moaned.
"What are you going to do now?" the man said, voice seething in anger. "Lady, I've been fired too".
"What? Why? Who are you?" she asked. The man lowered and shook his head.
"I'm Nathaniel Cromwell. I've been your personal assistant for the last two months. The assumption was that I must of known some of the things you were up to so I'm gone as of this Friday."
"Oh ... Nathan, what are we going to do?"
"Fuck if I know. I've been told that I'm going to clear you out of your house -- the corporation's house -- and start job searching. If I get you squared away by end of business today they promise to not give me a bad reference, so bitch, you are in the street."
Nathan took the paperwork and left.
Later at her home she was boxing up her clothes and shoes in the containers Nathan had purchased. He worked in silence most of the time responding with brutal sharpness when Stephanie tried to talk with him. The man was boiling with rage. When the last box was finished, she looked to him, half expecting him to stack stuff up in the hallway and leave.
He did leave, but he said he would be back in an hour with a moving van.
"What is the plan?" he asked when he returned as promised.
"I don't have one," she began, but decided the one asset she did have was her body, so she'd use it. "I could stay with you for a few days maybe. Until I get another job. I can pay you rent."
Nathan glared at her for several seconds and for a moment Stephanie was afraid he's inflict violence on her person.
"Fine; you get the sofa and most of this crap goes into a storage locker tomorrow. My place isn't big and I don't want it cluttered. Is that clear?"
"Yes, of course. You'll hardly know I'm there," she smiled. She was still used to getting her way and if she had to use this guy to get back on top, so be it. It wasn't like he was doing her any favors. They made the drive in silence and exchanged less than fifty words while unloading the van and taking everything up the three flights of stairs to his small four room apartment. Combined with his large collection of books, tapes, and DVDs, plus all of Stephanie's meager belongings, the place was packed.
"Thank you," Stephanie smiled when the last of the work was done. Nathan glared hate at her.
"I'll be back in an hour," he muttered as he made for the door.
"How about you get some Chinese Take-out? I like Kung Po chicken," she said. Nathan stopped in his tracks, half way out into the hallway. She took a deep breath and hardly slammed the door at all.
The food was good but his company left much to be desired. Nathan was a lousy conversationalist, though Stephanie had rarely had cause to talk with the 'little people' anyway. Nathan turned out to be downright surly. She figured that she knew the right thing to give her an advantage in their relationship.
"How about we discuss the sleeping arrangements?" she smiled seductively at him as she put her food aside.
"You are a whore," he snapped. "I don't have the time or patience for whores. You cost me my job. Get that through your thick skull. I fucking hate you," he added with a defiant glare. Nathan gathered up her food, his own and went to the kitchen where he stuck the remains in his tiny refrigerator.
Stephanie didn't know what to make of the outburst. It wasn't like she'd kept her job either.
(Wednesday)
Stephanie was busy making calls to all the old contacts she'd established in the business in her meteoric rise to the top. She didn't like what she was hearing. They were alternately leaving her on hold, laughed at her, cursing her, and/or telling her that they'd give her fifty dollars for a blowjob because that was all she was good for now.
Stephanie was close to tears. Everyone hated her and she didn't know why. The door opened at noon and Nathan walked in. He looked around and sighed. He'd come over on his lunch break to see what progress had been made and there was none.
"Have you done any packing yet?" he asked. When it was clear she didn't understand, "I asked you to pack up all the stuff you did not immediately need so I can get it out of my apartment."
