by Rumer Raines
WICKED SINS
RUMER RAINES
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Afterword
Copyright 2019 Rumer Raines
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are use fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
1
A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs anger. - Proverbs 15:1
I NEVER DREAMED I would be selling toys or involved with the mafia, and this is where it started.
Even before I said it, I regretted it, but it had to be said. He needs to hear it, too. Ted will never understand why I called him a limp dick motherfucker. He is my boss, and I know I am about to be fired, but I have been under so much stress since he started. It was his fault.
I have been working in corporate American long enough to know how things are when a new manager comes along, and this customer service call center is no different. They all want to piss on the new turf to claim it as their own. What happens when shit is working just fine as it was? What happens when you are happy with the way things are working? No one asks the workers; it’s all up to upper management. You know, the people the changes don’t affect?
“Can you please explain to me why you didn’t document what was done, Stephanie?” Ted questions as I stare at the documents. Everything is crystal clear for anyone to understand… including him.
“It is documented… right here.” I highlight the comments and email them back to him. It doesn’t take Ted ten minutes to inform me that my comments are not up to his satisfaction. I bite my tongue and fight back tears as I question how they are not up to his standards.
Ted advises how he would have commented and assures me that my comments should have been the same as his. Why can’t he figure out that I am not him? How can my comments be exactly like his? Isn’t management supposed to understand diversity and how we are all different and don’t think the same?
The problem with corporate America is that it often feels like management sticks together against the worker bees. I don’t respond to Ted. I can’t. He won’t listen to me anyways. Ted only has one viewpoint and that is his own. An hour later, he summons me to the conference room. He wants to talk about my attitude. Ted insists that I question management too much. I need to learn how to keep my mouth shut and do what I am told. I cannot believe what he is saying to me.
“No comments? I am the manager and you need to do as I tell you. I am not to be questioned,” Ted warns, and he catches me rolling my eyes.
“I really don’t appreciate the eye roll. You do understand that I am your boss, don’t you?” His crisp suit hides the deceptive sleaziness of his personality, making it clear he’s the new well-paid boss here, but his beady eyes show the truth of who he is. He’s the new man at the top of the totem pole, looking down and snarling at the underpaid worker who knows what she’s doing.
“What I understand is that you are an arrogant limp dick motherfucker,” I state calmly, no inflection of anger in my voice.
His eyes bulge to the point they might pop out of his head. “Excuse me?” he shouts.
It is the stress. I mean what I just said, I just didn’t want to say it out loud. “Ted… I…” I can’t think of the words to get me out of this shit.
“You… what? You just called me a limp…”
“I know, Ted! I am sorry. It’s the stress. I have so much going on at home, and I just think our personalities aren’t jiving. I am so sorry, I didn’t mean it. Please accept my apology,” I beg. I can’t afford to lose this job. I’ve been here too long, and without it, I won’t be able to continue helping my parents. They’re older and not in the best of health, so I supplement their measly income to help cover medical bills and other necessities they wouldn’t normally be able to afford.
He takes a deep breath and gives me a small nod, the red in his face fading back to its normal sallow tone. “Okay, I’ll forget what you said, but I don’t want you to question me anymore, Stephanie. If I say jump, you had better be the first person asking how high.” He tilts his head and waits for me to agree. I swallow my pride, and the vomit creeping up my throat, as I nod in agreement.
We walk out of the conference room, and Ted glances at his watch. “It’s almost lunchtime. I think I want pizza,” he announces.
“That sounds good. I brought a salad.”
Ted slows his pace until he is next to me. “I would like pizza, but I really don’t want to go out to get it, Stephanie. How about you pick it up for me?” His eyebrows lift as he looks at me.
I understand exactly what he’s saying. I am now Ted’s bitch, and he realizes he has my back against the wall. I will be fired if he reports me for what I called him. “Sure, I’ll pick it up for you, Ted,” I whisper. He gives me the okay sign.
The next day could not possibly go any slower. Ted constantly sends me emails of everything I have done wrong. I think, if he could find video, he would say I walked in the door wrong when I first got here. I haven’t done anything different than I have done for the last ten years. Nothing has changed in the department except Ted.
“In my mind, it should have been done this way,” he states as he questions why I released a credit. It was the customer’s money; they had every right to it. I hate when he tells me what is in his head. I don’t give a fuck about what’s in his head.
“It’s almost lunchtime, and I am getting hungry.” I stare at my salad that I just pulled out of the fridge. Ted wasn’t hungry when I offered to get his lunch before I started eating. The minute my ass hit the chair, with fork in hand, he decides he wants lunch.
Ted explains that he ordered a pineapple and ham pizza. It was a specially made order, so it will cost a few dollars extra. I don’t understand why he’s explaining to me the price until he reminds me that I owe him. I am paying for his pizza.
MY EYES WATER as I drive across town for the specially made pizza. I drive past at least three pizza shops to the restaurant downtown. It is also the most expensive pizza shop in the area. It takes me ten minutes to find a parking spot. I still must walk three blocks, and with each step, I wipe a tear. I hate him… I hate him…. But I need this job. I have too many years at the company to just walk out.
When I push open the restaurant door, the smell of pasta hits me. I love Italian food but realizing why I am here is causing me t
o gag. A tall girl with long black hair walks over and greets me. She is beautiful; she should be a model instead of working at an Italian restaurant. She is wearing all black except for the red, green, and white apron. She can’t be a cook. She doesn’t look like she belongs near a kitchen, let alone in one.
“Welcome to Marco’s. How can I help you?”
“Hi, I am here to pick up a pizza. I think it will be under Stephanie Masters.”
“Ah, yes, we just got another call about that order. It will be another twenty-five minutes,” she replies.
“Another call?”
“Yes, the original order was for one pineapple and ham pizza? He called and ordered a second. We just stuck it in the oven.”
I give her a nod as she mentions I can sit at the bar to wait. Throwing my hands in the air, I realize I didn’t have a choice. I only hope I have enough money on me. I brought a salad for lunch and wasn’t planning on buying two pizzas.
While driving back to work I think about my life. At one time this was the perfect job. When the director retired, everything changed. It is so hard to work for someone who has less experience than me but criticizes everything I do.
I thought this was the career I could retire from. The career that would help me take care of my elderly parents. Maybe help them pay off the house and live comfortably? It suddenly feels like my own prison and there is no way to escape.
I was taught you can die and go to hell. No one ever told me you can live and spend forty hours a week there.
I will be lucky to have a job come Friday. Ted has me so stressed that I don’t know what will come out of my mouth. I may end up unemployed or in handcuffs from committing assault.
2
“I JUST LISTENED to your call, Stephanie,” Ted begins.
Another day, more issues with Ted. “Okay… what was wrong with it?” I ask.
“You called that lady ma’am and didn’t address her by her name!”
All these years, I thought that calling someone ma’am was a sign of respect. Ted is standing within inches of me, angry that I didn’t call someone by their first name and instead showed respect?
“I don’t see what the issue is, Ted. I called her ma’am.”
“The problem is her name is Esther! When you make your documentation, we must know who you talked to. You can’t say you talked to ma’am. We need to know you talked to Esther!”
“Ted, I documented that I talked to Esther, but I think I showed her respect by addressing her as ma’am,” I answer, stopping myself from telling him how I really feel.
“You don’t understand, Stephanie. In my mind, when I am listening to your call, I just hear ma’am. That could be anyone. You need to call her Esther and comment Esther!” he announces before marching away.
I glance around at my coworkers and wonder if he gives them a hard time? I turn toward my co-worker, Eddie, and he looks to be in his own little world. I normally don’t discuss life issues with Eddie, since he is clueless. Eddie would rather talk about the Simpsons than real life shit. I don’t know if he is naïve or just doesn’t understand the world is round and that sometimes people need to stand up for shit.
“What do you think about these new changes?” I ask.
“I love the changes. What do you think?” his arms dangle at his sides.
“I can’t say I love them. I guess I don’t understand them. Why make us document everything on recorded calls? I also don’t understand why they are listening to calls and focusing on little, pointless shit instead of being happy that we are helping customers,” I explain.
“I think you’re looking at it all wrong. Management wouldn’t ask us to do anything that isn’t important. They know best, Stephanie. You should just trust them.” He smiles.
I want to slap the hell out of him. “You can’t honestly believe that?” I ask.
“Of course, Ted is a great guy!”
“I have news for you, Eddie. Management doesn’t always do what is best for us. They are concerned with themselves first, and most likely only.”
“I think you’re being negative. You should focus on the bright side.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I was just scolded for calling someone ma’am instead of Esther.”
“I am sure there was a good reason for that. How about you sit down and have a discussion with Ted? Maybe you can go over some positive ideas on how we can do things better, and he’ll love that.”
I stare at Eddie, realizing that I can never share my opinions with him. If Ted took him outside and peed on him, he would be gracious and thank him for making the best decision for him. Eddie will never think outside the box. He will stay at that same desk and be grateful for whatever crumbs Ted throws.
Walking away from the conversation with Eddie, I decide to talk to Tiffany. I know she will understand exactly where I am coming from and my frustration.
“I am so ready for the day to end, Stephanie. Can it get any longer?” she questions.
“No, it can’t. I have a question for you. How are you adjusting to the changes that Ted is making? I want to address them, but it would be best if someone else agrees with me,” I point out.
“What about the changes?” Tiffany asks.
“You know, all this documenting everything, call monitoring, and the nitpicking over everything. I am honestly to the point that when Ted stops by my desk, I think he’s going to penalize me for sitting wrong.”
“Stephanie, it really isn’t that bad. I think you’re overreacting,” she states.
“I’m overreacting? How could you possibly say that?”
“I just think you are. It’s going to get much easier for us. I am not supposed to tell you this, but Ted is giving us scripts!”
“Scripts? What do you mean scripts?” I ask.
“Scripts… so if someone asks you a question, you’ll be able to say the exact approved words to them!” She smiles.
I don’t want a fucking script. I have been doing this job for ten years, and now I am supposed to read certain words to customers I have been talking to all this time? How is this good customer service? Am I supposed to say, ‘wait one second for that answer, I need to find what words to say to you in my book of scripts’? Why is Tiffany so excited about this, and how does she think it’s a good thing?
“I don’t think I want a script.”
“Oh, Stephanie, I think you just need an open mind.” She smiles.
Why do my co-workers think I have to think like them to have an open mind? Why is it my feelings are wrong and theirs are right? Why do I feel like I am working with brainwashed pod people and not living, breathing people who stand up for themselves?
As I stand to walk away, Tiffany calls out to me. “Stephanie, wait. I can tell you’re upset. This is a good thing!”
“I can’t answer, Tiffany. I’ll wait for the script, so I know how to address this with you,” I respond.
I don’t believe any of the people I work with. At one time, I considered them friends, except for Ted. Friends stand up with you and fight. I want friends who will fight with me when things aren’t right. I don’t want friends that tell me to arch my back and keep quiet when I am being ass-fucked without my permission.
Ted is making our lives hell, and I don’t think we should sit back and take it. We need to address it with him as a team. The only problem is that my team is nonexistent when I need them. When I get back to my desk, I open a new email I have from Ted.
Lunch was excellent yesterday. I think I could use Marco’s again.
I clench my fist as I read and reread the email. He can’t be serious? I delete the email and get back to work, only to soon find Ted standing outside my cubicle.
“Ted, what did I do wrong now?” I ask.
“I just wanted to give you my lunch order,” he whispers. I glance at Eddie who is smiling to himself staring at his computer.
“Ted, you can’t expect me to get your lunch again today.”
“Ted? Or do you mean t
he limp dick motherfucker?” He snaps his mouth shut and stares at me.
“Ted,” I whisper.
His eyes almost sparkle with impure thoughts. He realizes he has me exactly where he wants me. I nod as I turn away from him, forcing myself to hold back my tears. I don’t know what to do about this situation. I can’t report him without admitting what I did also.
He leans over and whispers in my ear that he’ll be back with his order. I nearly vomit at the stench of his breath. One hour later, he leaves his lunch order for me. This time, it’s at a different restaurant which is even farther away. I clench my teeth as I leave to pick up his order.
3
“HERE IS MY LUNCH ORDER, DOLL.” Ted smiles as he rubs my back. I have been picking up this limp dick motherfucker’s lunch for two months now. I am about to reach my breaking point with him. I have never hated anyone the way I hate this man. He makes coming to work feel like I spend the day in hell. Everyone tells me that I am overreacting, but I am not. They have no idea what I am going through and, the sad part is, they wouldn’t believe me if I told them. They would all defend him because they are sheep. They stick in the safety of the group instead of standing up for themselves. I have never belonged in the group. This situation with Ted has proven it to me.
The worst part? Ted is starting to cross the line. It started out as picking up his lunch, but it’s becoming more. He is starting to get touchy with me. I also have noticed that he looks at me differently. I don’t like it but, because I am sitting with sheep, I keep my mouth shut. I barely talk to anyone; I no longer consider them friends. I hate to isolate myself, but I must be realistic. These people are frenemies. We work together, but they have only their interest in mind and I worry about mine.
Another week goes by, and I am still Ted’s bitch.
The office is so quiet, I can hear the clock ticking. It almost feels like the calm before the storm.
“Hey, doll,” Ted whispers in my ear, making me flinch.
“Ted,” I answer, glancing at my watch.
