Corporate Man is called in to investigate reports of vile, unethical business practices at Great American Business Company. What he finds there just might destroy him (except we all know the ending to The Tragic Death of Corporate Man so it should be fairly obvious that it can't really destroy him, though it can come close).

Enslaved by the Bonus Whores is an all new Corporate Man Adventure Serial. Chapters will post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

After nearly a decade of imprisonment, Corporate Man returns to find the economy in ruins and his deadliest enemies in control of all but a fraction of society's wealth. He embarks upon a quest to set right the wrongs of the business world; a task that will ultimately destroy him.

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Addendum 23

            There was something about the Executive Lounge that Corporate Whore found distasteful.  Even after the expensive remodel with the elaborate columns and waterfall walls, an air of judgment still clung to place.  It was like Jack’s ghost hovered around in here, repulsed by the shady business tactics on display and the voracious corporate greed that gripped the entirety of Great American Business Company’s executive team.
            The Waterfall Walls were her idea, parenthetically.  Dual paned, tempered glass, with rivulets of a slightly azure water endlessly cascading down from the ceiling to the floor.  She’d argued for drainage leading to the sewer, but lost that fight to the recycler-pump pussies.  True, the amount they saved on water had a slight effect on her bonus, but she still felt that the added expense was worthwhile.  Perhaps that Jack-specter wouldn’t have lingered in a space so blatantly wasteful. 
            “Is that you, Whore?” one of the man-zecutives asked from the other side of the water-blurred glass.  They knew she despised the truncation of her name.  She thought she’d trained them better than that.  Perhaps this one was new.  Or maybe someone felt the need to be made an example of.
            “So, what do you think?” she asked the room as she stepped into the lounge area.  There was Mr. Truncator, in the love seat.  Young and smug, obviously overcompensating.  “Has the subtle blue lost its appeal?”
            Conversations in the room halted.  The young one looked around, trying to mask that jittery electric feeling that just lit up his nerves.  When no one spoke up, she continued, “I think we need a change.  Something to invigorate us.  Something a bit more vivid.”
            She slid between couches and excessively comfortable chairs, oozing indirectly toward the love seat, toward the young one. 
            “Perhaps a shade of sapphire?” one of the older executives suggested.
            “That would be pretty,” she said, settling into the love seat.  “Though I was hoping something more symbolic.  Something to better illustrate the cutthroat nature of the business world.”
            Somewhere between the words cut and throat, a literal example of their combination occurred as Corporate Whore flicked her diamond card beneath the young one’s chin.  A spray of arterial red fanned across a waterfall wall and ran in red rivulets down the smooth glass.
            “Hmm.  That does look nice, don’t you think?” Corporate Whore asked, her gaze fixed ponderously on the dribbling fluid.  The young one spasmed on the love seat, waves of scarlet draining over his expensive suit, mimicking the waterfall walls quite nicely.
            “I think you may be on to something,” the older executive said, sipping a something dark and long legged from a brand snifter.  “Though, honestly, I come here for the tranquility.  In the board room, perhaps?”
            “I think you’re right,” Corporate Whore said, turning away from the spattered glass wall.  A low gurgle rattled around in the young one’s throat.  All those present associated the sound with the bonus increase that Corporate Whore had just netted them. The young one’s portion would be divided amongst them. 
Not equally, of course, but it would be divvied.
“So…” said another executive.  “Las Vegas.”
“That’s what they tell me,” the older executive said.
Corporate Whore had no idea what they were talking about.  Perhaps she’d missed a memorandum.  She hated be uninformed.  Still, she was not shy about asking the ignorant question.  Better than cowering under the pretense of foreknowledge.
“I’ve been away from my desk,” she said. “Bring me up to speed on this Las Vegas situation.”  How about that?  Not even a question.  More like a requisition.
“A retreat,” the older executive said.
Corporate Whore said nothing.  He was obviously fishing for a question about the nature of the retreat.  After her power play requisition, she was not going to lower herself to subordinate inquiries.
“Go on,” she said and thought she detected a slight grimace on the older executive’s face.  Nothing overt, just hint about the eyes and the corners of his sagging mouth.
Another executive chimed in, “It’s basically a full blown party weekend, plenty of Bonus to keep us lit for a week, but it’s being organized as a memorial to Jack.  Honoring his legacy and such.”
Who organized it, she wondered.  One of these twerpy suits?  Shareholders?  She shivered at the thought. 
“We’ll also be singling out your new recruit,” the older executive said.  “Donald Jackson was a real find.  I take it he’s one of us now.”
Corporate Whore nodded, “Hooked and fully on board.”
“The numbers do attest for his endorsement of the bonus structure.”
“And the two sick days should illustrate his chemical initiation.”
“We heard he was quite upset.”
“That Pink Slip intervened.”
“What would you expect from a strong minded business man?” she said. 

“Well, if he’s not one hundred percent convinced yet, he will be after Las Vegas.”