Gill's tale

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short story about self interest

Gillian or, Gill.i.am as she calls herself too loudly in the office, has little charm but goes large in everything else. The cow sweats doughnuts for Christ's sake. Her doughnuts and, her desks and, us her underlings .

The business was not originally hers. I came across a job ad. Around 5 years ago seems right. Now 27 and graduated at 22. The specification matched my skills and qualifications so a few weeks later I am sat in front of Damien Reed. Gillian was working reception wearing more lacquer and varnish than the string section of a symphony orchestra. Cutting to the chase I was hired and Gillian went at Damien like a fiddlers elbow.

It did not interest me. Reeds was a name respected by workers and clients. The owner a professional, I learned at the first works event, divorced no kids. The business built up by him run sparingly and suitably understated. That was him and work until Gill had moved herself from greeting and printing to grinding her 'D'. The next shift was from bedroom to boardroom and that brought their domestics into work. She wanted the business to be big and drove Damien into acquisitions , marriage, stress and then some convalescent home out of town.

And me. I  process the wages for this bitch.

Get this, every month, first out is pay G.Reed.

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