All I Want for Christmas by A.J. Wynter EPUB & PDF – eBook Details
- Author: A.J. Wynter
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Series: None
- Price: Free
- File Size: 1 MB
HENRI
THE AIR CONDITIONER in the office building must have been set to arctic. I
shivered and held my leather moto jacket closed tight around my chest as I
slipped into the one empty seat around the boardroom table.
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“It looks like Christmas threw up in here,” I whispered to Janie. A fake
tree covered in white lights blasted out thousands of lumens from the corner
and plastic garlands hung over the doorway, loaded with candy cane lights.
The whole thing was so hideous it had to be ironic. We were, after all, a
biting, cynical news journal specializing in alternative views sprinkled with a
little bit of farce.
Instead of riffing with me as our boss, Mike, droned on about numbers,
Janie shot me a look that said shut up.
“Glad you could join us Henrietta,” Mike said. He flicked on the lights
and the power point presentation dimmed behind him.
“The traffic…” I jutted my chin to the window and set my helmet on the
table.
Mike sighed. “Henri, it’s Los Angeles, and you’ve lived here your whole
life. You’d think you’d have learned to adjust your travel time accordingly.”
A quick glance at my watch told me I was only five minutes late. Mike
must be in a mood. Our office was typically laid back and someone was
always late to the meetings, today it just happened to be my turn.
“And, don’t you drive a motorcycle?” Marc with a c as he liked to correct
anytime anyone spelled his name, muttered under his breath. Marc with a c
was never late. “Can’t you just weave in and out of traffic?”
I shook my head and raised my eyebrows, stopping just short of an eye
roll. “I’m not Tom Cruise.” Although, I had driven up the shoulder to sneak
past the line of honking cars.
“Enough.” Mike sat in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Our advertising
numbers are down and we’ve lost a major sponsor due to Janie’s article about
the dangers of eating spinach.”
Janie shrugged and turned her palms up. “It was a joke…mostly.” She
added with a smile. “Oxalates.”
“Well, the spinach burger company didn’t find it funny.” Mike crossed
his arms. “For the next month, I’m calling the shots on your articles.”
A collective groan spread through the room of writers. One of the reasons
I worked at The Platypus was it gave me the freedom to write about whatever
I wanted to write about.
Marc sat upright and pulled out a spiral bound notebook. “Keener,” Janie
whispered under her breath.
I elbowed her. “It’s your fault,” I hissed.
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