The billionaire's Second Chance

Chapter 3

MURPHY STONE POV



I sat on my executive chair, spinning slowly round on its rotating wheel. The coffee I had just taken was one of the most tasteless I had tasted in a while. I pushed the coffee cup aside in disappointment. This was why I visited and continued visiting Linea’s coffee shop. Anyway, I was in a good mood today; if not, this was enough to place whoever made this on probation, and if care was not taken, an immediate sack. No wonder father always opined that the problem of my generation was how lackadaisical they always were when it came to duty and responsibility, but always ready to fly into a variety of protests demanding unearned privileges. So many people are protesting now and raising idiotic placards all over America because of stupid school of thoughts like this.

“Good God,” I exclaimed. “‘He who cannot work, should not eat.’ Or is that not how the Christians quote it?”

“But mind you, Stone enterprise did not get to the pinnacle of national and global recognition on the oars of laziness and slothfulness. My Grandpas never allowed that, nor did my father. So, God forbid that I, Murphy Alexander Stone, the first legitimate son of William Stone the 2nd, lead this Empire in such a way. Since this company was founded I have kept both old and new staff on their toes. We are currently expecting some staff on Monday; they too are going to feel the heat. Laziness was forbidden here.”

“Forbidden,” I said aloud again, snapping my fingers.

Someone knocked twice and gently again on my office door.

“Yes, come in,” I ordered.

The door went ajar, and my director of IT operations walked in briskly. He was a bald-headed man wearing a blue-striped sleeve shirt and dark trousers.

“Good day, sir.”

“Yes, Mr. Davis,” I answered, wearing a bored expression.

“We got the official Injunction letters that were handed out on the 5th, two pair each, per segmented office.”

“Yes,” I concurred impatiently.

“I think the CCTV control staff were left out, sir.”

After his complaint, I let out a smile, which many of my staff were already used to. When I smiled that way, it usually made them wish I had frowned instead, because I always ended up being angrier than someone wearing a frown. So, it was understandable to see Mr. Davis beginning to shiver when I smiled. But he was lucky I was in a good mood.

“Mr. Davis, complaints like this should be meant for the ears of the secretary. How long do I have to keep singing about protocol to you guys, Mr. man?”

“But, sir, we don’t have a sec—”

“Is Monday too far for you?” I asked again, cutting him off. “Or would grass start sprouting from your head by then, pray tell, or maybe three days in the real world is thirty years for you. If you don’t tell us, we may never know.”

“But… But”

“Please leave, Mr. Davis. Leave before I lose it.”

He hurriedly stood up to leave with his head bowed and hands kept behind.

Soon after he locked the door, I heard another knock. Irritated, I muttered, “Mr. Davis, you are playing with your job. So many unemployed people on the streets, you know…”

However, the voice I heard behind the door was a woman’s voice, saying, “There’s no Mr. Davies here, Mr. Stop clowning.”

Initially puzzled, I immediately dropped my guard. Only one woman in the world could use that language with me— Amanda Winterstone.

My high school classmate and closest female acquaintance, though she worked for a rival corporation, the fiercest we have seen so far, Pharrell Tech Institute. She came once in a while, and I was hoping I could perhaps get to them through her. After all, what were friends for?

“Come on in, drama queen,” I said in a more relaxed tone.

The door opened to reveal a lady in a red bubble dress. Her legs were long and sexy, her eyes bright and hazel.

“CEO, I see you were in one of these fights with your staff as usual, I guess,” she remarked mockingly, sashaying forward and taking a seat without permission, crossing her legs.

“Hey, miss, you’re supposed to ask for my permission before taking that seat, you know. Courtesy demands that,” I said.

“Courtesy my pale ass,” she laughed. “Should I maybe suck at your balls too while at it?”

“You know you wouldn’t try that at Pharrell, I maintained.”

“I wouldn’t, or would you?”

“Phew,” I exclaimed. There was no winning with her. I decided to change the topic.

“Have you guys started typing cover sheets for the Glenmont contractor?”

“Yeah, up and ready,” she said. “On the 13th is our meeting date with them.”

She paused, staring at me before she said, “You?”

“Well, we’ve sorted that. You know how we work here.”

She smiled in a way that said she understood.

“Would you please not stress too much,” her voice was low. “You need to take care of yourself.”

Then slowly and hesitantly, she added, “For me.”

I looked up, and we were quietly staring at each other when my phone rang, breaking the silence. The call was from Ziegler, one of my business connections at Park Avenue. He was at the coffee shop and told me to meet him up at Linea.

Ordinarily, I might not have gone, but I needed an excuse to leave the office, particularly now when I was face to face with the leer in Amanda’s eyes. Secondly, it was Linea, of all places; an opportunity to cleanse my tongue of the abomination I had this morning in the name of coffee. I reached out for my jacket.

“Going where?” Amanda asked calmly, like she could understand why I was leaving.

“Important business acquaintance,” I said. “Man wants us to meet up at his place. You know me, I don’t like to leave hanging deals unsealed,” I lied.

“Alright,” she nodded. “When are we seeing next?” she proceeded to ask.

“I don’t know, maybe the day after tomorrow will be a good time.”

Upon reaching the coffee shop, I dialed Ziegler’s contact, but his response was that I should please wait, that he would be right back in some minutes. He had left to get something. I hissed; it wasn’t like I had actually come here particularly because of him.

I marched through the transparent glass door and was about to make a turn to the left when a lady ran into me with a hot cup of coffee, splashing the content on me.

I expected that she might maybe bow or attempt to clean up her mess, but she stood rooted to the same spot. All that could come out of her mouth was a pathetic, “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Sorry?” I asked in my typical angry smile. “Sorry is not enough, young lady. Your blind ass should at least look carefully before you leap, so you don’t go pouring coffee on the president tomorrow,” I fumed.

However, the lady had summoned the guts to look me in the face and say, “I beg your pardon?”

“You beg me what?” I asked, wondering if perhaps the lady was on some cheap drugs. Was she even aware who she was talking to?

“I said I beg your pardon, who the hell do you think you are?” she repeated more acidly.

“Do you know who you are talking to, young lady?” I asked again.

Do I look like I care? Are you the pope? And even if you were, do I look like one of your aides?” she was shrieking. “No one on the planet has ever spoken to me in such a way, be it at work or in my family. This lady was going to pay for her insults, if not today, certainly tomorrow.” I ground my teeth and said nothing else, storming out of the shop in a fit of rage, as I heard the shop owner’s voice calling me back with pleading tones.

“I Know what to do.” I murmured on my way out.