Chapter 2. The Decree

[REMINDER: SENTENCES INSIDE THIS FORMAT = *”--”* ARE SIGNED AND NOT SPOKEN]

Dorian Reign [1ST PERSON P.O.V]

“F*CKING DAMN IT!” I roared, throwing the files to the ground. Making some of them fly. I couldn’t restrain myself. I also hate it when I get physical. No one likes exerting more than necessary in terms of… everything.

‘Except money’

My secretary—correction, ex-secretary since she’s fired after this—hastily picked up the documents off the floor, some she even caught mid-air. I could hear her hiccups and sniffs, almost as if to broadcast to the world that she got a stern ‘talking to’ by the ‘crazy’ boss. Probably soon on her way out of my office, red in the face, cheeks flooded with tears, and lips quivering—the whole damn look. I’d give her a pair of scissors so she could help herself and shred those clothes.

Just to make sure she’d look her worst since that’s what her actions felt like.

She’d probably also take a long walk of shame into the entirety of the first floor, off to make it look like I’m the bad guy when she’s the one who tried grinding her questionably bubbly *ss at my f*cking crotch. Was I too lenient? How many times does it make this already? How many secretaries do I have to come through to not have them shaking their *ss at me for a f*cking bonus?

‘How much more do they want? I’ve already given too much!’

She sniffled, and it seemed like she hadn’t left yet. “S-Sir, please—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I thought we—you were saying those things, and y-you gave me all those gifts–”

“For f*ck’s sake, Ms. Jade—how many times have I told you—I DO RETAIL THERAPY!” I yelled, repeating the words I told her on the day of her employment, “I told you that was one way I burn cash! Can’t you see? I have a splurging problem—I was wasting money!” I recounted.

I remember having the same verbatim said to my therapist. I’m a bit off the rails when it comes to extremes. I spend a lot, I’m awake a lot, I get easily irritated, I work a lot, I eat very little. I’m sure there’s

something wrong in the old noggin’—I thought of it as a sprinkle of glitter and spice in my otherwise boringly indulgent life.

She cried silently, probably the quietest she’s been. It made my skin itch. Something in my head tickles whenever I see other people cry. I have this powerful urge to comfort them and do anything to stop them from crying. Not out of sympathy but out of irritation. I can’t stand loud noises. I can’t stand crying. It gives me anxiety.

With a click of my tongue, I scratched the back of my head. “Leave,” I hissed.

“B-But sir–”

“Leave, d*mn it! I’m uncomfortable being in the same room with someone who commits workplace s*xual harassment,” I snapped, walking back to my chair, waving her off with a deep breath, “you’re done, you’re fired, close the door behind you,” I said, trying my best to rein the rage in.

All I want is a quiet… secretary.

I’ve tried relying on machines just to get rid of the idea of a person being next to me at all times altogether, but machines fail in the stupidest ways. A low battery had me miss out on an important meeting with a prospective investor.

What do I need to do to have that? Should I just order the whole building to exclusively communicate through sign language—wait… a… minute.

…

[1 WEEK LATER]

A faint knock sounded on the door, barely audible. Almost music to my ears. “Enter,” I called, not looking up from my desktop as I reviewed the number of applications for the secretarial vacancy, filtered through by the head of HR herself. Is it me, or are they… few?

The door cracked open, and one of my guards walked in, holding only a black phone. I dreaded nothing else but that small gadget at that moment. I knew exactly what this meant. Bringing the phone to my ears, I cleared my throat.

“Yes?” I asked,

“Don’t ‘yes’ me—Did you fire another secretary again?” my mother asked. I pity her. She’s lived her life dealing with a spoiled brat like me.

But I’ll be real honest, I think I’ve given her some leverage. None of her friends have sons as successful as I am. Or maybe they do. I never cared. What I’m sure of is that none of her friends have sons as deranged as I am. I think my mother is still traumatized from dealing with me in my teens. I was…

I was troubled during those times.

“Yeah, I did,” I answered.

“I’ve heard you’ve also made a ‘decree’ of some sort.”

I chuckled, “Decree? I’m not a king, Mom,”

I heard her click her tongue with a sigh, “In your employees’ eyes, that’s what you are, Dorian, a tyrannical king—to use sign language? Even you don’t know an ounce of that—”

“Aht, aht, aht! I do know more than an ounce. I’ve been taking lessons, surely, I haven’t mastered it yet, but…” I trailed off, looking at one profile that piqued my interest.

‘Profound deafness? Who’s this character… Look at her face. It’s like she’s mad at the world.’

I chuckled at the thought. She looked disgruntled as if it was a bother to even have her picture taken. She looked very strict. I respect that. She looked like the type of person to make minimal demands, and seeing as she’s fully non-hearing, she’ll be very fluent in sign language. Having her here would be having a teacher and a secretary in one.

I like it!

“—Dorian Reign, are you listening to me?!” Mom burst from the phone, yelling loud enough to make me jolt on my seat, bringing the phone to my other ear. What a brute way to bring me back to our senseless conversation.

“Hm, yes, yes—Uh, do you have any urgent business with me, mum?” I intoned, “Because you can’t truly be calling just to lash out at me,” I followed before she could form a coherent word. I was met with silence.

She sighed again, “Ian, I’m just worried you’re having these out-of-the-blue decisions, and I think… it’s about time you start visiting Dr. Goldberg again,” she finished, my eyes rolling at the sound of that name.

Right, she doesn’t know that Dr. Goldberg and I had a very bad ‘falling out.’ One so bad that I’m currently seeking out new therapists.

Preferably ones that don’t send their patients nude photos.

I rubbed my temples. The lack of sleep must be getting to me because I feel a headache coming on. I hummed, “Right, I actually changed therapist—oops, forgot to tell you or whatever,” I snipped, followed by another deep breath, straightening my back as I scanned the other information on her resume.

Most important of all was her name, ‘Miss Alexis Solace,’ 

I sounded in my head. That sounds easy enough to pronounce.

I cleared my throat, “Bottom line, Mom, I am trying to get help. You best not worry. I’m a big boy now,” I joked. Although I did hint at some sarcasm in there, I’m sure my mother would overlook a little attitude from a son that she called to lecture.

There was silence in the other line for a few seconds.

“Fine… I get it,” she said from the other line.

I smiled, “Great, I’ll try to see you this weekend.”

“Try?” she repeated.

I hummed, “I will see you this weekend.”

She chuckled, “That’s more like it.”

I brought the receiving end of the phone to my lips, “yes, yes, thank you for calling, Mom, goodbye,” I said. I heard her say goodbye as well, so I ended the call and handed it to the guard, who waited patiently until the end of the phone call,

“Thanks, next time don’t answer it,” I told him.

He gave me a long stare before closing his eyes with a reluctant nod. Conceding at the thought of having a battle with me about moral values as a filial son. A good choice.

The room was quiet once again, as to my preference. I wonder when this applicant passed her resume. It has been a week since then, and we’re only just filtering through them now. She’s actually one of the first few ones to submit their application a day after the ad. She must’ve been following our company for a long time. That’s good.

I pressed the button on my intercom for my temporary assistant and secretary, the head of HR. “Ms. Charlize, can you tell me when’s the tentative interview for the first batch of applications?” I asked.

“Yes sir, we’re doing it tomorrow, and since we only have one batch, we’ll only be having it tomorrow,” she replied.

I paused.

“There’s only one batch? Only 20 people applied?” I clarified. That’s odd. We usually get a hundred—even more than a hundred sometimes. People have been eager to get this job ever since I could remember. Well, maybe because since I had the power to spend money out of my own accord, recklessly at that, people knew I spent quite the sum on these secretaries of mine.

“Yes, sir, I think having changed 4 secretaries in a span of 3 years is not a good look. People are suspecting it’s not a good workplace. It’s all just bad public reputation, sir,” she replied, an explanation that made my skin crawl with annoyance.

Should I publicize the type of behavior those past secretaries have done to regain some of the company’s reputation? Nah, I couldn’t. I’m going to look like an *sshole.

“What I’m hearing is… the next person we hire should stay here for a long time,” I replied, annoyed that we got stuck in this predicament. Is this the thanks I get for trying to uphold the nonexistent integrity of the people who passed through this company?

“Yes, sir, that would be a good step to take to alleviate these ‘rumors,’” she replied.

I bit my lower lip, “Right, right, also send an email to those previous employees to see if they could post on social media or something,” I droned. I don’t know if that will help, but if people truly care enough about that, if I know the internet, those posts would gain traction.

“I see, sir. What would be the content of the post?” she asked. In the background, I could hear the soft clicking of her keyboard.

“To say that it was nothing more than a conflict of interest, tell them to disclose that they were not treated badly in any way—which they were not!” I pressed, “And just clarify that they don’t fit with what the company was looking for,” I finished.

I heard her hum, “It’ll be done, sir. Are we going to post a statement of our own on the company’s behalf?” she asked.

I pursed my lips, thinking whether that would be a good idea. It’s not. We’re going to look too defensive. We’re far above allegations like that—’ for f*ck’s sake.’

“No, we’re not going to feed a fire that would burn us in the long run. Also, since we only have a few people to interview, I will be joining you. I think it’s time we tackle these issues head-on,” I replied. Leaning back in my seat,

“Duly noted, sir. We’ll see you tomorrow,” she replied.

I sighed, looking at Miss Alexis’s profile. There’s something in the way she looked as if she couldn’t be bothered with anything else. I really, really like that in a person.

“I have high hopes for you…”