Slone

By Kavi Elwyn

Ready for a quickie? This is a standalone, laugh-out-loud, read-in-one-sitting romantic comedy. With as many romantic troups, helter-skelter fun, and unironic, tongue-in-cheek dialog as one could possibly find, this is an easy-peasy read that will leave you shaking your head and chuckling. Fan of bad bosses and plucky secretaries? Check. Giant Newfoundland dogs with dunk-a-duck additions? Check. While it may not curl your toes it will for sure tickle your fancy, happy reading!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kavi Elwyn
• Release date: Aug 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215412107

Book preview

Screw Chapters, This is The Beginning of the Book, It Will run Till the Middle of the Book, and There, You Will See Another Header.

Doctors said it was a tumor, or perhaps a brain aneurism.  They said this even though the numerous CT scans were clean, and even though they could find no damage or foreign substances in his brain.  They said this, because no one believed that Pete Slone was as low-down an asshole as he appeared to be.

Pete submitted to the first few scans because his first wife had insisted, and as Pete had not wanted to lose bedroom privileges, he had obliged.  Once the first Mrs. Slone had concluded that there was nothing medically wrong with Pete, she had packed her bags and handed him divorce papers.

Wife two through five had followed, each discovering that while charming and very talented, Pete Slone had no heart, no soul, and a very dark sense of humor.  Wife number three even went as far as to say, and I quote, that Something is wrong with Pete, no one knows what, but if they told me that he was literally missing the organ called the heart, I wouldn’t be surprised.  When asked how Pete might function without the use of that very important organ, the wife responded, Sheer will to piss off as many people as he can in as short a time as he can is what keeps that heartless, soulless bastard alive.

To some extent the wife was right; though it was later confirmed (at the request of wife number five) that Pete Slone did indeed have the organ known as the heart.

For a man with no soul, Pete did have exceptionally toned people skills.  His numerous marriages were the result of logic.  Pete liked logic, he used it often, and his logic stated that if the quickest way into a woman’s panties was a gold ring, then a gold ring he would give.  He knew what to say, he knew how to say it. He knew which presents to bring, and on which days.  He never forgot birthdays or anniversaries and he always lost the arguments.  For all of this, he was also devoid of loyalty, morals, and a sense of right and wrong.  Wives were women who wanted a ring to go to bed with him; he slept with them when he felt like it, and with others when he didn’t.  His business partners all left over ‘creative differences’ and almost all were quoted as comparing Pete to a life-sucking illegitimate child of a zombie and a killer whale.

Pete was thirty-six, and his lack of personal morals made him a shark in the business world, consequently, he was a millionaire many times over before his twentieth birthday.  No one would work with him personally, though many clamored to invest in his companies.  He was an arrogant, self-serving, low down, slime ball devoid of either compassion or kindness, and he found himself with a dilemma.

The dilemma being that Pete became bored.  He had done everything, screwed everyone, and left no pile of horse shit unturned.  He had a mansion on almost every continent, and enemies in every city, he was nearing his peak, and he was bored.

I Have Decided This is the Middle; It Shall be Long and Hold the Majority of the Story.

Studying the computer is never really as entertaining or as productive as it sounded, I decided, in fact, studying the computer was a downright boring and meaningless task.  You weren’t doing anything, you weren’t making bold decisions; you were friggin’ staring at an inanimate object, waiting for it to tell you something.  I decided people who studied the computer were morons, and I decided I should no longer be classified among them.

Standing and buttoning down my jacket, a jacket that was perfectly tailored I might add, was a move so often done that it was routine, smooth and polished.  The nervous intern sent over by the temp agency was waiting at my door, smoothing her skirt and holding what I could only assume to be my messages. I assumed because the woman had yet to do her job and bring them to me.

My messages would do much better here, in my hands, then over there, getting soaked with your nervous pore emissions.  I held out one hand.

So-rry Mr. Slone, I di-dn’t want to di-di-sturb you.  She tottered over on heels much too tall and handed me the now disheveled sheets.

Go put the phone on the answering service and leave.

Bu-t Mr. Slone, it-its only te-ten, I just star-arted.

And now you’re done.  I looked up finally, wondering if her tiny brain was exploding; if so, it might be interesting to watch.

Disappointingly enough, all her brain matter remained encased in her head and she turned and tottered out.  I slammed the messages down and looked at my watch; this was inconvenient, very inconvenient.  What was more, this was the third temp in as many days, and she hadn’t even lasted as long as the brunette on painkillers and Vodka.  This reminded me, I should go check and see if the bottle was still in the desk; I could use a drink before the West Indies meeting. 

Walking through the offices on my way to the garage elevator, I have to admit I took a certain pride in noticing how everyone hurried to get out of my way.  Heads down, fingers clicking away at the keys, I was the boss from hell, oh-yeah, I had it made.

There had been no luck with the Vodka, so I was forced to go into the meeting stone sober.  Which may have been trying on my current business partners, Trou and Kibble; they seemed a little panicky as I walked in.

Pete, glad to see you made it.  Alfred Trou was insincere, the comment made out of habit.

Yeah, right, your excitement touches me, now can we get down to business?

Kit Kibble, for whose mother I had the fondest regards, as she had named her child so ridiculously, barely looked up.  He stayed hunched over his computer, no doubt still sore that I had slept with, and then sent his favorite secretary to Burma.

Our contact, Heja Jouman was impatient, he motioned for me to sit, Mr. Slone, I am having difficult convincing your colleagues that the oil drilling must happen soon as can be arranged.

I looked to Kit and Alfred, What’s the problem?  The sooner the oil is drilled, the sooner you both get rich.

There are factors to consider here Pete; the drilling he’s proposing is going to interfere with several of the local villages.  We’ll need time to move the people to other locations before we can tear down the existing structures.  Alfred was pointing to a map, and the look on his face meant he had wrongly assumed this would matter to me.

So fire the place.

Excuse me?  Kit looked stricken.

Set the villages on fire, give ‘em a warning if you feel generous, but it’ll save the time of having to tear down those shitty little huts that pass for houses.

Only Heja looked thrilled at this plan, which was to be expected, he needed the money rather badly.

You can’t be serious!  We’re displacing hundreds of natives....

This’ll be good for them Alfred, I stood and slapped him on the back, Give ‘em a chance to get back to the basics, commune with nature, they’ll probably thank you.  I handed Heja my card, Contact me when you start drilling, I’ll have the account numbers for you.

The meeting went rather well, I thought, as I maneuvered out of the building. Soon drilling would start and my accounts would increase, this was all very good.  When I reached my office, it was with some surprise that I saw a short, heavy little woman with rounded spectacles and ill-fitting clothing.  She was standing outside the door to my office, looking at the empty receptionist’s desk with some puzzlement.

At least the temp’s agency could have some hiring standards. You’re going to scare away all the pretty people, I told her crossly, handing her the notes on Heja’s drilling project.  But since you’re here I suppose that can’t be helped, type these and file them, I don’t trust that bastard to stick to our agreement.  Get me a coffee, with two creams and three sugars, get me Melvin Branham on the phone, his numbers in the directory there, and for the sake of all that’s beautiful and clean, find yourself different clothes and get a haircut.

When I paused, the woman’s mouth dropped open, and her squinty little eyes widened behind the glasses.  To my surprise, a look of amusement crossed her face, Anything else?

Well we can’t get into the personal hygiene and weight issues here can we? I need that coffee and Melvin!  I was annoyed at her laziness, she was still standing there.  Just when I thought I’d have to kick her or jump her, she moved to the desk, and picked up the phone.

With little hope that she would last as long as she of the painkillers and Vodka, I went into the office and shut the door.

She rang through a moment later, and damned if she didn’t have Melvin on the phone.  Relived that finally something was going as planned, I sunk into the chair and picked up the receiver.  A moment later, and without knocking, the squatty little thing appeared with a cup of coffee, sat it down and left.

Gulping the liquid down, I worked at persuading Melvin to sell his share of a large cosmetics company called Bright.  Feeling supremely pleased, and seeing that I had a few minutes to spare before my next meeting, I went to see the new temp. 

She was tapping away at the keyboard, her finger hitting backspace as often as it hit enter.  There’s a list of things on the desktop.  I tapped the screen to make sure her miniscule brain comprehended the location.  Have you done anything productive in the half hour you’ve been sitting here on your ass?

Yes sir.  She looked at me expectantly, her fingers pausing, I’ve done everything on the list, called Ms. Bambi to reschedule your dinner date to seven, as Mr.Whalish is now scheduled for five, and paid the bills on your car and storage container.  The mousey little thing was ticking items off on her chubby little fingers.

I was momentarily surprised; for her seeming lack of style or intelligence, she had actually done some work.  My surprise continued as she stood and handed me a stack of paper.  I took your messages, returned calls to the Senator and to Mrs. Rudely, confirmed your appointments for next week, and thought of 18 different ways to kill you.  Her smile was wide and, I’ll be dammed, she was amused again, If you want I can get you a PowerPoint presentation of plans one through twelve, but most are in the beginning stages and some of the later ones will have to be scrapped.

Taking the messages, I blinked, realigning my