5
“Are you going to make me come to the mountains? Seriously, the mountains? You couldn’t have decided to lay low on a beach somewhere with cabana boys that bring bottomless margaritas to you on the regular?”
Lyle squinted at his laptop, which was showing a Skyped image of his executive assistant, Amira. She was curled up in her bathrobe in her apartment, with a towel turban wrapped around her long dark hair. Since he’d agreed to the board’s demands, technically she didn’t work for him anymore. But she insisted on acting as his backchannel source of information.
“I told you that you don’t need to come here. I’m not doing any work. There’s nothing for you to assist with.”
“See, those words don’t even make sense. Lyle Guero and the phrase “not doing any work” just don’t go together. How
