Alexis
The rain patted the floor to ceiling window overlooking the parliamentary Palace, the only sound in the silent office.
Only sound except for the constant tapping of a pen making contact with the papers on the desk of the occupant of said office.
Of course, blessed silence wasn’t what Alexis Somnerfield was listening to. No, silence would have been golden, in comparison to the shrieks of an irrate client at the other end of the line pressed to her ear.
“I completely understand, Mr Sinclare, but unfortunately, I am unable to see -.”
The man on the other end of the line screamed, cutting her off before she could explain her side of the issue. Which, ironically, had nothing to do with her or her company, and everything to do with the shortcuts he had chosen to make against her, and her consultant’s, advice.
She leaned back in her chair and shifted her mouse to wake her computer from hibernation. Not to go over the meticulous notes that she and her team had provided on the matter. She had read through it no less than seven times to see if there was anything Somnarfield-Reid had done to impact the situation. No, instead she stared at the pristine beach in Barbados she had had her eye on for a while, counting down the days were she could walk along that picturesque sand to the rest of her life.
375 days.
Just over a year.
And then the blissful embrace of freedom.
Her eyes flicked to the clock at the bottom of her screen, the sight making her bite back a groan.
The man had been yelling at her for over 2 and a half hours, all of which were billable.
“Mr Sinclare, I must advise you that your call is about to enter after hours, and will be billed accordingly.”
Her words were drowned out by the CEO of the largest hotel chain in North England’s never-ending tirade of her incompetency.
Because that’s what Alexis Somnarfield lived for.
As the clock clicked over into after hours, she pulled up the client’s log to make note that she had indeed advised him for the additional billing, even adding a note to give him the first 15 minutes post close of business at standard rates. Just as she had when she answered the call. And all clients in the Somnarfield-Reid Property Group had uninhibited access to their client logs, any and all interactions with her or her team being noted in great detail to stop this very thing from happening.
Because there was one thing life had taught Alexis and that was to keep the receipts.
Of course, when she took over from her father, Alexander Somnarfield, a little under two years ago, things weren’t quite as structured as they were now. Her father had believed in ‘the customer was always right’, even if it cost them multiples in millions of pounds. And she loved her father and his faith in humanity and their honesty. But history had taught her that people with money would do anything to get their hands on more of it.
Her reform and restructuring of the company hadn’t gone down well with the Old Guild of his clients and even some of her staff decided that her tightening of policies and procedures were too much of the micro-management air. And when they gave her the ultimatum of ‘it’s me or the policies’, she said ‘I thank you for your years of dedication to the company and I hope that you stay, but I am not my father’. Many of her team fought the wave of change, but soon learned exactly why she had implemented the policies in the first place.
To stop bad clients from steamrolling them, like Mr Sinclare was trying to do with her now.
“Why did this occur, Ms Somnarfield?”
“Well, Mr Sinclare, as you can see on your client portal, we advised you against the procedures your team took on the dates of November 3rd, November 26th, December 7th and January 5th when Staphie and Roger visited your site from our York office, and they predicted all of the issues you have stated have occurred. Your caseworker, Roger, Tammy from our London office and myself also met with you on the 21st of January at our HQ here in Lambeth, and strongly suggested that you ask your team to cease work immediately so we could work out a cause of action to remedy the issues and problems that we were predicting while still being able to utilise the product you had sourced yourself, which we had no legal obligation to do as it becomes a very messy situation for us as a company. But, out of good faith, I made the decision as the CEO of Somnarfield-Reid that I personally would handle the legal fallout of this situation if you would cease work. You chose to not take our offer.
“Because of this, I told Staphie, Roger and Tammy to record everything, but not to interfere with the situation at hand as it was no longer their concern. I have since been informed by both Staphie and Roger that you have used the same product and procedure in 4 other hotels and you have plans to use it in another 7. And you will find that the same issues you are experiencing in Leeds, will happen in your other hotels in a very short amount of time. If I’m being honest with you, Mr Sinclare, the only reason I haven’t fired you as my client is because of my father. But I will not have my team abused, nor will I sacrifice their safety because you didn’t like the information you were given.”
The Hotelier exploded down the phone, hurling abuse about her intellect and her gender as she rolled her eyes.
“I would like to remind you that this phone call is being recorded.”
A phrase that only succeed in increasing the obscenities that were being spat down the phone at her.
She stood from her chair and made her way to the antique bar table that stand behind her desk, pouring herself a stiff triple of whatever her hand landed on. Whisky, judged by the smell that hit her nose. Necking the amber firewater in one hit, revelling in the burn, she poured another before returning to her desk to take the abuse. And of course, making note of the change of tone in regards to the phone call and the need to assess their continuation of services in the coming weeks.
She could take the abuse, of course.
She had been taking abuse for as long as she could remember. And if it was just her, she’d probably continue to take it for her dad’s sake.
But it wasn’t just her.
She had a team of staff up and down the British Isles that she had to think about, and none of them needed to be subjected to the vulgar language that was falling from Mr Sinclare’s mouth.
While the tirade of abuse continued, she switched to her personal business portal, the one that linked her to the multiple businesses she owned, and messaged the GM of her seedy joint, asking him to have a whisky, as she liked it, ready for when she eventually got out of the office.
*Oh, god, that bad a day, huh? Would I be adding to the shitstorm if I said I’ve got a rich prick training as a bartender?*
She frowned at the message Leighton had sent, taking a sip before she replied.
*Rich prick, huh. Sounds like a you problem, my dear. I look like a hobo, and if he’s from my circle he will be embarrassed to be seen working.*
*Hey, boss, we ain’t that bad.*
*He will be embarrassed to be seen working, full stop. Not a dig at my boys, babes.*
*Good, cause I was going to have to spank you otherwise. Let me know when you’re on your way.*
She smirked at the playful tease her employee had dared to throw in her direction.
In truth, she would have been flattered by Leighton’s forwardness if she had any trust in love or men. But once again, history had taught her the hard way.
Girls like Alexis Somnarfield were Cashpoints, pillow warmers, things to hide and be ashamed of. Love, trust, passion, desire, fantasy, allure, intimacy, heat. None of those items on that list of fairytale ingredients were reserved for women like her.
And as always, Alexis had the receipts to show for it.
She had long since given up on a future, let alone a future with a man in it.
