After the party By Samantha G. Lynn and I were on our way down to the ground floor to go for lunch at our favorite near-by spot. The elevator stopped at the fifth floor and a total corporate asshole got on. You know the kind; he wore only suits that were tailor-made and started at three grand. The kind that wouldn’t acknowledge your existence unless he heard the word,’ Sir” at the end of every sentence. His label was, The Assistant to the Assistant to the C0-Ceo, of Marketing. Yep, he was the ’brother-in-law’ to a big suit. Twenty-one, freshly married...
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