Page 4 of Salty Pickle

But this impartial third-party company found things were even worse.

I scan some of the phrases taken from the employees.

Crappy work culture.

Nobody wants to be here.

Only the pay is worth it.

Then the conclusions of the reviewers.

Low work morale.

Little opportunity to showcase their skills.

Planning to move on whenever possible.

I spin away from the monitor. This is on me. Pickle Media was fine when I took it over from the people Uncle Sherman hired to establish it, while I was getting my master’s degree in business.

What can I do to change something that’s clearly poisoned all the way down to the administrative assistants?

I clasp my hands behind my head. This day sucks. Maybe I’ll take the rest of it off. Hit the gym. Get too exhausted to think.

I pick up my cell phone. I could reinstall Tinder, do some swiping.

I haven’t done that in nearly a year. It hasn’t appealed.

Nothing does.

My assistant texts me. There’s a woman to see you.

Now what? Devin never says, “A woman.” He gets their name and credentials. And since when does someone get to pop in to see the CEO without an appointment?

I pick up the desk phone and hit the button to buzz him.

Devin picks up. “I was trying to be discreet.”

“What the hell for?”

“It’s a… situation.” His voice is low. Devin’s voice is neverlow.

I hang up, realizing a second too late I should probably have been polite about it. I text him back.

Me: Who is she?

Devin: She won’t say.

Me: I’m sure it’s some useless sales pitch. Send her to Beth.

Devin: I don’t think so. She has a goat.

I stare at the words a moment. A goat?

Then a curdle of unease spreads in my stomach. I met a woman with a goat once. I was at the Castle Hotel in Colorado, near my family’s house. It’s indirectly in the Pickle empire, since the owner is the sister of my cousin’s wife.

As Uncle Sherman likes to say, every Pickle’s a Pickle.

The Castle staff let the woman keep the goat in the stables with the Avalonian donkeys they raise.

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