Lie – Submit fraudulent promotional materials

Lying. Has it come to this? Alasdair never felt the need to lie on the job. His arrogance, though insufferable, stems from his chain of successes. Now here he was, caving in to deceit once more because of his insecurities.

While undoing all connections of the Latitude cN from his computer, Alasdair mulled over an action plan. He could only go off of Jun-Ho's digital performance and the few presentation tid bits he remembered. At times like these he wished he was less of a dick to Martina; whose memory surpassed all scorned women combined. He would make do with what he had, hoping it did not bite him in the ass.

Upon booting up several programs on his desktop, he got to work, spending the rest of the night following through on some of his preliminary marketing strategies for packaging the ARK message. Hard did not adequately describe the task, as the top dog soon learned. He needed content. Aside from some items he dug out from his email, he did not correspond with ARK Industries nearly enough to gather anything he deemed substantial. Then there was social media and search engine promos that could not be done so quick, but he could forgo. Crap…did he really need an app? He could forgo that too!

Well into the next day, Alasdair finished some materials. The bullshit reflected very little of his expertise, especially since he had a month. He hoped he could bide time by giving them an inSite pilot—but did he want to prolong his digital castration? With gritted teeth and a hangry sigh, Alasdair Myers hit send. To his surprise, Martina responded only minutes later, more ecstatic than he ever seen her.

Thank you, Mr Myers! I will send this over right now.

Such a response would have excited his sensual core. Today, it left him with dread. What if she found out? What if the CEO found out? Russel Pickle didn’t pull punches. Given her availability, Alasdair sent another email, requesting today and tomorrow off, unable to stomach the probable consequences of his actions.

He headed towards his kitchen beyond the mahogany staircase separating it from his living area. Before the kitchen was his large, dark veneered hardwood wine bottle and drink ware storage, that, when opened, expanded to a wealthy inventory of various classes of ****. Alasdair grabbed at five bottles of his favourite beer before slamming the wooden door.

He faltered over towards his loveseat, lounging on the connected chaise before cracking open a beer's cap with his hands. Gulping down the entire bottle, he willed its effects to take hold of him.

He did not want to admit it. He never did. But he couldn't wait until the intoxication deprived his anxiety of all authority.