Stop – Terminate responsibilities regarding promotional material development

No. A hard no. He decided and will not rethink his decision. inSite and their capitalistic greed could not interfere with his beliefs and pride. If the company could value his words and work, they could respect the mind and body that created them. Alasdair collected his mobile from his desk before hesitating. A phone call might be heavy-handed, in specie with a multi-million project he wants to drop. He glanced at his wilting erection, now angled at his computer. He smirked.

Email. Informal. Impersonal. Ideal.

He drafted a detailed message reiterating his concerns about ARK Industries and the Latitude cN, making certain he addressed the representative meeting. He had been victimised! They needed to know how and why! At the end of his correspondence, he offered discussing any further matters in person, doing a quick review of the electronic communication before sending over to Martina, copying her boss, the CEO of inSite, Russel Pickle. Alasdair released a large gasp of air he did not realise he held.

He disconnected the virtual device, taking time searching for its discarded packaging. He would send it back to ARK Industries first thing in the morning. While wrapping up, his actions devoured his ruminating thoughts. Initial thoughts of did I do the right thing became probably I shouldn't have sent that to finally crap, I fuck'd up.

Alasdair idled around the enclosed box, wondering if he should rescind his email and complete his damn work. He had a responsibility. He really did! But after several minutes passed—way more than he would have liked—he stood by his decision. No more does he or does he not nonsense. The Latitude cN's misandrist messages needed cessation. But why did he not feel better?

After placing the package on the end table by his front door, Alasdair 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 alcohols. Alasdair did not take much time browsing his collection, immediately taking five bottles of his favourite beer from the varied mix and closing 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 half the bottle, he savoured the taste; willing its effects to take hold.

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