Date: 8/12/2017, Categories: Job/Office Sex, Author: NymphWriter, Source: LushStories
On October 31, 1864, the Nevada territory was granted statehood into the United States, making it the thirty-sixth state. In 1993, the Nevada State legislation designated October 31, as a state holiday, or Nevada Day. Then, in 2000, they decided to make the last Friday in October the day Nevadans celebrate Nevada Day. This is a fancy way of saying school and state government buildings are closed on the last Friday of October. So why am I boring you with a history lesson? So you better understand my story. My boss, Jacob Hoskins, is a native born Nevadan who is proud of his state’s history. He requires all of his employees to learn things about Nevada. Luckily, he’s not really anal about it. His biggest thing is us knowing about Nevada Day. Since he liked having Halloween off as a kid, we still close on October 31, regardless of what day of the week it falls on. Our clients know this is just how he is. This year, the Sesquicentennial, or 150th anniversary of Nevada Day, aka Halloween, is on a Friday. Jacob has announced we are having a huge Halloween party in the office on Thursday so we can enjoy our Nevada Day with our family and friends. Now, Jacob throws us a nice Christmas party every year before we shut down for two weeks at Christmas, the way the public schools do. It’s just cheaper to shut-down for the two weeks than to run a skeleton crew for maybe two clients. Oh, right, you don’t know what we do, we’re a moderately sized accounting firm. There are about thirty or ... so people who work here from accountants to secretaries. We work with a few smaller, local casinos here in Las Vegas, and some other local business owners. They all know we don’t work Nevada Day, Halloween, the week of Thanksgiving, and the two weeks at Christmas. I’m not an accountant though, I’m a secretary, Jacob’s secretary to be exact. Who am I, you ask? Oh, I’m Morgan Schneider. Though, some who know me might say, “The Queen of Bad Decisions.” Why? Well, about two or three years ago I was dating a guy named Clinton Moore. Clint, as we all called him, was a smooth talker, and a hell of a lover. He convinced me to move to Las Vegas with him where he claimed he had a great job opportunity waiting. Like my nickname implies, I followed. His great job opportunity was working for a local casino owner during the day, and stealing cars or dealing drugs at night. Now, I didn’t know about his night work until the day the cops arrived to raid our home and arrest us both. I felt so foolish. I didn’t know what to do. I mean, I had only been here a few months, and had no family or friends I could call for help. Clint decided to call his boss, Mr. Rocca, for help. Mr. Rocca came with his lawyers. They read the charges and went to work. I was nearly conned into signing a confession I didn’t understand that would have cost me several years behind bars by a cop I thought I could trust. When all was said and done, I was released and the charges against me were dropped. Clint, on the other ...