Bailey put down her coffee with a jerky movement and clicked through to the manifesto that had already generated two million views. The Truth About Women, which apparently had never been meant for anyone other than Jared Stone’s inner circle, was now the salacious entertainment of the entire male population. As she started reading what was unmistakably her boss’s bold, eloquent tone, she nearly fell off her chair.
Having dated and worked with a cross-section of women from around the globe, and having reached the age where I feel I can make a definitive opinion on the subject matter, I have come to a conclusion. Women lie.
They say they want to be equals in the boardroom, when in reality nothing has changed over the past fifty years. Despite all their pleas to the contrary, despite their outrage at the limits the “so-called” glass ceiling puts on them, they don’t really want to be hammering out a deal, and they don’t want to be orchestrating a merger. They want to be home in the house we provide, living the lifestyle to which they’ve become accustomed. They want a man who will take care of them, who gives them a hot night between the sheets and diamond jewelry at appropriate intervals. Who will prevent them from drifting aimlessly through life without a compass…
Drifting aimlessly through life without a compass? Bailey’s cheeks flamed. If there was any way in which her life couldn’t be described, it was that. She’d spent the last twelve years putting as much mileage between her and her depressing low-income roots as she could, doing the impossible and obtaining an MBA before working herself up the corporate ladder. First at a smaller Silicon Valley start-up, then for the last three years at Jared Stone’s industry darling of a consumer electronics company.
And that was where her rapid progression had stopped. As director of North American sales for Stone Industries, she’d spent the last eighteen months chasing a vice president position Stone seemed determined not to give her. She’d worked harder and more impressively than any of her male colleagues, and it was generally acknowledged the VP job should have been hers. Except Jared Stone didn’t seem to think so—he’d given the job to someone else. And that hurt coming from the man she’d been dying to work for—the resident genius of Silicon Valley.
Why didn’t he respect her as everyone else did?
Her blood heated to a furious level; bubbled and boiled and threatened to spill over into an expression of uncontrolled rage. Now she knew why. Because Jared Stone was a male chauvinist pig. The worst of a Silicon Valley breed.
He was…horrific.
She forced a sip of the excessively strong java into her mouth before she lost it completely and slammed the cup back down on her desk. Flicked her gaze back to her computer screen and the “rules” on women Jared had also gifted the male population with.
Rule Number 1—All women are crazy. And by that I mean they think in a completely foreign way from us that might as well come from another planet. You need to find the least crazy one you can live with. If you elect to settle down, which I’m not advocating, mind you.
Rule Number 2—Every woman wants a ring on her finger and the white picket fence. No matter what she says. Not a bad thing for the state of the nuclear family or for you if you’re already on that trajectory. But for God’s sake know what you’re getting yourself into.
Rule Number 3—Every woman wants a lion in the bedroom. She wants to be dominated. She wants you to be in complete control. She doesn’t want you to listen to her “needs.” So stop making that mistake. Be a man.