Hate Notes: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy, page 3
"If we're done with the intervention," I said, "I would like to get these people out of my house so I can get some rest. I have meetings in the morning."
And I needed time to restore order to my apartment. To erase all traces of this invasion and return to my carefully controlled routine.
It was safer that way. Simpler.
Even if sometimes, in moments like this with my family, I wondered if simple was really what I wanted after all.
4
EMBER
Kora sat cross-legged on my couch with her phone in her lap. My cat, "Catman," was lurking behind her, plotting her demise. Catman was going for the world record as the oldest living cat, though he seemed to be approaching it through spite and stubbornness alone. He had been my parents' cat, and legend says he was their parents' cat before that. Some even claimed he existed before time itself began.
The only thing we knew for sure was that nobody remembered buying or finding Catman. They all just said he had been living in the house as long as they could remember, like some sort of ancient evil that came with the property deed.
Kora gave Catman a mistrustful look. "Stop looking at me like that, Catman. I know you're judging me."
He meowed in response, managing to sound both ancient and condescending at once. No matter how much I tried, he was always kind of greasy-looking. He was missing half of one ear and had stopped using one of his eyes a few years ago. I was pretty sure it still worked, but he just... closed it and never opened it again. The vet had been perplexed, and her official diagnosis was that he was "dramatically depressed." When I asked what that meant, she just shrugged and said "he's doing it for attention."
Wonderful. My cat was a drama queen.
"Focus," I said. "We were talking about what the hell I should do."
"Well," Kora said, setting her phone down to take a heaping spoonful of ice cream. She swallowed, then handed me the tub.
Kora would probably aggressively exercise these ice cream calories off. And me? Well… Calories were just energy, right? Some might say I could lose a few pounds, but me? I liked to see it as having an emergency storage supply of energy.
"I see a few options,” Kora said. “You could always do what he's asking. Infiltrate this dude's company. Sabotage him. Do such a good job that Cole realizes he made a mistake letting you go. You two have a dreamy reunion in the rain. Maybe you're wearing white, so he can totally see your nipples. They are hard enough to cut diamonds. His eyes fall to them, and he bites his lip, then you bite yours. You get on your knees, and then—"
"No," I said, voice flat. "First of all, I've told you this before. I have camo nips. Same color as my skin. It's ridiculous, and nobody wants to see that."
"Your camo nips are awesome," Kora said. "I've seen them, and let me tell you, they are great. Lets your boobs do all the talking without two distracting blobs stealing the show."
“Mhm,” I said around a mouthful of icecream.
"At least you're not cursed with pepperoni nips like my cousin Janet."
"I don't want to know how you know about Janet's nipples."
"Family beach trip," Kora said with a shudder. "Some things you can't unsee."
I snorted ice cream up my nose, which was exactly as pleasant as it sounds. "Anyway," I said, wiping my face, "exactly zero percent of me wants back with Cole. I just... I wouldn't mind if he regretted dumping me for whats-her-name, but that's purely speaking from a place of spite. I'd rather eat a toenail than get back with him. There's wanting revenge on your ex because you secretly want him back, and then there's wanting revenge because you realized he's a piece of dick who deserves to get kicked in his metaphorical, human-sized dick nuts."
Kora raised an eyebrow at that, then shrugged. "The other option is you lawyer up on his ass. I'm pretty sure him asking you to do this infiltration bullshit breaks some kind of law. Probably several of them. They could put a wire on you, and boom. He's busted."
"Sure. I'll just hire lawyers with all the money I don't have. The plan is brilliant. Maybe they'll accept monopoly money? An IOU written in crayon? Look at my beautiful apartment if you really think I have money stashed away somewhere."
Kora didn't even have to move her head to look at my whole apartment. You could see the kitchen from my bed and everything else in the 132-square-foot studio apartment. The only thing you couldn't see was the bathroom. Yay for scraps of privacy.
"What about the police?" Kora asked.
"One, that's so lame. Two, I don't have the time to deal with it. If I'm getting fired by Cole soon, I need to make sure I've got another job lined up."
"So... What are you suggesting?" Kora asked.
"I’ve been scheming all afternoon and I think I’ve got the perfect plan. I'm going to get hired by this Mr. Foster guy like Cole wants. I'll even let Cole believe I'm planning to sabotage his rival. But in reality, I’m just seeing how long I can collect two salaries before Cole figures out what’s going on. Imagine his face when he finds out I duped him."
Kora smiled and clapped her hands. "Yesss. It's wicked. I love it. So you're just milking Cole's money while you get your foot in the door at your next job. He'll be so pissed when he finds out."
I smiled around a mouthful of ice cream, then paused and looked down at my pudgy belly. Hmm. I guess I was less of a "hit the gym and get the perfect beach bod" kind of ex and more of a "let's destroy his soul with my diabolical schemes" type. But my brilliant plan was way cooler than just getting a great body. Anybody could do that! In theory...
"So," Kora said, eyes narrowed. "How will you get a job working for Foster Real Estate? Isn't the boss kind of notoriously dickish?"
"Another dickish boss," I said thoughtfully. "Thankfully, I've already got experience handling dicks."
Kora burst out laughing as she raised two fists, pumped them in the air, and opened her mouth like she was really going at it.
"That's not what I meant at all," I sputtered.
"Hold on, they're almost done," she said, continuing to pump while making obscene slurping sounds.
I tossed a pillow at her as she fell back, accepting a phantom money-shot on her chest, which she pressed together to make a bigger target.
"You're ridiculous," I said, trying not to laugh. “Anyway, asshole bosses are all the same on the inside. Deep down, all they care about is obedience. They want fear, respect, submission, or a combination of all three. The real secret is not giving them any of it."
"Ohh," Kora said with a wiggle of her brows. "She's spitting wisdom, now."
"So," I continued, leaning forward. "You get your foot in the door, and then you drive them crazy by resisting. You show them you won't bend, break, or even tilt. It pisses them off, and they will put you in more and more important positions of responsibility. They'll think the weight of it will make you crack. But you just keep on resisting."
"What happens if you are the one who cracks?"
“They will crack first. Think about it,” I said, tapping my temple. “They call them assholes for a reason, right?" I asked. "Every asshole is hiding behind a massive crack. All you have to do is dig into it... to..." I trailed off, realizing the metaphor was both gross and not exactly applicable. My lips scrunched as I held back a smile.
"That's either some fortune cookie shit, or the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
"Thank you," I said, smiling around my spoon as I shoveled another bite into my mouth.
From his perch on the couch, Catman gave me his signature one-eyed look of judgment.
"What?" I asked him. "You got a better plan?"
His meow seemed to say "I've lived nine hundred years and that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"Nobody asked you, you immortal drama queen."
The way he turned his back to me said everything.
At least I had ice cream.
And a plan.
Sort of.
5
EMBER
It took me approximately two days to create my master plan. Day one wasn't spent planning, though. Day one was a recovery day because I had eaten so much ice cream on day zero that I had to spend most of day one in the bathroom. The magic really happened on day two.
Step one was getting paid by Cole to not work at his company, which was pretty easy once he thought I was going along with his plan. I told him I was going to start working on getting hired by Foster Real Estate, and Cole happily excused me to miss work as long as I gave him the occasional update on my progress.
Easy.
The harder part was getting Orion Foster to hire me.
I blew out a breath of cold air with my hands stuffed in my pockets as I stared up at his obnoxiously large building. The building wasn't what stopped me, though.
A crowd had gathered below the steps leading to the entrance of the Foster Real Estate building despite the early hour, and they looked like they were expecting some kind of show.
There was also a guy waiting out front in a bright red uniform. His shirt and hat had "Hate Notes" written in big letters. I squinted through the morning fog, pretty sure I had seen a commercial for that company once.
Hmm.
I pulled my scarf a little tighter, deciding this may warrant an expert investigation. Of course, I would need to be subtle, unsuspecting, and as sly as a spy.
Then again, it might be easier to just ask somebody.
"What's going on?" I asked a woman who was holding a steaming cup of coffee, her phone already raised in anticipation.
"The CEO of that building is a huge jerk. He pisses off so many people that they write him like twenty hate notes a day."
"Hate notes?" I asked.
"It's this company. Like... imagine your landlord is a total bitch. You pay them five bucks per note, and they'll send a messenger to read it to them in person. Delivery is guaranteed, or you get your money back. You can make them totally anonymous, too."
I grinned. Suddenly, I wanted to send a hate note to Cole. Maybe a few dozen. If only I weren't so damn poor.
Hashtag, rich girl goals. I'd make it go Harry Potter on his ass, with so many Hate Notes flying in his apartment that they'd be bursting out of the fireplace and through the windows.
"So everybody is here to watch his hate notes get read to him?" I asked.
"Yep. But today might be a bust. He always tries to bribe the employees. I think it's a game for him. He offers them more and more money until they finally fold. Then their boss finds out, and they get fired. Rinse and repeat. Honestly, it's peak theater. This is the highlight of my day."
I thought that was a little sad, but I smiled and nodded politely. I also felt a brilliant idea beginning to hatch in my mind. I got a lot of brilliant ideas. Frankly, the real problem was I rarely had the time, motivation, money, or ability to follow through on most of them.
It was only a few minutes before a dark-haired man in a suit and a woman who looked like she might be his sister appeared.
I recognized Orion Foster from my detective work on the internet. Admittedly, calling myself a detective was a bit rich. I basically plugged his name into a search engine and looked at a quick Wikipedia entry about him. I may have lingered on the image search a little longer than strictly necessary. Asshole or not, the man was pretty. I had to give him that much.
He reminded me a little of Jason Momoa, but if Jason only wore tailored suits, had no tattoos, kept himself clean-shaven, and lived life with a stick up his ass. Oh, and his medium-length hair was pushed away from his face in a very CEO-appropriate look. He would do an amazing "getting out of the pool in slow-mo scene" if you asked me.
His sister was pretty, too. She wore a fun outfit that made me think she must work in a slightly less uptight environment. She was laughing and smiling as she said something to him. Orion looked like he was preparing for a funeral. Or maybe there really was something deep inside his rectum.
What kind of name was Orion, anyway? If his parents wanted to name him after constellations, they should've chosen the obvious, coolest constellation and called him The Little Dipper.
This is why nobody lets me name things. But come on, what kind of awesome kid would you grow up to be if you were named The Little Dipper?
Orion was at least pretty easy to shorten. I wondered if his friends called him nicknames. Ryan, maybe? Oreo? Ry Guy? Then again... the look on his face said he might not have friends.
The employee from Hate Notes approached Orion with a stack of notecards. They spoke softly for a while, and then Orion handed the man a thick stack of money.
Holy shit. How much does he bribe these people? Was it worth that much money to avoid hearing angry notes aloud? Or was Orion so rich that he didn't care about the money?
Color me intrigued either way.
The employee looked at the money, hesitated, and then took it.
The gathered crowd groaned in disappointment as the Hate Notes employee walked off and counted his money without reading a single note.
Okay. Yeah. My perfect plan just got at least three to four times more perfect.
I hummed the mission impossible theme song under my breath as I watched Orion's broad shoulders disappear into the building. Time to put operation "piss off the hot CEO" into action.
This was going to be fun.
6
ORION
Yesterday, Matthew finally caved. Two thousand dollars had been the magic number. Good riddance. I had to admit I was getting a little less patient with the game. I used to start with small bribes, like a hundred dollars, and slowly work my way up. Lately, I was so over the whole ordeal that I bumped the number to something ridiculous after one or two attempts.
Sometimes, I was lucky enough to get a day or two of peace when I got a Hate Notes employee fired. I liked to imagine I was causing Patricia Rosh, their CEO, a great deal of annoyance. After all, she was constantly forced to hire, replace, and train new employees. If I was lucky, maybe it was even making a dent in their finances.
"Proud of yourself, aren't you?" Remmy asked.
Remmy's outfit was eccentric today, even by her standards. She wore a wide-brimmed hat and a sundress along with a jean jacket covered in random pins and badges. Even the idea of thinking that hard about what to wear gave me second-hand stress.
"No," I said. "Just hoping today will be peaceful. And the disappointment of my enemies brings me happiness."
She snorted out a laugh. "That's a bit dramatic. Don't you think?"
We rounded the corner, and I saw the usual crowd. To my annoyance, I also saw a Hate Notes employee. A woman, this time, huh? So much for a few days of peace. I just got Matthew fired yesterday. Patricia was working fast this time.
It was also much more common for them to send men after me. The women tended to fold even more easily. Remmy said it was because they wanted to get in my pants, but I doubted that. Usually, the first word either gender used to describe me was scary, just how I preferred it. People bothered me less that way. When people bothered me less, I could focus on what mattered without distraction.
"Look, they found a replacement already!" Remmy said happily.
"So it seems," I said, walking up to the steps of my building.
The girl was wearing the red Hate Notes uniform and the hat, but even their garish colors couldn't completely diminish her impact. She carried herself with an easy grace that seemed at odds with her role as a messenger of spite. Brown hair fell in waves past her shoulders, and her eyes were an unusual shade of amber-brown that caught the morning light. She was small—barely reaching my shoulder—but something in her stance suggested she'd never once considered that a disadvantage. Most striking was the defiant look on her face, the slight upturn of her full lips that I wasn't sure I liked.
Why was she looking at me like that? They usually started a little timid and nervous. This girl looked like she was looking forward to her task. Something about her energy made her impossible to dismiss, though I found myself wishing I could.
I spared a glance at the crowd, most of which were holding up phones to film.
Fucking vultures.
"Good morning," I said as the girl approached with a thick stack of notecards.
I noticed her fingernails. A nail chewer, too? Charming.
She raised her eyes to meet mine. I finally saw just a hint of nerves in her features. "You've been served thirteen Hate Notes today, and I'll be—"
"Cut the speech," I said. "I'm prepared to offer you a thousand dollars to walk away. I'll give you two thousand immediately if you agree to quit your job."
Why was I starting with such a large bribe? Maybe part of me worried that the defiant spark in her eyes was trouble. Or maybe I thought this girl would be better to get rid of quickly?
She blinked. "Um. No. You're going to hear these."
Hm. I had started with a higher number than usual, and the woman had barely blinked. "What's your name?" I asked.
"Ember," she said, clearing her throat as she held up her stack of cards and began to read. "You're arrogant, think your shit doesn't stink, and take joy in costing people their jobs. You should be ashamed of yourself."
I leaned forward, glancing at the card she was pretending to read from. "That card is blank..." I said.
Ember smiled up at me. It was a crooked, mischievous smile. "Yeah. That one was a personal Hate Note from me. You'll get a free one daily so long as I'm your delivery girl."
She had a somewhat raspy, deep voice that was unusual but interesting. If nothing else, it wasn't the worst voice to hear for a few mornings.
"That's not how this works," I said tightly.
"No? What will you do, call my boss and get me fired? I'm sure she's really worried about your satisfaction, Mr. Foster."
Unfortunately, she had a very good point, even if I wasn't about to admit it. Knowing her employee was pissing me off would probably only make Patricia give the girl a raise. So she was defiant and clever. Wonderful.
