Page 72 of The Revenge Agenda

The other guard casts a curious glance over me. “This guy?”

I huff and fix him with my most unimpressed look. “I’m the only guy here besides the two of you.”

“That you are.”

“And I work here.”

“So you say.”

Cutie nudges the other guard. “Stop messing with him. Go on up, and, oh—” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his business card. “Call me if you ever get stuck again. Instead of making a nuisance of yourself.”

I look from the card and back up to him again. “There’s a number of the security office on the front door.”

“Don’t make me spell it out.”

“Spell what out?”

“He’s giving you his number,” the other guard says. “To get together later.”

“Oh.” I look at the card for a minute longer, trying to work out if I am actually going to call him. The flirting is a cute little confidence boost, but I’d always known it wasn’t going anywhere. “No, thank you.”

Cutie’s face falls.

“This isn’t a personal decision. I just don’t know when I’d ever use it.”

“I was kinda hoping to ask you out.”

“I don’t think I’m interested in anything like that.”

Cutie nods. “Fair enough. Let us know if you have any trouble getting out.” He winks. “The number’s on the door.”

They leave, and I head toward the elevators, wondering how anyone could possibly miss the number on the door. Was he actually telling me despite me already pointing it out to him? Or was the wink supposed to indicate teasing?

My brain is too busy mushing through a potato strainer to follow.

The coffee has relaxed me fractionally like I thought it might, and the whole way up to our floor, my arms get heavier and heavier. It’s okay, though, because I have a bunch of Twizzlers in my desk drawer, and Gates is bound to have some diet soda in the fridge, so I’ll balance out the fatigue.

My work isn’t hard. I’ll be able to scale the mountain load tonight, and by Monday, I’ll be back on track. Nothing for them to fire me for.

I grab a bottle of half-flat soda and my packet of Twizzlers before setting it all out on the desk. The soda lid will be my time marker—every fifteen minutes, I’ll take a shot of soda—and the Twizzlers will be my reward for everything I get done. I scribble out a list of the most important things to get through, then switch my computer on. I’m here. I’m ready.

Time to blow these guys out of the water.

Chapter 21

Hunter

Hunter,

I swear I’m not as flaky as you’ve probably assumed I am, but it turns out it’s Saturday and not Wednesday like I thought it was and that maybe I missed a lot of time? I’m sorry! It was an accident, do you believe me? Probably not, but that’s okay because I’m going to head in there now and get all my work done and it’ll be like I never took time off at all. I’ll make it allll up to you and even bring you a coffee Monday when I pick up Ted’s so long as you promise not to fire me. I did send you that very considerate list of reasons not to quit, after all. Maybe I should have focused on reasons not to fire me. One, you’ll miss the ant puns. Two, you’ll miss these inappropriate emails. Three, you’ll possibly even miss me. Four, we definitely cannot kiss any more if I’m not always around to remind you of it. And five—this is probably most crucial—it’s not fall yet. Autumn still has months to work out which flavors she’s going with this year and I’m not above suggesting cilantro. Rip, your tastebuds (if you fire me. Which you definitely shouldn’t).

Rush

Rush, the ridiculous,

I forbid you from stepping foot in that building. It’s a fucking Saturday. Stay home, get some sleep, we can talk on Monday. And no, that’s not code for fire you. You’re not fired. I’m not at all mad. I might have told Ted that you called in sick so don’t worry, you’re covered.

Hunter

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