Page 2 of Hate Notes

We were getting close.

Despite the early hour, the usual crowd was already outside my office. The vultures liked to watch. One woman, who considered herself an "influencer," even livestreamed this daily fiasco. She provided commentary on the hate notes and tried to guess what I had done to earn each one with her "fans."

Maybe calling her a vulture was too generous.

The bottom-feeders stood with coffees in hand, snacks, and excited smiles on their faces, like they were waiting for a Broadway show to start.

One of them pointed at me as I approached with Remmy at my side.

"There he is," they mouthed.

I sighed again, though my six-foot-three frame remained perfectly straight. A Foster never slouched, especially not in the face of adversity.

Remmy waved happily at the crowd. "Sorry we're late!" she shouted, cupping her hands over her mouth and nearly dropping her bag. "He had trouble getting the stick far enough up his ass, so we're running behind!"

I shot my little sister a glare, ignoring the laughter from the crowd.

She shrugged, biting back a smile. "Admit it. That was a little funny."

"No," I said. "And you shouldn't encourage them."

"It's like your little fan club, though. I think we should start a social media account for you. You could go viral, you know.Grumpiest Boss in New York," she said, spreading her hands as if she was visualizing a billboard.

"Absolutely not," I said, my voice as crisp as my collar.

"It could help your profits," she singsonged.

"You really think so?" I asked.

She laughed. "No. But it's hilarious how quickly you switched your tone when you thought it would."

I shook my head and stopped in front of the steps leading up to my office. I knew from experience that the Hate Notes employee would follow me inside if I didn't wait. When forced to choose between doing this in front of strangers or my employees, I chose strangers.

That didn't stop a small crowd of my employees from gathering at the lobby windows on the first floor of the Foster Real Estate skyscraper.

I turned my gaze their way, and they scattered like pigeons in Central Park.

The Hate Notes employee tasked with reading my notes today was named Matthew. He started last week, and I was certain I would get to him soon. They all had a price, and I had to admit I kind of enjoyed trying to find it.

Matthew saw me and jogged down the steps, note cards in hand. He glanced down at one as he descended the stairs, mouthing something silently to himself, almost as if he was practicing his delivery.

Wonderful.

Matthew wore the Hate Notes uniform—a garish red hat, matching shirt, and even more ridiculous red gloves, as if they needed protective gear for this nonsense.

The business logo was a letter folded to look like it had a mouth, complete with lipstick to drive the point home. It was open wide, as if shouting, with three squiggly black lines coming from the mouth. The text above the letter said "Hate Notes." Below, their slogan was printed in chipper letters: "When an email just won't cut it!"

"Let's get this over with," I said, my voice carrying the same authority I used in board meetings.

"Morning, Mr. Foster," Matthew said.

"I know they can't be paying you enough to turn down a thousand," I said. Yesterday, I'd offered him five hundred dollars to take his notes and leave. It was admittedly part of the game for me. I enjoyed bribing the employees of this ridiculous company and forcing their owners to hire and train new people. Because once an employee accepted my bribes, they were always fired. It was hard to hide that they weren't doing their jobs when the vultures were filming, after all.

Matthew was a guy in his mid-thirties, I guessed. I would've sent him to the mail room if he'd stepped into my office for an interview. He had "failure to launch" written all over his droopy, slack-jawed face.

But I had to give the man credit. He wasn't easy to bribe. Most of them caved when I hit two hundred, which said something about how much people enjoyed working for Hate Notes.

He leaned closer. "Two thousand, and I'll only read a couple of them."

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