Page 26 of Hate Notes

Catman's judgmental stare intensified.

"Don't look at me like that," I told him. "I know what I'm doing."

His expression clearly disagreed, but I ignored him. After all, what did he know? He was just a cat.

A very old, possibly immortal cat who had probably seen countless human mistakes over his centuries of existence... but still just a cat.

I was totally in control of this situation.

Totally.

12

EMBER

Iwalked into the Foster Real Estate building for the first time as an employee, and I felt like I might hurl.

It wasn't until I was already inside that I realized how damn nervous I was about everything—from my outfit choice to whether this was all one huge mistake. Sure, petty but divinely justified revenge on your ex sounds all well and good in theory, but now?

I was actually doing this. I was taking a job for Orion Foster under false pretenses, hiding the fact that I was working for Cole Northman, one of his biggest rivals, and it all suddenly felt way too real.

I took a couple deep breaths, decided not to hurl—I was on a budget, after all, and throwing up would mean completely wasting my delicious breakfast.

After much debate with Catman, I eventually decided on a simple pencil skirt, flowy white blouse, pearl necklace, and heels that pinched my toes but made my calves look amazing. I wasaiming for "average employee" but worried I may have landed closer to “girl who is trying too hard on her first day.”

I hated starting new jobs and not knowing what the hell I was supposed to wear.

The girl at reception gave me a long, suspicious look once I gave her my name and said I was a new hire. Eventually, she tapped away at her keyboard to make my badge, briefly lifting her eyes to me. "Do I recognize you from somewhere?"

"Uhh, nope," I said, trying for my most innocent smile. With my hair pulled back in a very professional ponytail and this outfit, I hoped none of them would connect me to the "hate notes girl" who'd harassed their boss for weeks. But if anyone was going to recognize me, it was probably a woman who worked on the first floor where I had made a spectacle almost every morning for weeks. "I guess I just have one of those faces."

"Hmm," she said, clearly unconvinced.

After getting my badge and directions to the 31st floor, I caught snippets of conversation in the elevator that made me feel like I'd somehow time-traveled back to high school.

"Another one of Moira's girls..."

"Wonder how long this one will last."

I stood a little straighter and shot the gossiping pair my best "I can hear you" glare. They at least had the decency to look embarrassed, shuffling closer to their corner of the elevator.

"Hi," I said, sticking out my hand. "I'm Ember Hartwell. I'll be working with Moira in client relations."

One of the women looked at my hand like it might bite her.

Okay, maybe it was a little sweaty. Sue me for being nervous.

"Good luck," she said with a grimace that suggested I'd need it.

They got off on the 25th floor, and I heard them burst into giggles as soon as they thought they were out of earshot.

Great. Making first impressions already. Quality didn't matter, right?

The elevator opened to the 31st floor, revealing the familiar office space I'd seen Mr. Foster disappear into every morning. The main area was open concept with private offices around the edges, and people moved around like extremely serious bees, all apparently too busy and important to make eye contact.

I was still taking it in when I heard the click-click-click of approaching heels.

A woman wearing a tight black dress, black eyeliner, black eyeshadow, and lipstick so dark it was almost purple came toward me.

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