Page 31 of Hate Notes

Over the past few weeks, I learned a few important things about my new job at Foster Real Estate:

First, my new desk, which was no longer in the janitor’s closet after I told Orion how I liked the privacy, had an excellent view of Orion's office. This was both a blessing and a curse, since watching him pace, run his hands through his hair, and generally brood was oddly mesmerizing. I'd catch myself staring when I should have been working, which probably explained why Moira kept shooting me those knowing smirks.

Second, I was actually good at this job. Really good. The kind of good that made Moira stop giving me that "who did you sleep with to get here" look and start giving me the "maybe you're not completely useless" look instead. Baby steps.

Third, Orion was absolutely over the “game” of bribing all the hate note employees Patricia sent his way after letting me go. In fact, he was offering such staggering sums of money that she had apparently put a temporary halt on sending anyone to read him messages, and the backlog was getting her a growing number ofbad reviews. I was sure Orion loved all of this, but if he did, he gave no outward indication.

Last of all, I had learned that my plans of avoiding Orion Foster while working here were fruitless. I would have had a better shot at avoiding gravity or the IRS. The man was everywhere, always showing up at the worst possible moments—like now, when I was trying to eat a contraband sandwich at my desk.

I managed to shove half a turkey club into my drawer as his shadow fell across my desk. Without looking up, I knew exactly what expression he'd be wearing: that irritated-but-trying-to-hide-it look that made his jaw tick and his nostrils flare.

"Miss Hartwell," he said, voice clipped. "A word?"

“Jalapeno.”

“What?”

“Sorry. You should be more specific next time. I thought you just wanted any old word.”

Orion did this thing when I pushed his buttons where he straightened and seemed to start giving off heat.He was doing that now.“I need to speak with you,” he said, voice clipped and tight.

I brushed a suspicious crumb off my lip. "Let me guess—you missed our morning hate note sessions and wanted to recreate the magic? I could freestyle one for old time's sake."

His jaw tightened. Damn, but his jawline could cut glass when he was annoyed. "Moira tells me she unleashed you on the Golding account. That's an important client, and I'm not convinced you're ready for that level of responsibility."

"Ah, yes. Eleanor Golding? The old woman loves me," I said, spinning my chair to face him fully. "Did you know she collects ceramic ducks? I sent her one as a thank you for considering us. She was so touched she called just to tell me about her whole collection. Forty-seven ducks, if you can believe it."

"You sent her a..." Orion trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That's not protocol."

"Neither is putting new employees in janitor closets, but here we are. Or… there we were, I guess, until you decided to bring me out where you could watch me in full, real life high definition instead of through a camera lens." I smiled cheerily up at him.

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, that familiar electricity crackled between us. "You were taking advantage of the seclusion. You appear to be the sort of employee who needs constant, and very close supervision.

“Mhm. Or maybe my boss just prefers to keep his eyes on me. Anyway, your close watch isn’t helping me make friends. Hardly anybody will talk to me around here. They act like I have the plague.”

"Maybe it's because they see the way you vex me."

"Vex you?" I laughed. "Are you a Victorian gentleman now? Should I fetch the groundskeeper to ruffle your cumberbun, Mr. Darcy?"

"Careful," he warned.

"Or you'll move my desk again? Closer to your office, maybe?"

"I moved you because you were using the privacy to take two-hour lunch breaks and make faces at my security cameras."

I grinned. "In other words… you moved me because I was distracting you? I’m flattered to know I have such a profound effect on you, Mr. Foster.”

He leaned forward, planting both hands on my desk. The motion brought his face close enough that I could smell his cologne—something expensive and subtle that made my stomach do an annoying little flip.Focus, Ember. Remember why you're here.

"You don't even begin to distract me, Miss Hartwell."

"Liar," I whispered back. "And I think you're annoyed because you can tell I'm good at this job. So good that you don't want to fire me, even though you kind of do."

"Fire you?" he asked. "No. Giving you this job was giving you enough rope to hang yourself. It was a punishment, and you've been too naive to see it."

"Then I guess I like being punished by you, because—" I clamped my mouth shut, swallowed, and forced a carefree smile. "Pretend I didn't just say that."

His eyes darkened slightly. "I want a full report on all your communications and... parcels sent to Eleanor Golding on my desk by five." He straightened up, adjusting his tie in a way that drew my eyes to his hands. They were nice hands. Strong. Capable. The kind of hands that... No. Bad Ember. Orion is the enemy. Well, maybe Cole was the real enemy. Maybe both men were? God, my life was complicated.

---