Page 45 of Hate Notes

If nothing else, at least Monday would be an interesting day at the office.

21

EMBER

"...and that's when I found duck number seventy-one," Eleanor Golding gushed over the phone. "At a garage sale, of all places! Can you believe it?"

"No way!" I couldn't help but share her excitement. I always loved collections, and the weirder they were, the better. This was the most ducks she'd ever acquired in one month. "What's this one like?"

"Oh, he's a dapper little mallard in a top hat and monocle. I've dubbed him Sir Quackington."

"Love it." I grinned as I added Sir Q's details to my top secret spreadsheet: "Eleanor's Duck Armada - Confidential." I wasn't sure if "Mr. Foster" would actually consider this productive use of work time, but he could stuff it. I happened to like this client, and I enjoyed building rapport with her.

An amused cough made me nearly topple out of my chair.

I whipped around to see Julian leaning on my desk. With his surfer-boy good looks, permanent bedhead, and perpetuallyrumpled designer clothes, he was the kind of guy who probably peaked in college but was still riding that wave. But his eyes were sharp and knowing as they twinkled at my clearly non-work-related activities.

"Eleanor, gotta run," I said, smiling awkwardly up at Julian. I lowered my voice. "Please send pics of the distinguished gentleman!" I ended the call and faced Julian with my best professional smile. "How can I help you on this fine, productive morning?"

"Well, for starters, Moira needs your response to her email by EOD." His smirk widened. "But more importantly, you're a bit of an office legend, Ember."

I blinked. "Come again?"

"No one, and I mean no one, has ever gotten Orion 'Fun is my Kryptonite' Foster to bend on the lunch rule. Yet you just waltz out whenever for your little café rendezvous." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "And lived to tell the tale. And that’s only the first chapter of your legend. It just keeps going, doesn’t it?"

The word rendezvous brought an unbidden flash of memory from last night—Orion's hands, his mouth, the delicious weight of him pressing me into the door. I shifted in my seat, pressing my thighs together.

"Maybe he's not quite the tyrant you all think," I deflected.

Julian laughed out loud. "Riiiight. Next you'll tell me his sock drawer isn't alphabetized or that his bathroom breaks aren't timed to the second." He mock-shuddered. "We pulled an all-nighter once. The man is a machine. Every single pee break was exactly forty-five seconds. And then he spent longer than that washing his hands."

I bit back a grin. Around here, every single employee talked about Orion like an Olympian god sitting high on Mount Olympus. It was as if he was untouchable, unreachable, and hardly even human to them. And yet I had a crystal clear image in my mind of how deliciously disheveled Mr. Precision had looked after our heated makeout session.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the secret side of him I got to see.

"Thanks for the heads-up," I said pointedly. "And hey, maybe keep the duck spreadsheet just between us?"

"Yourfowlsecret is safe with me," he quipped with an exaggerated wink. I groaned and shooed him out, but couldn't help smiling. Julian was alright.

A ping interrupted my duck reverie. An email from Orion.

The sight of it made my stomach do a nervous spin.

Miss Hartwell,

Please see me in my office at your earliest convenience to discuss appropriate workplace conduct.

Regards, O. Foster

P.S. "Earliest convenience" means 9:15 AM sharp. Not 9:16.

I checked my watch. 9:13. Of course. Grabbing a notebook to maintain some pretense of professionalism, I hurried to his office—definitely not remembering what happened the last time we were alone together. Nope. Not at all.

The door was open, but I knocked anyway, keenly aware of the curious eyes tracking me through the office. For the most part, Iwas still treated like an outcast by my co-workers. Little by little, I was breaking through the barrier, but it was slow work.

My best guess was that people worried Orion’s extra focus on me would shift to them if they associated with me too much. Nobody around here really wanted Orion to notice them, and if not for our special circumstances, I’d say I couldn’t blame them.

"Enter," he called without glancing up from his laptop. I shut the door and turned to face him, my pulse pounding traitorously.

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