Page 65 of Hate Notes

"You love me." She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "But seriously, Em. You need to figure this out before it blows up in your face. Because trust me, the way Cole's acting? It's going to blow up."

I nodded miserably. "I know. I just... I need to find the right moment."

"And when exactly is the right moment to tell your almost-boyfriend that you originally took the job to spy on him?"

"Maybe never?" I suggested hopefully.

Kora just gave me a look.

"Fine." I slumped in my chair. "I'll tell him. Though after the other day, I'm not sure he'll ever let me close enough to explain."

"You have to try," she said, checking her phone. "Speaking of the devil, I better get back before Cole throws another stapler. Try not to have any more dramatic confrontations while I'm gone."

I threw a piece of muffin at her, but my smile faded as soon as she left.

30

EMBER

Ifound myself walking toward a meeting with Orion in the conference room, clutching the Davenport proposal revisions. After days of strained silence, I couldn't stand it anymore. The tension in the office was palpable—every interaction cold and formal, both of us pretending the dinner with Colton and Jessica had never happened.

Work-wise, things seemed to be going well. Eleanor Golding officially signed on for a huge project to improve one of her massive hotels downtown. She told anyone who would listen that she loved me and tried to give me credit for the deal, which admittedly helped the way people around the office regarded me.

People other than Orion, at least.

His only interactions with me were to curtly ask for updates on Davenport. Considering Davenport called me every day to chat about ideas for his business, I was expected to give Orion something concrete every time he asked. Mostly, though, the only concrete information I could gather was that Colehad somehow gained access to my cloud files and siphoned information from the research I did on Davenport’s factories. The insight explained how he had managed to weasel his way into Davenport’s good graces.

As much as I wanted to run and tell this to Davenport, I doubted the breach of my security would be a good look for the business he would potentially trust with his project, and decided to keep it to myself. Cole had played dirty, which I should’ve expected. Now, I just had to make sure I helped secure this deal, one way or another.

I paused outside Orion’s office and took a deep breath to gather my courage. I could handle a grumpy boss. The thing that set me on edge every time I interacted with Orion was knowing what we had squandered. There was so much potential between us, and I had screwed it all up. He wasn’t completely innocent, of course, but I put the majority of the blame for how things went on my own insecurities.

He was alone in the conference room, sleeves rolled up as he studied papers spread across the massive table. The sight of him like this—slightly disheveled, guard down—made my breath catch.

"What is it?” he asked, looking up suddenly at my arrival.

"Roman sent me the changes you made to our official Davenport proposal. You told him you would be happy to let me run the project, but you’ve changed everything. It’s all wrong.”

Whoops.There was that whole “speaking my mind, even when people didn’t want to hear it” quality Kora mentioned. I had planned to broach the topic more diplomatically, but something about Orion always flustered me and got my mouth running.

He straightened, eyes flashing. "Excuse me?"

"When we met with him the other day, I thought you might actually be starting to understand. But these plans?” I said, gesturing to the folder, which contained Orion’s modified version of my ideas. It also contained my suggested revisions of his new plans. “You want to turn the rubber factory into a historic hotel? Do you realize how much we would have to gut from that place to make room for?—”

“Of course,” he said, cutting me off. “I already know the exact costs of the materials and renovations. Three hundred and twelve rooms. Plumbing, electrical, and structural modifications. Design teams would do their best to preserve the legacy and flavor Davenport cares so much about.”

I gave a small laugh of disbelief. “You just don’t get it. Do you?”

“Oh, I get it. You’ve sold Davenport on some vanity project that will cause him to bleed money until his final days. Foster Real Estate has a legacy of its own, Ember. We make our clients money. Period. I’m not going to sink millions into these factories only to watch operations costs keep them from ever turning a profit in our lifetimes.”

“Why do you care?” I asked. “If Davenport wants to cover the costs and run them at a loss, who cares? He’s the client. If somebody asks you for a mohawk, you don’t tell them it’ll look bad and pick a different hair style. You give them what they want.”

“We’re not hairdressers. And I told you. It’s about our company image.Ourlegacy of being able to say we’ve come out ahead for every client we ever worked with.”

"Some people care about more than profits," I snapped.

His jaw tightened. "Your objections are noted, Miss Hartwell. But given recent events, I'm reluctant to trust your judgment on this matter."

The formal tone stung worse than anger would have. I stepped closer, pulse racing. "This isn't about trust. It's about a personal grudge. You’re mad at me, so now you are going to lose us the deal because you want to spite me.

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