Page 43 of The Grumpy Billionaire

It’s awful enough to say that about a person, but coming from perfect Hugo? He may as well have called me an axe murderer; that’s how much he hates a lack of order and discipline and all that.

And then I kiss him? Or kiss him back. Or whatever I did.

Staple smash smash smash.

“Stella.” Jane’s staring at me.

“Yeah?”

“The corporate style is one staple, placed in the corner at a forty-five-degree angle. The placement should be equidistant, like so.” Jane staples a packet in the corner, saying something about four corners of a square. A visually balanced placement.

“Got it,” I say.

I gather up the next ream, squaring it off and stapling like Jane showed me, specifically not thinking about how Hugo screwed up my career.

I staple another sheaf.

He ruins my reputation, says those jackass things, and when I confront him, does he apologize? No! He thinks he’s entitled to a nice big smooch.

Staple smash.

To be fair, I did go for it.

Hell, I did more than go for it—I was a nympho maniac from hell. A monkey on aphrodisiacs. Like I was living on fake Hugos all this time and suddenly I get access to the real thing, and I want to mainline him directly into my veins.

Or, let’s be honest, I wanted to mainline him directly into my vagina. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, just get into the vagina.

Being with him was that hot. Horribly. Diabolically hot.

Uh!

Staple smash.

“No, no, no,” Jane says. “You really need to get that forty-five-degree angle. Wulfric likes things just so.” She turns her chair on a dime and tosses half of my stapled packets into the recycling.

“He’s that particular? Will he give us concrete shoes and throw us in the Hudson if we don’t staple perfectly?”

“Just to be clear, we’re not stapling perfectly for Wulfric, we’re stapling perfectly for Lola. Giving Wulfric less shit to be menacing about makes Lola’s life easier.”

“So what’s the story there? Is he literally dangerous in some way, or is that some kind of rich guy vanity PR?”

“You don’t become notorious with nothing behind it,” she says. “You can’t believe the line poor Lola has to walk. Good stapling is our way of helping our girl out.”

“Got it. Okay. Definitely down with that.” I go back to stapling—more carefully this time.

God, this place!

Jane passes over another stack of collated handouts for me to staple.

Precise staple smash.

I have to get out of here—that’s all there is to it.

And I’m working on it. I have résumés out, because apparently I live in hope that not everybody knows about the trash-talking HR forum. I’m also working on a website showcasing my coolest projects—projects I singlehandedly dreamed up and led. A corporate marketing team might not know about the forum.

Staple smash staple smash.

I’ll cold call—I’m not scared of that. I’ll figure it out. I’m scrappy and resilient.

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