Page 4 of A Labor of Hate
I was treading dangerously deep into “pathetic” waters at this point.Too deep.The last thing I needed was a mandated trip to the shrink, too.
Colt’s remark circled through my head.Assuming she lasts long enough to cause any more trouble.I risked a glance at him, only to find him glaring daggers at me.His nutmeg eyes flicked between me and McBride, his lips pressed into a tightly controlled frown.Each obsessive straightening of his stack of papers was accentuated with an aggressivesmackagainst his pristine desk.
He thought I couldn’t handle being here.That I was the scraps at the bottom of the barrel, sent here because I needed a new home and not because I’d been hoping for this assignment since my first day at Quantico.
And the last thing I was about to do was give him more reason to think so.
I scraped together my nonexistent dignity and straightened into my familiar dancing posture.Strong core, shoulders back, chin up, the smallest ghost of a smile on my lips.To me, my expression always looked emotionless, perhaps pleasantly neutral, and it had served me well countless times already.“Just some slippery shoes, sir.I decided to wear my coffee rather than drink it this morning, I’m afraid.Too eager to meet the team and get to work, I guess.”
The corner of McBride’s mouth inched upward before he nodded curtly and rested his hand on my shoulder.“In that case, your desk is right there.”He brushed past me, inclining his head toward the vacant desk across from none other than Mr.Starched Shirt.“Show her the ropes, Dixon.”
Colt straightened his already impeccable posture, not even glancing in my direction as he opened a drawer to expose a rainbow of color-coded filing folders.Apparently he was back to dismissing me now, which was almost more infuriating than the outright hatred radiating off him minutes ago.“I recommend you clean yourself up, newbie.Someof us care about representing the FBI well here.”
“By being a pompous prat, you mean?”I smiled sardonically at him.“Thatkind of representation?”
He huffed likeIwas the insufferable one and dropped his papers into the lime green folder.“By dressing like we didn’t crawl out of a Starbucks dumpster this morning, for one.And for two—” he met my eyes briefly, not even bothering to hide his disdain “—earning recognition and promotions therightway.”
My jaw dropped open before I could snap it shut.What exactly was he insinuating?And Iknewhe could tell that the coffee stains weren’t how I left the house this morning.He wouldn’t be an FBI agent if he was as observant as a wet sock, even if hedidhave the personality of one.
Who did this Colt guy think he was, anyway—God’s gift to a medium-sized field office in Detroit?Puh-lease.I’d show him.Assuming she lasts long enough.
He wouldn’t even know what hit him.
CHAPTERTWO
“HAVE YOU APOLOGIZED yet?”
I sandwiched my phone tighter between my shoulder and cheek with a huff, juggling my bag, keys, and breakfast bagel between my hands.“Why on earth would I do that, Dekker?He’s the one who’s got a problem with me.”
I swear I could hear my sister’s eyes roll through the phone.“That wasn’t how it sounded to me.”
I snorted, stuffing a bite of bagel into my mouth as I rocketed down the stairs of my apartment complex.Dekker was the type of person who apologized to doors for closing them too hard or thanked automatic soap dispensers for doing what they were designed to do.Every.Single.Time.I loved her to death, but fighting back against the human equivalent of going to the dentist was a little out of her wheelhouse.
“Yeah, but that was, like, two weeks ago,” I deflected, bursting out of the building and into the frigid March morning.“You probably mixed up the details.”
“Except for the fact you’ve called and complained about this Colt guy every day since.”
“I havenot.”
She ignored my denial.“First, he organized all of your papers?—”
“Ruinedmysystem,” I corrected.
“—then cleaned off your desk?—”
“He dumped my coffee in the trash!”
“—and hung your coat on the coat rack.”
“I was looking for it forthirty minutes!Heintentionallyhid it under two other coats, including his own.”
“But what didyoudo to him, again?”
“Nothing he didn’t deserve,” I grumbled, shoving the last bite of bagel in my mouth.
Sure, I’d shifted his phone by one inch every time he had to leave his desk, and maybe I’d replaced all of his pens with those pink, fuzzy ones I used to pine for as an elementary schooler.And maybe I’d also switched his apple juice out for pear juice.
Who drank apple juice every morning, anyway?No wonder the guy had issues.He’d never been caffeinated a day in his life.How he managed that, I’d never know.We were the last ones to leave the field office every night.It was like a battle of wills between the two of us.The first one to crack lost.Simple as that.Thus far, I was ahead by one.
