Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“I hope it’s a good buzz. I’d like it to be a good buzz.”
“Yes.” She waves a hand, dismissing my concern. “I baked chocolate chip cookies last night. I was just on my way to set them in the staff lunchroom. Would you like one?”
This woman is so kind and thoughtful. I have to say, I’m surprised and touched. “That would be great.”
She goes behind her desk, pops open a huge plastic container, and hands me one soft, delicious-looking cookie. It’s perfect from the gooey middle to the golden edges. I take a bite. “Wow! You should go into business for yourself.”
She just laughs before saying, “I’m more than happy here, but if I ever need a side hustle, I just might take your advice.”
Then, she goes straight into business mode, leading me back behind her desk, which opens to a hallway that no one can get to unless they go past her.
I would say the part of the building after the reception area ends hasn’t had an update since the nineties, but the cheap wood, brass door handles, outdated fixtures, and old tile floors don’t bother me. Everything is perfectly clean, and it’s clearly been cared for. None of the ceiling tiles have any marks on them. They’re all very sparkly white.
I open the office door as Marjorie heads back to the front. It wasn’t locked. I don’t even think there’s a way to lock it at all.
There’s an older cherry wood desk that wraps around in a U shape, cabinets in the back that attach to it, a bank of black filing cabinets to the right, and a whole bunch of empty space. The desk is entirely cleared off except for one immaculate stack of papers and a white envelope.
A card.
I pick it up, wondering about it, then slip my finger under the flap to open it. I feel like someone reached into my body with a cattle probe and gave my chest a jolt when I see the red crab on the front of the card waving its happy little claws in the air. An illustrated one. Not a real crab.
Inside is the neatest handwriting I’ve ever seen. Does anyone under the age of grandmother actually handwrite anymore?
Bergamont,
This is absurd. I can’t believe you’d do this. If you want to discuss this hostile takeover before I go to HR and file a formal complaint about workplace harassment and harassment outside the workplace as well, then please meet me at the coffee shop next door. It’s the one with the giant rat head on the window. You can’t miss it. I’ll be waiting.
All day if that’s what it takes.
This is not okay. You can’t have this pudding. Pudding is my thing. Pudding is not your thing. Petty revenge does seem to be, though, so before things go further, we need to get this sorted out.
Evilla (not pronounced Evil-anything)
Well then.
It certainly does seem that I’ve been told. Harassment? Is she serious? All I’ve done was buy a pudding company. Harassment? This, coming from a woman who impersonates someone else and has the audacity to utterly ruin a date for her own entertainment?
She might have been faking it, but she was asked. She was doing her friend a solid and protecting her like any good, loyal friend would do.
I wish I had someone to do that for me.
I do have people who would do that for me, I think. I have friends, and they’ve made it perfectly clear over the years that they can be counted on. Maybe not for fake dates, but then again, I wouldn’t ask anyone to stand in for me.
For the love of meaty crabs, I need to take a breath.
I need to pull the giant stick out of my arse and get a few things straight.
First, I didn’t do this to hurt Evilla in any way. I’m still unclear on all the reasons I did it, but there was a challenge thrown out, and I accepted. This was a great investment. Pudding is a wonderful food. I wasn’t stuck where I was, but I was getting bored.
None of that was the real reason I made this purchase, though.
I’ve never met anyone like Evilla before. Not only have I never met a person like her, but I’m about sixty-two percent sure there isn’t anyone like her on this planet.
She etched herself into my brain permanently. I tell myself the only reason I can’t stop thinking about her is that I’m not ready to let go of the fake girlfriend and later fake fiancée scheme. She would be perfect. She’s smart, sassy, and a great actress. My mom would like her. She’d sell the heck out of it, and then we could both go our separate ways, but in the meantime, we could maybe learn to like each other. Maybe challenge each other. We could have fun with this if we tried.