Destiny and the Devil, page 11
“Why would I ever tell anyone about this?” she asks. “I’m the one who would be humiliated!”
I sigh deeply as I collect my things. Someday, this is going to make a funny story to tell the guys. We’re going to laugh our asses off about this eventually, I’m sure. They are going to give me high fives for being a genius and thwarting the evil plan of the gold-digging bitch.
But at this moment, it’s really not funny. I feel very hurt and violated by the whole situation. I won’t let anyone know that. I’ll put on a tough face and laugh it off.
I have a reputation to uphold, after all.
But I’ll tell you one thing—I’m never going on a fucking date EVER again.
Chapter 1
Six months later, Ellie Snow
I have always despised Ash Wintergreen.
When Mr. Hot Sauce walks into the office, looking all handsome and suave in his expensive taupe-colored suit, I feel physically revolted. Like I want to throw up at the sight of him, and his sleek navy tie, and his shiny shoes, and his stupid face. I try to hide under my desk slightly, pretending to tie my shoe—even though I don’t have shoelaces. I just don’t want to make eye contact.
Not just because of the rumors of how he destroys women’s vaginas with industrial-grade chemicals.
Also, not because I went to the same college with him, and heard stories about how he destroyed women’s vaginas with incredible sex.
From the moment the Condom Chrissy scandal broke, I was livid. The problem is, I’m pretty sure I know exactly where he got those peppers to make that famous hot sauce! From my greenhouses. From my Carolina Reaper peppers that I planted with my own hands, and nurtured from seeds to seedlings, to big, beautiful, leafy green plants. That farm was my pride and joy—my business, my baby.
That Ash took from me.
I mean, he purchased it—or sent someone to purchase it. I doubt he even knew what property he was buying, or that it belonged to me, or how much it mattered to me. To him, it was one of a thousand land holdings. To me, it was everything I had. The only thing of value I ever owned. The only asset to my name, left to me from my biological family.
And he got it at a huge discount, compared to what it was worth. I just had to sell in a hurry to get money to keep my adoptive parents from losing their home. Since my mother was diagnosed with cancer, and begun chemotherapy, our family finances have been in the toilet. It was an emergency, and that was my last resort.
I loved that land. My father and I spent many long hours there, working the farm, getting our hands dirty. Learning together about how to grow beautiful things, like grapes, tomatoes, and our specialty—hot peppers. We spent so many hours making wonderful creations from the things we grew.
We made wine from the grapes. We made tomato sauce from the tomatoes. We combined the tomatoes and hot peppers to make delicious salsas. And finally, we made our own signature hot sauce, all of which we used to sell to the residents of Silver Mountain at the farmer's market.
Some of my favorite childhood memories were on that farm with Pop-Pop. He had so much energy and zest for life, and he shared it all with me, more so than my sisters. Juniper has always been incredibly close to our mother, but I was Daddy’s girl, through and through. Our father was always a quiet, solemn man. He never talked much. But when he was working on the farm, he would share stories about his childhood, and experiences.
I learned so much from him.
When I went to business school, I hoped to someday turn our precious hobby into a thriving business. I hoped to get our products onto the shelves of grocery stores.
I was working toward my dream when tragedy struck us. The lowest point of my life was needing to sell my land, give up on my business, and work for Mr. Jalapeno Junk as an administrative assistant. Yup, that’s right. I make coffee and spreadsheets for the asshole, and try to survive his rage on the rare occasions when he visits the office, insulting everyone until they cry.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to slip a little something into his coffee, or into his pants after picking up his dry cleaning, to give him a taste of his own medicine. My fondest fantasy is getting revenge on him by making his stupid dick burn the same way he treated that poor girl—so that when he goes to pee, standing there innocently holding his penis, it suddenly feels like he is gripping a can of pepper spray, with his urethra being burned from the inside out.
I want to hear him shrieking in pain and hopping around in misery while he holds his sizzling salami. I want to see him diving for a bucket of ice, and plunging his cock into the water to cool off, panting and sweating from the pain.
What kind of a man puts hot sauce in a condom? What kind of sick bastard would even think to have hot sauce around for something like that? I know, he’s not completely at fault—pretty weird for a woman to try to impregnate herself with the contents of a condom. Anyway, if he were anyone except my worst enemy, I might try to see his side of the situation.
But it’s Ash.
He apparently got Condom Chrissy to sign an NDA about the event, but the nurses at the hospital weren’t so tight-lipped, and the story spread through Silver Mountain in a matter of hours. The whole town was laughing about it, and soon it hit national newspapers and television stations.
Life at the office was never the same again—Ash couldn’t go anywhere without giggles and whispers behind his back. And if we thought he was an asshole before? These past few months, he’s been even more of a monster—angrier, crabbier, and grumpier than ever before.
“Noelle,” says the voice of the Devil himself.
I jump, sitting up too quickly and bumping my head on the underside of my desk. “Yes?” I respond, trying to use a neutral tone to conceal the fact that I hate him more than anything in the universe.
“My office,” he demands. “Now. There’s something important we need to discuss.”
“Could you just send an email?” I ask hopefully.
He glowers at me, silently stating that if I don’t listen, he will make my life a living hell. More than he already does.
Then he turns and walks away.
I sigh at his retreating back, looking up at the office ceiling for help. Then I pull out my phone and text my sister, Ava: Help. I’m being summoned to the Lion’s Den. I may not get out alive.
Chapter 2
Ash
I have always admired Noelle Snow.
We are the same age, and we went to the same schools, although we were never friends. But it seems that every interaction we've ever had, our entire lives, has ended with her looking down on me, with a judgmental gaze of disdain.
To be fair, I think I pulled her pigtails on the playground in kindergarten. That's how far back this feud goes. While everyone else on the planet is allowed to call her "Ellie" I am permanently enemy-zoned to a formal Noelle, or Miss Snow.
Can you blame her?
Since the scandal with Condom Chrissy, I haven't exactly been a joy to be around, or to work for.
She stands in my office, scowling at me. "I sent you emails detailing the results on the focus group for the wine," she tells me, holding a notebook against her chest. She is poised defensively, tense, as if she expects me to launch some kind of missile at her. "The top choices for names and branding design are all there. You didn't have to come into the office today."
Wow, she really hates me. Imagine an employee trying to tell her boss that he should stay away from work. It's like she's trying to fire me.
My ego is bruised more than a little. But when I look behind her, through the large glass doors, I see the suspicious gazes of everyone in the office. They think I don't hear them whispering about me behind my back.
Reaching up, I straighten my tie in frustration.
Condom Chrissy may have ruined my life far more than an accidental pregnancy would have. Sure, it would have been really awkward to have a baby conceived in such a disturbing way, and it would have cost me a pretty penny in child support. But the repercussions are costing my company way more.
Now I'm the guy who wages chemical warfare against female genitalia. I started this shit, and now I'm just covered in mud. I can't even show my face in public—the hatred is extreme.
And my hatred and anger and loneliness and disdain for people is also growing by the minute. She’s probably right, that I should never come into the office. Sadly, my father thinks the same thing.
"Miss Snow, this is not about the wine," I tell her firmly. "This is about the future of the company. I need you to travel with me to our headquarters in Switzerland this evening."
"What?" she says in dismay.
"Here is your ticket and the itinerary," I say, sliding a folder over to her, containing the pertinent information. “There’s some data in there I would like you to look over, to help me prepare a presentation on the plane—”
"With all due respect, Mr. Wintergreen..." Her face displays shock and horror.
"I'm not asking, Noelle. This is a serious situation. Not sure if you've noticed, but sales have tanked hard this last quarter. Our PR firm has failed to rehabilitate the company image since the scandal."
"The company image?" she asks. "Or your personal image?"
I stare at her for a few seconds. Ellie—I can still call her that in my head, is quite short, but she's a little firecracker. She's a little 5'2" curvy woman, of Asian descent. The exact opposite of the tall, slender blonde models I have always dated.
She was adopted into the Snow family, in Silver Mountain, and has always been brilliant, at the top of her class. I know that her family has been experiencing financial hardship lately, and that's the only reason she is here working for me.
To be fair, she shouldn't be. She has always done better than me in school. She was always studious and diligent, in the highest percentile. I was often jealous. The reason I'm running an entire chain of high-end grocery stores, and she's just my assistant? Luck of the draw. Family money and connections. I didn’t earn this. And now I’m in danger of losing all this.
I know that Noelle has seen the way I've slacked off most of my life and partied constantly. She worked her ass off, and had very little fun—but still, at the end of the day, I'm here making seven figures and she can barely make ends meet.
Life's not fair. I understand her anger.
I'm angry too, but for different reasons. Lucky with money doesn’t always mean lucky in love. And lucky with being handed a business doesn’t always mean proficiency in growing it.
That's why I need Noelle. Not some other dimwit, who's going to be too shy to tell me like it is. I need her expertise and I need her strength right now. If not, I could lose everything.
"Miss Snow, if you don't come to Switzerland with me, there may be some significant changes in the company going forward,” I warn her. Rising to my feet, I adjust my blazer. “Those changes may or may not include a place for you, or half of the unnecessary employees out there talking shit about me and my evil sperm at the water cooler. So, to be honest, I don't care if you want to give up on them, and give up on your job, and walk away now. It’s not like we’re one of the major employers in Silver Mountain, and those people will have a difficult time finding any other work outside of tourist season, right?”
She glares at me in response.
I shrug. “If I get replaced as CEO, I'm still going to be wealthy, and I will happily sit on my ass and play video games and eat potato chips in the nude for the rest of my fucking life. Will you be as comfortable without a paycheck?"
She looks at me like she wants to cut off my dick. That's okay, because most of the time, I also want to remove that offensive body part. My life would have probably been much better if I was castrated decades ago.
I set my lips in a grim line as I literally slide the folder across my desk so hard that it falls onto the floor. "It's your call. Show up and do your job. Help me out. Or don't."
She opens her mouth, as if to speak, but then abruptly closes it. Her plump lips are twisted up in frustration. Inhaling slowly, her chest rises and falls with pent up rage. Then she bends forward to pick up the folder that has fallen to the floor, containing her airline tickets.
This motion gives me a full few of her cleavage, and a glimpse of her white, lacy bra. The sight of her huge tits makes me unexpectedly imagine my mouth on her skin, and the blood pumps through my veins a bit faster, particularly headed to one region. Jesus! I am done with women, remember? I try to shut down the reaction, before it can begin. My buddies have nicknamed me 'Danger Dick' lately, and I am done getting into trouble because of my dumb body. My dick has been decommissioned, like a faulty nuclear reactor.
"Alright, Ash," Noelle says softly, after glancing into the folder. “I'll see you at the airport.”
“Good,” I respond gruffly.
Chapter 3
Ellie
I stand in the laundry room, viciously ripping clothes out of the washer and stuffing them into the dryer as I scan the files Ash gave me. He’s right. Things are serious, and he does need help. The company finances are falling apart. But I would rather be forced to help anyone else who has ever lived. Like maybe Hitler.
Okay. That’s an exaggeration. Slightly.
I still remember when Ash’s friends stole my lunch when I was ten, because I was fat enough. They then proceeded to call me ‘shrimp fried rice’ for the rest of the year. Eventually shortened to shrimp because I was short.
Ash didn’t participate, but he didn’t exactly stop them either, did he? If you stand there and watch someone get hurt, isn’t it the same as hurting them? He could have protected me from all the rumors and racial slurs.
Now that he’s being bombarded with nasty rumors that are ruining his life, I’m supposed to help him? How is that fair? None of this is fair.
I slam the door to the dryer shut savagely and press the button to start the cycle. I cross my arms as I stand there and wait for my clothes to be ready. I wasn’t exactly planning a trip to Switzerland anytime… ever. I have no idea how long we’ll be staying, and I don’t want to run out of clean underwear.
Also, I do laundry when I’m nervous.
Luckily, my family owns a small bed and breakfast, so there’s always plenty of laundry to do. Especially since we went broke, and needed to try to save money on hiring cleaners and hotel maids. Both of my sisters are busy with their own jobs, and they don’t have time to help out with this sort of thing. Pop Pop is extremely old with arthritic hands, and Mumsy is still recovering from chemo. Our parents are more like grandparents, and they are not in any condition to be doing difficult chores. So, I’ve been trying to pick up the slack around here, and it’s like I’ve been working multiple jobs.
When my phone buzzes with a text, I pick it up to check the message. It’s from my sister, Juniper. She’s gushing about her new nanny job and the cute kids, and her hot new boss.
I roll my eyes. I’m happy that she’s happy, of course. Juney is the sweetest, and she deserves happiness more than anyone. But I am also jealous and annoyed that she has a nice boss, while I am stuck with Ash. My childhood nemesis who literally likes to put poison in people’s vaginas.
And I’m going to be stuck on a flight with him, a tiny enclosed space, for how many hours? How far away is Switzerland? I sigh deeply as pull out my phone and begin making a list of things I need to pack.
I wonder if they have enough alcohol on the airplane to help me survive Mr. Satan Sperm.
Chapter 4
“So, if we can cut costs here, and here—” I tell Ash, pointing at the graph on the tablet, “it should be more than enough to increase profits back to the level you need.”
“You’re right,” he says with a frown. “But how?”
“That’s easy,” I respond. But then the stewardess comes over with my drinks. “Keep ’em coming,” I tell the her as she hands me the mini bottle of vodka and glass of orange juice. I put the tablet aside to unscrew the small bottle and pour the contents into the glass. I then take a healthy, satisfying gulp of the cocktail. “So, when it comes to customers you’ve lost—”
“Are you sure you don’t want to slow down?” Ash asks with a frown. “I think that’s your fourth drink already. You’re going to be hammered by the time we hit Europe.”
“Trust me, I need every drop to sit this close to you and not vomit,” I tell him.
“Wow. Vodka makes you brutally honest,” he says, and I almost feel guilty for saying that out loud.
I shrug. “First class is nice, but it’s a bit humiliating traveling with the guy who invented vagina-bombs.”
He sighs. “I never thought it would be a trend that went viral,” he says glumly. “Do you know that there was an internet challenge? So many women have sent me explicit videos of inserting hot sauce into their vaginas, to prove that they could ‘handle the heat’—I never want to see a vagina again.” He presses his palm to his forehead, as if trying to wipe the images from his memory. “Then these dudes started rubbing peppers on their girlfriend’s tampons, and hiding cameras in the bathroom as a prank. So, these poor girls, probably already dealing with period cramps, would go to use a tampon and end up screaming in pain. I feel responsible for all of that. I can’t eat anything spicy since then.”
My eyes widen at this, and I almost feel sorry for him. When the stewardess walks by, I turn to her. “Excuse me? Can you bring him a drink too? He’s a bit traumatized.”
“Oh, of course. What would you like, honey?” the stewardess asks.
“Scotch, neat,” he responds weakly.
“With a side of hot sauce,” I tell her.
“I don’t need the hot sauce,” he informs her.
“That’s for me,” I let her know, and she nods and smiles as she walks away. I turn to my travel companion and inform him, “If you hate hot sauce that much, I’ll pour it all over myself in the future and use it as Ash-repellant.”
