Hate Notes: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy, page 23
I minimized the spreadsheet guiltily. "It's not just ducks anymore. We're branching into ceramic owls."
"Whatever. You need to see this." She thrust her phone at me, practically vibrating with excitement. The headline made me catch my breath:
NORTHMAN GROUP CEO TERMINATED AMID EMBEZZLEMENT SCANDAL
"Keep reading," Kora urged.
I scanned the article, a slow smile spreading across my face. Cole had apparently been stealing from his own company for years. The board discovered it during an audit prompted by "recent questionable business decisions.” I guessed that was probably his obsession with the Davenport contract.
"There's more," Kora said. "Guess who just hired half his former client relations team?"
"No way."
"Moira said they practically begged to join Foster Real Estate. And by they I also mean me. I’m working for Foster Real Estate now!”
“Oh my God!” I said, jumping up in excitement and hugging her tightly.
Kora pulled back with a smile. “Apparently, your reputation for 'ethical business practices' left quite the impression on Northman Group." She made air quotes around the words, grinning. "Who knew doing the right thing could be profitable?"
I looked around my office—my real office, not a converted janitor's closet—taking in the mix of modern furnishings and historical photographs of the factory workers. Three months of hard work were already showing results. The museum portion would open next month, and we had a waiting list of companies wanting to lease the renovated office spaces. The July heat made the factory's air conditioning feel like heaven as my thoughts swirled around everything that was changing and new.
My phone buzzed with Eleanor's special ringtone: "Duck Tales," because I couldn't resist.
"Eleanor! How's the historical society fundraiser coming along?"
"Oh, splendidly," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "Marcellus has some wonderful ideas for the venue."
I bit back a grin. Eleanor and Davenport's romance had become Manhattan's favorite gossip—two childhood sweethearts reuniting after sixty years. They tried to be subtle about their dates, always disguising them as "business meetings" or "charitable events," but nobody was fooled.
"I'm sure he does," I said. "And I'm sure it has nothing to do with wanting to dance with you again."
"Hush, you." But she sounded pleased. "Will you and that handsome man of yours be attending?"
"Wouldn't miss it. Though speaking of my handsome man, I should head home. He's watching the cats today and I'm a little worried about what I'll find."
After saying goodbye, I gathered my things and headed out. The factory halls echoed with the sounds of construction. Workers were carefully modernizing the space while preserving its character. Several called out greetings as I passed.
I found my apartment door unlocked and pushed it open to find what could only be described as a hostage negotiation in progress.
Orion stood between the kitchen counter and my couch, hands raised placatingly. Goblin occupied the counter, while Catman had claimed the couch. Both cats were engaged in what appeared to be a silent judgment contest.
"Everything okay?" I asked, trying not to laugh.
"They've reached a détente," Orion said seriously. "After Goblin knocked over Catman's food bowl for the third time, they seemed to realize they share a common interest in making our lives difficult."
As if to demonstrate, both cats turned to stare at us with identical expressions of disdain.
"Great," I said. "They're bonding over their mutual disappointment in their humans."
"More like plotting our deaths." But Orion was smiling as he pulled me close. "How was your day?"
"Cole got fired. For embezzling."
"I heard." He kissed my temple. "Karma's a bitch."
"Language, Mr. Foster. What would your employees think?"
"That I've been corrupted by a terrible influence." His hands slid lower. "Speaking of which..."
"The cats are watching," I protested weakly.
"Let them judge." He started walking me backward toward our bedroom. "They're going to anyway."
I caught a glimpse of our cats sharing what could only be described as an eye-roll before Orion kicked the door shut.
Life wasn't perfect. But somehow, amazingly, it was better than anything I could have planned.
Even if our cats thought we were idiots.
45
EPILOGUE - ORION
"Your quarterly projections, Sir."
I took the folder from Daniel without looking up from my laptop. Six months ago, I would have immediately checked the numbers, hungry for proof that our profits were growing. Now, I was more interested in the email I was writing to Ember about our dinner plans.
"Also, Mr. Hamilton is here," Daniel added. "He says it's urgent."
I glanced up to find Colton leaning in my doorway, grinning. "Very urgent. Life or death, really."
"That will be all, Daniel. Thank you." I waited for my assistant to leave before raising an eyebrow at my friend. "Life or death?"
"Well, death of your bachelor status, maybe." Colton dropped into the chair across from me. "Remmy told me you've been carrying that ring around for two weeks."
My hand automatically went to my pocket where the small box sat. "I'm waiting for the right moment."
"Right. Because Ember strikes me as the type who needs everything to be perfect." He rolled his eyes. "The woman literally started her relationship with you by delivering hate mail."
"That's different. This is different. I want the moment to be perfect for her. A memory she can cherish."
"You’ve got to actually do it for it to become a memory. Right now, it’s a hypothetical that will die with you if you get hit by a bus this afternoon. Is that what you want?"
Before I could answer, Remmy burst in to my office.
What the hell? She hardly ever—
"There you are! Mom wants everyone for dinner tonight. No excuses."
"I have work—" I started.
"Nope. Already cleared it with Daniel." She perched on my desk. "He says you've been surprisingly schedule-flexible lately. Something about having a good influence in your life?"
I made a mental note to remind Daniel who signed his paychecks.
"Fine." I straightened my tie. "Dinner."
"With the ring," Remmy added firmly.
"I don't recall asking for a committee to manage my proposal plans."
"Someone has to," Colton said. "Or you'll spend another month waiting for the planets to align or whatever."
I looked between my sister and my best friend, seeing the same determined expression on both faces. "I hate you both."
"No you don't," Remmy said cheerfully. "You're just grumpy because we're right. Now go home and change. Mom's making lasagna."
Hours later, I stood in my mother's kitchen, watching Ember help with the salad. She moved through the space like she belonged there, trading stories with my mom and laughing at Remmy's jokes.
The ring felt heavy in my pocket.
"Just do it already," Colton muttered, passing me on his way to refill his wine. "Before you burst something."
He was right. I'd been overthinking this, just like I overthought everything. But Ember had taught me something about embracing chaos, about letting go of control.
I pulled out the small card I'd been carrying along with the ring. The "Love Notes" logo still made me smile.
"Ember?"
She turned, flour on her cheek from whatever dessert she and my mom were plotting. "Hmm?"
I handed her the note. She read it, eyes widening at the four simple words: "Will you marry me?"
When she looked up, I was on one knee, ring extended.
For once in her life, Ember seemed speechless. Then she started laughing and pulled out her own note and handed it to me.
Orion,
I thought you’d never ask.
But the fact that I wrote this card ahead of time hilariously contradicts that fact, doesn’t it? That’s why it’s funny. I thought I might need to explain that to you, considering your sense of humor is a little stunted after years of stomping around Manhattan like a troll. Oh, and I think it goes without saying that my answer is…”
I looked up from the card and found Ember smiling a huge smile up at me. “Yes!” she shouted, tackling me with a kiss before I could even slide the ring on her finger.
The kitchen erupted in cheers. I heard my mother crying happy tears, Remmy and Colton high-fiving, even Eleanor and Davenport (who had apparently arrived without me noticing) offering congratulations.
But I only had eyes for Ember as I slid the ring onto her finger.
"I love you," she whispered. "Even if you are a ridiculous control freak who needed two weeks to propose."
"Three weeks," I admitted. "And I love you too. Even if you are an agent of chaos who delights in disrupting my carefully ordered life."
"You wouldn't have it any other way."
She was right. The woman who'd started as my nemesis, reading hate notes outside my building, had somehow become everything. She'd made me question my priorities, rearrange my life, and become someone better in the process.
"No," I agreed, pulling her close. "I wouldn't."
Our new custom was to bring Goblin and Catman to dinner with us, and other questionable outings, like a camping trip gone horribly wrong when Goblin thought he saw a mouse (it was a bush).
But now both cats watched us embrace with expressions I could’ve almost sworn were approving.
Almost.
The End
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46
THE BOSS(HOLE) SNEAK PEAK, CHAPTER 1 - JULIETTE
Ibanged my forehead on my desk a few times. “Why?” I asked out loud. “Why?!”
Was I being dramatic? Yes. Yes, I was. That wasn’t in the Coleton family code, but daddy dearest was too far away to control me. I could throw a small, uncivilized tantrum if I damn well pleased.
I heard footsteps and then a small laugh. “You okay, Jules?”
Instead of picking my head up to face her, I just rolled it to the side. Chloe was leaning against my cubicle wall, arms folded. Her desk was right on the other side of my partition. It was close enough that I could hear her accidentally start the videos she tried to watch all day with the volume on full, then swear and mute them.
Chloe was comically short, mousy, and had a different pair of glasses every day to match her outfits. Today, she had purple rimmed glasses to go with her scarf.
Was I okay? That depended. Was it okay to run away from your billionaire father because you didn’t want to be married off like some medieval princess? Was it okay to burn the family credit cards, pawn everything you could, and escape to some random part of North Carolina to hide? Was it okay to change your last name to your mother’s maiden name and hope your father never tracked you down?
“I’m totally fine,” I said, head still plopped on my desk.
“Why me!” she mocked, grinning. “Didn’t sound like nothing.”
“It’s just this email,” I said, sighing. “Maxi has been looking for an excuse to fire me, and I think she just found her way. She’s having me go do a design consultation at Coleton Publishing.” And yes, it was a branch of the family business, even if it was too small for there to be a risk of running into my father.
“You’ve never done a design consultation,” Chloe said slowly.
“I’m aware of that, Chloe. So is Maxi. She wants me to screw this up so she can fire me.” I finally lifted my head and sighed. “As I was saying, why me?”
I left the office for my appointment at Coleton with cautious optimism. Yes, the optimism had been sprinkled with a healthy dose of dread, but I could look on the bright side if I damn well pleased.
Maybe Maxi saw this as giving me a shovel to dig my own grave, but maybe I could use the shovel to whack her Brazilian lifted ass out and get myself a promotion.
Yeah, I thought.
A promotion would mean I might be able to afford to keep up this runaway Coleton gig a little longer. Then again, I was pretty determined to go homeless if that’s what it took to keep from going back to them. After this stunt, my father would have me married to a stuffy old business friend and shipped off within the month.
No. This had to work, so I was going to find a way to make it.
I survived a handful of small emergencies and near catastrophes on my way to the Coleton offices. My coat nearly got stuck in the elevator, some lady’s dog tried to bite off my ankles, and I made a baby cry just by looking at it. That last one hurt the most. Even the damn babies were out to get me today.
By the time I was calling the elevator at Coleton, my optimism had faded. My usually sunny disposition was cloudy with a chance of lightning strikes directly to the groin.
I got off at one of the top floors and found myself in the reception area for Coleton Publishing, one of many dozens of branches in my father’s Coleton empire.
A woman in her forties with a bun and huge bags under her eyes smiled at me from behind the reception desk. I smiled back, then saw that something was off with her smile. The eyes were a little too big—the smile a little too wide. Her hands were also gripping the mouse on her computer so hard her fingertips had gone white.
“Hi,” I said carefully.
“Welcome,” she said, face practically screaming run while you still can. “I’m Martha. Can I help you?”
“I’m Jules Adams from Maxi Designs. I have a consultation appointment with Mr. White.”
Martha flashed that same terrified smile again. “Just a moment.” She walked to the double doors behind her desk and actually put her ear to the crack like she was listening. I stood there awkwardly while she waited several long moments.
She pulled one door open slightly and we both flinched at the sudden sound of yelling. A man was shouting. I couldn’t make out the words, but he sounded pissed, like he was laying into someone.
Martha set the tablet down and wrung her hands together. “It might be best if you waited just a few minutes. There’s been a small mix-up with the editorial team. If, uh-”
I checked the time on my phone. “I’m sorry. I really can’t afford to be late.” I was trying my best to keep my cool. This was my one shot to prove everybody wrong. Maxi for thinking she could fire me on some bullshit trick. My father for thinking my only value was to marry me off and get some favor with a friend. And now my chance was in danger because some asshole from the editorial team was throwing a tantrum in there?
Martha blew out a breath, eyes shifting toward the closed doors again. “You’re sure you want to go in right now?”
“I have to,” I said.
“Do you know where you’re going?”
I noticed a handy little map of the offices by the door with everything neatly labeled. I ran my finger down the directory on the side, then found where the number matching “Mr. White” was. “Yes. I think I can find my way.”
Martha nodded, then held the door open. I noticed she didn’t take a single step into the room, and I grinned a little. I thought maybe she was playing up her fear for comedic effect. Nobody could really be that scared of a little office drama, right?
She pulled the door closed behind me as soon as I was inside. I was in a relatively large office with various desks and computers scattered around. All of the ten or so people in the room were hunched over at their computer like they were pretending not to hear the tirade going on.
The only man standing had his palms on someone’s desk.
I ignored the fact that he was clearly lecturing someone and very much pissed. My brain shut all that down as soon as I saw the absolute specimen of a man doing the yelling.
He was dressed in a tie and slacks with his sleeves buttoned to the wrist and a diamond-checkered vest across his muscular torso. He was leaning over the desk and every muscle in his long arms stood against the white fabric. I couldn’t quite see his face from where I stood, but I didn’t even need to. I could’ve looked at this guy’s ear and known he wasn’t born a mortal human. He was delivered to earth via a lightning bolt from some angry god’s ass. And, yes, that method of delivery almost definitely resulted in a face fit for Greek sculptures.
“Gather your things,” the man said. He had a deep voice that cut through the room like a steel whip. “I want your desk cleared out within the hour.”
“I could try to-”
“I won’t allow you to fuck this up any further than you already have. You have an hour,” he said.
I wasn’t sure if it was the train wreck of a day I’d been having or maybe temporary amnesia caused by the blinding hotness of Mr. Ass Lightning over there, but something came over me… I was marching straight toward them with pure rage on my mind.
“Do you have to talk to him like that?” I demanded.
The man’s face whipped toward me. He stood up straighter, giving me a full, belly clenching view of everything he was working with. From the looks of it, he wasn’t just working with the full kitchen. He’d taken over an industrial kitchen supply store and had more inventory than he knew what to do with. And those cheekbones.
