Page 1 of The Revenge Agenda

Prologue

Rush

The office is silent, save only for the rapid tap of my fingers on the keyboard, the creak of my chair as it swings back and forth, and the hundred and one voices cluttering my head. I shouldn’t even be working right now, but what would you know, I’m behind on everything, and the clawing in my chest is getting harder and harder to ignore the further behind I get.

So here I am, two days before Christmas, armed with a to-do list, a thermos of coffee, and every cell in my body begging me to stay on track.

I pick up my thermos and take a long gulp, mentally flicking through the Christmas gifts I’ve bought so far. I’m sure I’ve got everyone covered. I wrote a list. Checked it twice.

Fuck. What about Christian’s husband? They’re coming over for Christmas Eve, and how embarrassing if he shows up and I have nothing. Yeah, the guy’s a millionaire, but it’s the gesture. The feeling of inclusion …

My gaze catches on the coffee ring on my desk. Dammit. Last time I left a pattern of them behind, I walked in to find Eloise cleaning them for me. She has enough going on that she doesn’t need that in her life again. I pull down my sleeve and wipe at it, but most of it has dried by now. Not surprising since I’ve been here … I’m scratching at the ring while I flip my phone over to check the time and?—

Seven o’clock.

Like a Christmas tree lighting up in my mind, I jolt out of the seat. I’m fucking late.

Again.

He’s going to goddamn kill me.

I grab my bag as I bolt from the office, motion-sensor lights in the ceiling flicking on as I pass them. Thank fucking god I packed my outfit before I left this morning because I can only imagine his face if I’d had to make a detour for that. It’d put me behind by hours. One of the good things about dating Ian is that he’s as unpredictable as I am. I like that. Knowing that he forgets things—like my name or switching his phone on—and that he’s as shy and anxious over meeting new people as I am. The one area where we differ, though, is that I’m notoriously always late, and he’s a stickler for the time. It’s like his life is planned down to minutes, and god forbid I overstay one of them.

But as someone with a laundry list’s worth of “quirks,” I’m not going to judge him for them.

I’m already half an hour late by the time I climb onto the cramped bus, but I’m hoping he can set his bitching aside so we can have a nice night together. He’s away visiting family for the holidays and our one-year anniversary, so this is our only chance to see each other before then, and I have to remind that grumpy little gremlin in my chest that just because we’ve been together for so long doesn’t mean he had to invite me to go with him. No. Family is a big step. And I’m … well, it takes people a minute to warm up to me, and given this year my brain’s been a scrambled mess since I stopped taking my meds, I can understand him wanting to take his time.

It’s fine.

I just have to get organized.

Once I’m all caught up on work, I’ll be able to make a schedule. Lists. Set time aside to design. Sew. Create.

What is that buzzing?

I can barely move between the commuters and people traveling home surrounded by shopping bags, but there’s definitely a low hum I’m picking up on. Maybe a toy? Not a bee.

There’s a tap on my shoulder. “Excuse me, but I think your bag is vibrating. You might have a call.”

My … bag? But my phone’s in my?—

I pat my pocket, discovering my phone, in fact, isn’t there. Not the back one either, which is odd because I sit on it so many times a day I’m going to end up with a phone-shaped imprint in my butt cheek … I frown, trying to picture the last time I had it. At the office? Did I pick it up? Shit. Maybe I didn’t?

“Are you going to get it?” the woman behind me asks.

Get … it? Oh! The vibrating. So weird that I threw my phone in there, but I was in a hurry, and given I’ve found it in a Ziplock bag in the fridge before, I’ve proved it really can end up anywhere.

I lift my backpack and unzip it, plunging my hand inside to feel around the costume until …

My hand closes over something that is definitely not my phone.

But is definitely the thing causing the buzzing.

I scramble to find the button on the vibrating dildo and switch it off. Then I clear my throat and announce too loudly, “Must have hung up. Oh well!”

My whole face is burning, and I pray for the bus to drive faster. I want off already.

I crane my neck to look out the far window, trying to place how far away I am, when I catch sight of a two-story dark brick house with an elaborate white porch.

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