Page 32 of The Revenge Agenda

Rush

And like every time I email him, my head is left spinning. A taco hunt? Only the first few episodes? Resigned to another night spent alone, I open my music app, search up purple music, and hit Play.

Apparently, “music” was a loose term.

I’m about to turn it off when I decide to give it a bit longer.

Then I open Google, smile trembling my lips, and type in one word.

Ants.

What has my life come to?

Chapter 10

Rush

There is a misplaced pot on my desk.

I know it’s misplaced the second I catch sight of it, because I didn’t leave it there, and as I get closer, it becomes clear it’s the one I gave Hunter yesterday. At least twenty colorful butts stare back at me.

Sticking out of the soil on the side is a sign with a cute ant drawn on it.

I pick it up and read: I thought it was import-ant to return this.

My snort is so loud I struggle to stifle it.

Autumn glances up from her desk. “What have you got over there?”

“A connection.”

Her eyes widen. “Wanna connect a little quieter?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I literally never do.” She answers a call, shooting me a you’re strange but I love you smile, and I throw back an I think you’re even stranger but I love you too one in return.

Then, I turn back to the ant in question. Because there’s only one person this could be from … I think. From what I can recall, I haven’t mentioned ants to anyone else, and it would be an odd coincidence this would appear the day after I told him to look them up.

Plus, you know, the pot was in Hunter’s office.

Look at that. It only took one day for me to upgrade us from animosity to colleagues to trading puns.

Everyone knows puns signal true friendship.

Puns, plural, because this gift was for him, and I’ll be sending it right back.

“Would you answer that ringing?” Cranky Gates snaps, looking pointedly over the partition at my phone. It might be the last thing I want to do, but it’s better to get it over with than have Gates grumbling under his breath all day—that kind of muttering can’t be good for his throat.

Unfortunately, after that call, more come through, and I jump from job to job, updating portfolios and filing claims and renewing coverage for the next year.

The others leave for lunch, but I swallow my sandwich at my desk and keep moving. It’s one of those days where I don’t stop for a moment, and it isn’t until late afternoon that I realize I’m so frazzled because I forgot to write my to-do list and that the butt-pot is still on my desk.

I lean back in my chair, craning my neck toward Hunter’s office, and find it empty.

Bingo.

Perfect time to strike.

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