Page 71 of The Revenge Agenda

Saturday. I huff. “See, I don’t even have to be at work because it’s a weeken—” Wait. It can’t be Saturday because it’s Wednesday. I had dinner with Ian on Tuesday night. It’s been a day. A day where I admittedly should have been at work, but …

Fuck.

It’s Saturday.

I didn’t miss one day of work—I missed three. Hunter said I didn’t have to come in on time anymore, but he never said that I didn’t have to come in at all. Madden’s right. I’m going to be fired. The only job where I felt like I knew what I was doing and Ted loved me and I got to have plant custody battles with a guy who can jerk me off like no other.

That’s life basically made. A dream scenario. Throw in my creative solutions to Autumn and her tea, and I really can’t want anything else out of life. I need to fix this.

I pull out my phone and open my emails to Hunter before typing out the fastest message I can manage, and then I grab my coat from the floor and head for the door.

“Where are you going?” Madden asks, following me out of the room.

“To work.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“At ten at night?”

“Obviously.” I don’t have a minute to wait. If I want to keep my job and prove to Hunter that I’m not a total flake, I have to get my ass there, set up at my desk, and get all of my work done. I’ll call clients and file my claims and follow up on quotes and make the most amount of money anyone’s ever made for this place. Okay, that’s a tad dramatic, but I’m going to do my goddamn job like I should have been doing all week.

I stuff my feet into the first shoes I see by the door and leave. I’m a man on a mission. A man set to prove himself. If this was a movie, it would be my montage moment. I’ll take the place by storm and show Gates what exceptional numbers really look like.

Fuck. The next bus isn’t for an hour.

An hour. It’s not even midnight, for fuck’s sake. They want me to sit on a bench for a whole goddamn hour when I could be getting through my work. My bank account is not going to thank me for it, but I pull out my phone and order a car. It reminds me of the night I met Hunter and how he made sure I got home safely. Such a gentleman.

Now it’s my turn to be gentlemanly and make sure he doesn’t get reamed hard for my shitty numbers. I’m romantic like that.

It’s not until I’ve been dropped off and am standing outside the very large, very locked doors that I realize something.

I don’t have my key.

Frustration bubbles to the surface, and I shake the doors, hoping for some miracle to let them open for me.

The only miracle I’m answered with is the very loud screech of the alarm.

I cry out and clamp my hands over my ears, sending a glare up toward the red flashing light. How is this fair? How is it possible that I’m thwarted by a simple electronic lock pad and an obnoxiously loud security system. Overachiever.

The itch to kick something is strong while I ignore the sound fucking my eardrums and wait for security to arrive. They’re fast enough, and I recognize the cutie I flirt with sometimes, but it takes for-freaking-ever for them to turn off the sound.

It cuts out, and I peel my hands from my ears.

“Is it over?”

Cutie Cameron chuckles. “Until the next time you attempt a break-in.”

“In my defense, I didn’t attempt a break-in this time. I just, uh, attempted to open the doors. Without a key.”

“Hmm … yeah, that’s a real distinction.”

“Thank you.”

The other security guard gestures toward me. “You know this man?”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Cameron says. “He works late a lot.”

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