Page 87 of Resting Grump Face
“Son of a…” I get up and reach for the door again, ready to show him what I think of this plan.
How could I have been so wrong about him?
Was all that happened between us just an elaborate way to get back at me for stealing his fucking pants?
Tears form in my eyes as all four of my friends keep me from storming out there and giving those two a piece of my mind.
“Think about it,” Robyn finally breaks through to me. “You have to be smart right now. Screaming at him won’t help anyone here. Think about rule #3. Maybe we can still use your relationship with him to our advantage.”
“And besides,” Guy adds, “you should never make any decisions when this angry. Not even deciding to physically assault someone.”
“Especially not physically assaulting someone,” Paige adds.
I wipe my tears away and look at the four wrinkled faces in front of me. They’re right, of course. We will have to be smart about this. Blackmailing Ryker should be a lot easier than Dicky. I just still can’t believe he would do this.
Taking a deep breath, I try to clear my mind. “Now what?”
“Now we go home,” Paige says and nods for Guy to go back to his driver's seat. “First we sleep, then we eat, then we probably take another nap, and then we make a plan to take our home back from Ryker Fucking Grayson.”
My hope that I was wrong about Ryker dies when I find myself locked out of the office building the next day. I went in to work thinking that maybe there was a chance this was all a misunderstanding, and that we could just talk about it like grown-ups, but when I try to use my keycard to pass the gates at the entrance, I am denied access. I don’t even try talking to the security guards. I know what’s up.
My calls last night already went straight to voicemail, and I suspect he must have blocked my number. I feel like an idiot for letting myself get fooled like this.
How could I have been so naïve?
Feeling dejected and surprisingly hurt, I turn around and decide to go back home. The O-Team is probably already scheming and, for once, I fully support what they’re doing.
Ryker
After signing the deal with Richard, I went back to the office, had Sienna thrown out of our system, and, most importantly, had IT make sure that her shitty blog would be gone forever. They were adamant about not being able to actually delete all of it entirely, but I guess now that I know who is behind this, it will be easy enough to take legal action if this site should pop up under a different domain again. Maybe I should take legal action either way.
I spend all day locked up in my office, getting angrier and angrier, first with myself, then with Sienna, then with the fucking universe. Legal brought in some paperwork that now makes me the official owner of Haven Lifespace Community. Buying the whole thing didn’t take nearly as much convincing as I had assumed. Dicky was happy to sell it to the first bidder, since he needed some cash to buy himself a bigger yacht. I had initially set the appointment to buy the whole thing for Sienna and her friends, but I guess now I will have to think of other options.
By late afternoon, I have pondered over what to do next for the thousandth time and I am still undecided. As it stands now, I have several options:
Option #1: Do as I said, stick to Dicky’s plan and get rid of all inhabitants. It’s probably what my business analysts will recommend anyway. I could rebuild it into gigantic office buildings or upscale apartments and in the long term turn a decent profit.
Option #2: Do nothing. Be the bigger man. Move on. Who cares?
Well, I do. I fucking do. And I will not let her get away with this. Again. Being too nice is how I ended up like this in the first place.
Option #3: Follow my initial plan of getting back at Sienna. Kick her out of the building complex but allow everyone else to stay. She’d be sad about getting split up from her friends. Olivia would take care of her in any case, but at least it would be some kind of retribution.
Option #4: Kidnap Sienna, lock her up in some basement, steal all her pants, and then…
“No, no,” Miles warns preemptively when I sit down in the passenger seat next to him that evening. “I know that face and: No! Not in my car!”
“This is my car,” I grunt, and buckle in.
“Irrelevant. You’re not having more kimchi in here, especially not the extra potent stuff. I didn’t do anything this time.”
“Kimchi is life, you ignorant philistine. But you’re in luck. I am not angry at you.”
“Oh, good.” He frowns. “Then why the face? She dump you? What did you do?”
“Why the fuck would you assume I did anything?”
The car begins to move, and we are on our drive back home.
