Page 16 of The Revenge Game
When I’m sitting in an Uber heading back to the office, my phone starts to vibrate like it’s trying to break the world record for the most enthusiastic massage device.
When I fish it out of my pocket, my screen lights up with notifications.
To: Justin Morris
From: Dave Wilson
Subject: Re: Check out these sexy trolls!!!
Mate…is everything okay?
To: Justin Morris
From: Pete Hughes
Subject: Re: Check out these sexy trolls!!!
I always suspected you were into weird stuff, but this is next level. I’m now starting to see why you’ve never gone for the women I’ve tried to set you up with…
To: Justin Morris
From: Roger Davies
Subject: URGENT - INAPPROPRIATE EMAIL
Please come see me as soon as you’re back in the office.
My stomach drops. What the hell?
Sure enough, in my sent emails, there’s an email titledCheck out these sexy trolls!!!
I click into it, and my stomach now relocates somewhere in the vicinity of my shoes.
The contents of the email can only be described asFifty Shades of Green. The detailed drawings show trolls engaging in activities that would get them instantly banned from living under any respectable bridge. Strategically placed fig leaves ensure there’s nothing too graphic, although one image hints that the giant clubs trolls carry around might have…alternative uses.
I squint as I scroll through the images because I’m not sure my eyes can handle more than a narrow view of trolls proving that moss can indeed grow in the most unexpected places.
What the absolute hell? How did I manage to become the office’s leading distributor of troll pornography?
I’m almost hyperventilating by the time my Uber pulls up outside DTL Enterprises.
I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve tried so hard to be someone who gets along with everyone, the friendly sales guy who remembers everyone’s coffee order and projects the exactright amount of charm to make everyone comfortable. Not too much to seem fake, not too little to seem aloof.
I take deep breaths to steady myself as I head inside on shaky legs.
As I walk through the hallway, Sarah from Accounting, who usually gives me a wave, instead clutches her calculator to her chest like a shield and scurries into the break room. Kieran from Marketing, who just yesterday tried to convince me to join his fantasy football league, takes one look at me and practically dives into the supply closet.
But Carl from procurement, who I’ve always thought gave off slightly weird vibes, gives me a knowing wink and a thumbs-up that makes me want to bathe in hand sanitizer.
Oh my god. Would HR accept a request for an immediate relocation to Antarctica?
Luckily, the sales department is empty, so I don’t have to deal with Dave’s and Pete’s jokes, which I’m sure will feature speculation about whether trolls are technically considered woodland creatures and if this means I should be banned from visiting national parks.
I head straight to Roger’s office and knock on his door.
“Come in.”
I’ve never been in trouble at work. I’ve never had Roger look at me with disappointment.
