5. Ember

5

EMBER

I t took me approximately two days to create my master plan. Day one wasn't spent planning, though. Day one was a recovery day because I had eaten so much ice cream on day zero that I had to spend most of day one in the bathroom. The magic really happened on day two.

Step one was getting paid by Cole to not work at his company, which was pretty easy once he thought I was going along with his plan. I told him I was going to start working on getting hired by Foster Real Estate, and Cole happily excused me to miss work as long as I gave him the occasional update on my progress.

Easy.

The harder part was getting Orion Foster to hire me.

I blew out a breath of cold air with my hands stuffed in my pockets as I stared up at his obnoxiously large building. The building wasn't what stopped me, though.

A crowd had gathered below the steps leading to the entrance of the Foster Real Estate building despite the early hour, and they looked like they were expecting some kind of show.

There was also a guy waiting out front in a bright red uniform. His shirt and hat had "Hate Notes" written in big letters. I squinted through the morning fog, pretty sure I had seen a commercial for that company once.

Hmm.

I pulled my scarf a little tighter, deciding this may warrant an expert investigation. Of course, I would need to be subtle, unsuspecting, and as sly as a spy.

Then again, it might be easier to just ask somebody.

"What's going on?" I asked a woman who was holding a steaming cup of coffee, her phone already raised in anticipation.

"The CEO of that building is a huge jerk. He pisses off so many people that they write him like twenty hate notes a day."

"Hate notes?" I asked.

"It's this company. Like... imagine your landlord is a total bitch. You pay them five bucks per note, and they'll send a messenger to read it to them in person. Delivery is guaranteed, or you get your money back. You can make them totally anonymous, too."

I grinned. Suddenly, I wanted to send a hate note to Cole. Maybe a few dozen. If only I weren't so damn poor.

Hashtag, rich girl goals. I'd make it go Harry Potter on his ass, with so many Hate Notes flying in his apartment that they'd be bursting out of the fireplace and through the windows.

"So everybody is here to watch his hate notes get read to him?" I asked.

"Yep. But today might be a bust. He always tries to bribe the employees. I think it's a game for him. He offers them more and more money until they finally fold. Then their boss finds out, and they get fired. Rinse and repeat. Honestly, it's peak theater. This is the highlight of my day."

I thought that was a little sad, but I smiled and nodded politely. I also felt a brilliant idea beginning to hatch in my mind. I got a lot of brilliant ideas. Frankly, the real problem was I rarely had the time, motivation, money, or ability to follow through on most of them.

It was only a few minutes before a dark-haired man in a suit and a woman who looked like she might be his sister appeared.

I recognized Orion Foster from my detective work on the internet. Admittedly, calling myself a detective was a bit rich. I basically plugged his name into a search engine and looked at a quick Wikipedia entry about him. I may have lingered on the image search a little longer than strictly necessary. Asshole or not, the man was pretty. I had to give him that much.

He reminded me a little of Jason Momoa, but if Jason only wore tailored suits, had no tattoos, kept himself clean-shaven, and lived life with a stick up his ass. Oh, and his medium-length hair was pushed away from his face in a very CEO-appropriate look. He would do an amazing "getting out of the pool in slow-mo scene" if you asked me.

His sister was pretty, too. She wore a fun outfit that made me think she must work in a slightly less uptight environment. She was laughing and smiling as she said something to him. Orion looked like he was preparing for a funeral. Or maybe there really was something deep inside his rectum.

What kind of name was Orion, anyway? If his parents wanted to name him after constellations, they should've chosen the obvious, coolest constellation and called him The Little Dipper.

This is why nobody lets me name things. But come on, what kind of awesome kid would you grow up to be if you were named The Little Dipper?

Orion was at least pretty easy to shorten. I wondered if his friends called him nicknames. Ryan, maybe? Oreo? Ry Guy? Then again... the look on his face said he might not have friends.

The employee from Hate Notes approached Orion with a stack of notecards. They spoke softly for a while, and then Orion handed the man a thick stack of money.

Holy shit. How much does he bribe these people? Was it worth that much money to avoid hearing angry notes aloud? Or was Orion so rich that he didn't care about the money?

Color me intrigued either way.

The employee looked at the money, hesitated, and then took it.

The gathered crowd groaned in disappointment as the Hate Notes employee walked off and counted his money without reading a single note.

Okay. Yeah. My perfect plan just got at least three to four times more perfect.

I hummed the mission impossible theme song under my breath as I watched Orion's broad shoulders disappear into the building. Time to put operation "piss off the hot CEO" into action.

This was going to be fun.