Of course she put these together. I should have freaking known.
“You put these together?” I ask, still trying to hold my composure. I want to flick that red lipstick right off her pursed lips.
“I did.” She smiles brightly. “I knew you would be amazing with the fashion piece, Ross. The minute I saw it, I thought you needed to have it.”
“Yeah, thank you,” he says quietly because sure, she did him a favor. But what about me?
She did this on purpose, I know she did, and it’s all because of the stupid freaking Post-it Notes.
Want to talk about petty?
Candace Roundhouse is the definition of it.
You see, Candace was very particular about her office supplies. So particular that she took in her own, which is fine. If you want to use the stupid gel pens like a girl who grew up in the two thousands, have at it. I’m not going to stop you. But one day, I was running around the office at everyone’s beck and call, and I was on the phone with an advertiser who needed me to pick up a product from a warehouse downtown. I needed something to write the address down on. I was right next to Candace’s desk, and since she wasn’t there, I picked up a pen and a Post-it Note and wrote down the address. When I hung up and turned around, Candace was right behind me, staring me down as if she was one of the twins fromThe Shining.
I smiled awkwardly, begging for forgiveness.
She folded her arms.
Nothing was said between us, just a stare down still ingrained in my memory as one of the top five scariest moments of my life. There is nothing like utter silence to gain the upper hand when facing a competitor, especially me because I can’t stand the silence.
Ross told me he heard Candace offhandedly mention to one of the girls in the office how I used her Post-it Notes and didn’t bother to replace them. She sounded irritated.
It was ONE Post-it.
See what I’m talking about?
Petty.
Clearing my throat, I say, “So . . . with all due respect, what were you thinking when you gave me my assignment?”
Her amused eyes turn toward me as she says, “Well, all I heard all summer was how much you enjoyed the male form, objectifying men in every which way.” What the hell is she talking about? “I thought your assignment would be perfect for you.”
“I wasn’t objectifying men,” I say because if anything, I was professional all summer, and that was exhausting. There were many times I didn’t want to be professional.
Like when Candace bossed people around for half an hour while her fly was undone. I could have asked her if she was attempting to win the boss’s affection, maybe offer a panty parade, or even looking for singles ready to mingle. But did I open my mouth? Nooooo, and that’s because I was a professional.
I didn’t tell her it was down either because just that morning, she’d yelled at me for taking the last Green Mountain blueberry coffee pod. Someone had to take it, and that someone just happened to be me.
“I distinctly remember you going into great detail about the contours and crevices of Chris Hemsworth’s body.”
I shake my head, trying to comprehend her idiocy. “That was on a lunch break, and it’s because he just came out with a series of pictures inMen’s Health. How does that have anything to do with my assignment of . . . hockey?”
Yup, she gave me hockey. A sport I know absolutely nothing about other than . . . skates, uh . . . puck . . . stick . . . and lots of ice. That about sums it up.
She smiles. “Figured you could study the contours and crevices of hockey players. After all, hockey is a national treasure in Canada. You could really do something special with the assignment.”
Petty. She is so freaking petty.
I can be petty, you know. I could . . . uh . . . I could kick her right in the crotch. Not sure if that’s petty, but it sure as hell would make me feel better. A toe to her camel toe. Blam-o, instant joy for me.
“I know nothing about hockey, and you know damn well if I turn in a fluff piece about muscles and perfectly proportioned man nipples, Roberts isn’t going to give me credit for this summer internship. Everything rides on these last assignments.” I can feel myself losing my cool.
If I don’t do a good job on this assignment, I might have to repeat the internship, and I can’t do that. Repeating would put me behind, and I need to graduate at the end of this year.I have a strict schedule.
She taps her chin. “Hmm, you might be right about that. Looks like you need to learn some hockey.”
Stepping forward, I point my finger at her. “You did this on purpose, all because of a Post-it. Honestly, how could you—”
