Chapter 2

I stared at the bulldog-faced brute in front of me, swallowing my bile and forcing a plastic smile.

"Richard, please, don't be angry. I'm just a rookie, still trying to learn the ropes. If I crossed a line, just tell me, and I'll make it right."

Richard glared at my fake grin, then caught the rest of the floor, treating the scene like a reality TV show. He balled his hand into a fist but thought better of it.

He gritted his teeth and barked, "My office. Now."

The second the door slammed shut, he started his performance.

"This isn't your personal playground. I'm only being hard on you for your own good. Your internship coordinator specifically asked me to keep you in line, and this is the thanks I get for my effort?"

Listening to him spin this narrative was almost comedic, but I forced myself to look down at my shoes and act like I was on the verge of a breakdown.

"Richard, I'm living paycheck to paycheck. My intern stipend is barely enough for gas as it is, and with these fines, I'm completely broke. I lost my head today; I'm really sorry."

He visibly relaxed, his ego finally fed.

"Alright, I'm glad you're finally seeing sense," he conceded. "But the fines stand—I can't have my authority looking weak to the team.

"Usually, the new blood treats the office to lunch to kick things off. Since you're paying for everyone's Starbucks today, just consider it me doing you a favor."

I actually had to stifle a laugh. Snatching my entire month's paycheck for a fake donation was him doing me a favor?

Could there be anyone more shameless than this guy?

Even though I was dying inside, I kept my word and splurged on the most expensive Starbucks order for the entire floor.

Richard stepped out of his office, saw the sea of green straws, and flashed a greedy grin. "Wow, you actually got the good stuff!"

I immediately put on a look of pure apology, saying, "Richard, I am so sorry, but I didn't order one for you. Or for myself.

His face went from smug to sickly pale in a heartbeat. "Wait, even the janitor got a frappuccino, but I didn't?"

"I saw you dozing off at your desk after lunch and figured you weren't feeling well, so I didn't want to upset your stomach. Plus, my donation money barely covered the rest of the team.

"Don't feel bad, Richard. I'm right there with you; I'm skipping the treats today, too."

May couldn't hold it in and let out a loud snort.

Richard's face cycled through three shades of red before he finally slunk back into his office, utterly defeated.

The entire office smelled like roasted beans and caramel all afternoon. Every time he poked his head out to go to the water cooler, he kept eyeing the cups on everyone's desks and visibly swallowing.

Meanwhile, I'd already poured my venti latte into my Yeti tumbler, secretly enjoying every cold, caffeinated sip while I worked.

I thought the day's circus was finally over, but at 5:50 PM, Richard marched over and slammed a massive binder and a thumb drive onto my desk. "I need these digitized and formatted for the 8:00 AM board meeting. Get it done tonight."

I stared at the mountain of work, my face twisting in disbelief.

He flashed a sleazy, self-satisfied grin. "The workday isn't over until I say it is. This is the real world, kid. If you can't hack the grind, the door's right there."

I balled my hands into fists, swallowing my rage as I gave a stiff nod. "Fine. I'll get it done."

The second he cleared the floor, I grabbed my phone and dialed my dad.

I had never had to take that kind of pathetic abuse in my entire life.

I tried calling him for three hours straight, but it went to voicemail every single time.

I glanced at the world clock on my screen—it was the middle of the night where he was. He had to be dead to the world.

I glared at the pile of files, picturing Richard's bloated face on every page, and gritted my teeth as I flipped open my laptop.

I grinded through the data until midnight, finally hitting "upload" on the last set of slides.

My vision started to swim, and I slumped over my desk, passing out.

When I finally hauled my eyes open, the sun was already streaming through the blinds. May was shaking my shoulder, her voice a frantic whisper. "Check Slack, Emily. He's tagging you again."

I wiped the sleep from my face and grabbed my phone. Richard had posted: [Emily misused the company utilities overnight. That is a $300 donation.]

I slammed my palms onto the desk, sending a stack of memos flying like confetti.

With the entire office frozen in shock, I kicked Richard's door open and snarled, "Are you actually kidding me right now?"

But Richard didn't even flinch. He just stood there with a deadpan expression, calmly pointing at a printed copy of the "Donation Policy" taped to the wall.

"'Misuse of company utilities. Minor infraction: $150. Major infraction: $300'. You pulled an all-nighter, which qualifies as major. Pay it up.

"You were the one who campaigned for this policy, remember? It's all right here in black and white. Time to settle the tab."

Seeing that smug, punchable grin on his face made my stomach do a violent somersault.

All the exhaustion from the night before hit me like a freight train, and I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle a sudden, sharp wave of nausea.

He twisted his mouth into a greasy, suggestive smirk. "Wow. Already getting yourself knocked up at your age? Who's the deadbeat dad?

"Didn't you say you were broke? What's your hourly rate for a night out? If you can't afford the 'donation', you can just keep me company for a week, and we'll call it even."