Disloyalty

- Let the games begin -

Two days. God, he wasn't kidding about the "immediate start."

I stared down at the sleek business card Andrew had handed me before leaving. Black, bold, and unnecessarily pretentious, just like him.

 His number was printed on the back, small and neat, as if it wasn't meant to be given out so easily. He'd said, with that irritatingly smug tone, "Call for details later today. And wear something decent."

"Decent." Right. That sounded like his polite way of saying go buy an entirely new wardrobe because clearly, my current one wasn't up to his standards. I worked hard for the clothes I had. They were good enough for any average person, but apparently not for Andrew Graham and his pristine, tailored world of rich fabrics.

I let out a sigh, but honestly? As much of a twat as he could be, I couldn't deny the paycheck. It wasn't just good—it was life-changing. Money like that could let me endure a year and a half of being his personal punchline. I'd suffer through his patronizing jabs if it meant I could walk away with a bank account fat enough to let me do whatever I wanted for a while.

Still, that didn't mean I had to follow his every command. Especially when it came to what I wore. He wanted "decent"? Fine. But I wasn't about to show up looking polished and perfect just to please him. No. My plan? Go shopping, sure—but for the cheapest, ugliest outfit I could find. If Andrew thought he could shame me, he was about to learn that two could play at that game.

The idea was so deliciously petty, I couldn't help but grin to myself. I practically skipped down the icy sidewalk, heading toward my car.

 Not even the fact that it had frozen over or the idiot who had parked so close that I had to contort myself just to get in could dull my mood. It was like the universe was handing me a golden opportunity, and I wasn't about to waste it.

By the time I was driving back to my apartment, the sun felt warmer, the birds chirped louder, and even the radio was playing my favorite song. It was like the universe was cheering me on, encouraging this ridiculous revenge plan of mine. I laughed, tipping my head back, imagining all the ways I could make his life a little more miserable.

Andrew had no idea what he'd set in motion. He was probably scheming too, finding ways to make my job a nightmare just because I crashed into his world uninvited. But offering me a job? That was his first mistake.

An hour later, I found myself standing in a dingy thrift store, scanning the racks for the perfect anti-corporate outfit. The store was cluttered, with shelves practically groaning under the weight of unwanted, forgotten clothes. It smelled like musty fabric and old memories, but I was on a mission. I wanted something that screamed "eccentric" from a distance, but up close? It needed to look like a deliberate act of fashion sabotage.

My fingers brushed over a hideous green knit jumper with a small hole on the left side. For any normal person, it would be easily ignored. But Andrew? Oh, it would drive him absolutely insane. The imperfection was subtle enough that only he, with his perfectionist tendencies, would notice. The thought of that subtle, internal rage simmering under his cool exterior made me chuckle.

I paired it with a black skirt that looked like it had been made by someone who didn't believe in straight lines. It was uneven, worn, and gave off a distinctly "thrifted chic" vibe. To top it all off, I found a pair of cowboy boots—brown, scuffed, and gloriously out of place. 

The outfit was so perfectly wrong, it felt like a masterpiece. From a distance, I might pass as some avant-garde fashion student. But up close? The cheapness, the imperfections would hit Andrew like a slap in the face.

As I paid for the clothes, I couldn't stop grinning. Tomorrow would be the beginning of a very interesting battle. Andrew might have been relentless, but so was I. He wanted a fight? He was getting one.

By the time I returned to my apartment, the high from my shopping trip had faded into that familiar empty feeling. The quietness of the place felt heavier than usual, like something was missing, but I couldn't quite figure out what. Ever since that night—the one that was still a blur in my mind—I hadn't been able to shake this nagging feeling of loneliness.

I wondered, not for the first time, about A. That mysterious figure who'd sent me spiraling down this whole rabbit hole. It couldn't be Andrew, could it? My heart jumped at the thought, but I quickly pushed it aside. 

No, Andrew was too much of a control freak to lurk in the shadows of some dingy nightclub. He was far too composed, too... Andrew for that.

Shaking off the unease, I glanced at the clock. 6:30 PM. I should call the number Andrew had given me, right? I had nothing better to do. Besides, I needed to know what fresh hell I was walking into.

I dug into my coat pocket, pulling out the business card. It felt heavier in my hand than it had earlier. The stark, minimalist design was almost aggressive in its simplicity. I typed the number into my phone and hit call, listening as it rang. And rang. And rang.

Finally, someone picked up.

"Hello?" I asked, my voice a little too eager, waiting for the response.

"Hello, this is Cheryl, on behalf of Mr. Graham. How may I assist you?" Her voice was high-pitched and unnervingly formal, the kind of voice that reminded me of the girls who used to bully me in school. Polite on the surface, but you knew there was venom beneath it.

I couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. I guess part of me had hoped he would pick up, even though I knew it was ridiculous. Of course, Andrew wasn't going to take the call himself. He was too busy—or too important—for that.

"Uh, hi. I'm the new hire? I was told to call this number for details." I trailed off awkwardly, suddenly unsure of myself.

"Ah, yes. Mrs. Ebsworth, correct?"

"Yeah, that's me," I replied, relieved that at least she knew who I was.

"There isn't much to go over. You'll be signing contracts on your first day. Please report to floor 43 at 8 AM sharp. Mr. Graham does not tolerate lateness in any scenario."

I rolled my eyes. "Trust me, I know."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, nothing! I said no worries, I'll be there. Thanks."

Before I could finish, the line went dead. Charming. I had a feeling Cheryl and I weren't going to be best friends anytime soon.

I stared at my phone, a mixture of excitement and dread bubbling inside me. In less than 48 hours, I'd be stepping into Andrew's world—a world that had changed so much since the last time I'd been part of it. But this time, I wasn't the same person either. I wasn't the awkward 16-year-old girl he once knew.

No, this time, I was ready for whatever he had in store. And if all went according to plan, Andrew Graham was in for the shock of his life.

Let the games begin.