Disloyalty

- Operation day one -

My first day is today.

Was I nervous? Absolutely. Was I excited to see the look on his face when I showed up in my intentionally terrible outfit? Hell yes.

I woke up extra early, determined not to rush. The last few times I tried waking up early, I barely made it out the door without a disaster. 

This time, I had a plan, and today was about more than just the job—it was about making a statement. I pulled myself out of bed and checked the weather, something I never bothered to do until now. My morning had to go smoothly.

Peeking out the window, I saw the world coated in a crisp frost. The grass looked like it had been dipped in white paint, and my car was practically an ice sculpture. I switched on the TV for a quick weather report while brewing coffee. 

No rain, thankfully. The sun was set to make an appearance, but with bone-chilling temperatures that would probably freeze my toes off. Still, I could live with that. Anything is better than trudging through a downpour on your first day.

I shuffled over to the shopping bags I had carelessly dumped in the corner of my room after my little thrift store spree. Today's mission: cause just the right amount of discomfort with my outfit, enough to make Andrew question his life choices, but not enough to get myself kicked out of the office on sight.

I spread the clothes across my bed like a fashion crime scene: the infamous green knit jumper, the black skirt with uneven stitching, and those hideous brown cowboy boots. Honestly, they looked even worse than I remembered, which was perfect. 

I yanked on the jumper, half expecting it to itch like a sweater made of fiberglass, but to my surprise, it was pretty soft. Almost too soft, as if fate was playing a joke on me. I pulled the sleeves over my wrists and frowned in the mirror. The jumper hung awkwardly off my shoulder, but it wasn't that bad. Not as offensive as I'd hoped.

After scraping my hair into a high ponytail that I didn't even bother to make cute, I slipped into the boots and stood in front of the mirror. The reflection that stared back was...well, average. The outfit, as hideous as it was, didn't scream disaster.

 It more so whispered "disheveled on purpose" rather than full-on fashion apocalypse. The cowboy boots clashed horribly with the skirt, but I doubted anyone would look close enough to appreciate the thought I'd put into looking this terrible.

I couldn't help but smirk. Sure, I wasn't dressed like a professional, but that was the point. This was my small act of rebellion, and I had no doubt it would get under Andrew's skin. He deserved it after putting me through the mess that led me here, offering me a job like it was some act of kindness when we both knew this was a power play. 

He might think he's in control, but today, I'd remind him who I was—the girl who threw water at him when we were teenagers and didn't back down for three whole years.

I grabbed my bag and walked out the door, greeted by the biting cold. I was already late leaving the apartment, but I didn't care. The job didn't officially start until I walked through those doors, and I wanted to make an entrance. The sun was shining, though it did little to warm the icy streets. I slid into my frozen car, blasting the heat and cursing under my breath as the windshield slowly defrosted.

As I drove, I couldn't help but replay the upcoming moment over and over in my mind. I'd walk in, Andrew would look up from his desk, and for just a brief second, he would have to pretend that my outfit wasn't bothering him. But I'd see it, the twitch of his eyebrow, the way his eyes flicked over the cowboy boots, and then to my off-kilter skirt. He'd hate it, and that was the whole point. This job wasn't going to be about fitting into his perfectly polished world—I was going to be the pebble in his shoe, the thing he couldn't quite ignore.