Office Date Read online

  Office Date

  by Rachel Van Dyken

  Copyright © 2022 RACHEL VAN DYKEN

  www.RachelVanDykenAuthor.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  OFFICE DATE

  Copyright © 2022 RACHEL VAN DYKEN

  ISBN: 978-1-957700-05-2

  Cover Design by Letitia Hasser, r.b.a. Designs

  Editing by Kay Springsteen

  Formatting & Editing by Jill Sava, Love Affair With Fiction

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Want More RVD?

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  Also By Rachel Van Dyken

  Dedication

  To Thor, thanks for sitting up with me in your fort so we could finish this book together.

  PS love your flashlight.

  Chapter One

  Ivy

  The flyer clearly said applicants wanted for a brand-new marketing firm under Emory Enterprises.

  That’s it, the end.

  Or maybe that’s just the beginning.

  I wasn’t homeless yet, but it was looking to go that way post-graduation—why did nobody ever warn me about life after college? I mean, I vaguely remember my grandma giving me a lecture on how important it was to pick a major that would guarantee me a job post-graduation—but I also remember her smoking a ton of weed while she was going through chemo sooooooo some things got lost in translation.

  Apparently, a lot of things.

  Like when I found the chihuahua in the toilet because she wanted to give it a bath and the bathtub was too large, and she was afraid it would give him nightmares. Or the multiple times I found her sitting on the couch eating chips and going on and on about Baywatch and how she could one hundred percent fit in a red bikini better than The Rock or Zac Efron.

  So, it’s not like I truly paid attention when she said at one point that all of this was important, well, until the pink flier and the fact that I double majored in piano performance and music.

  I wince at the sound of stapling a piece of blank paper fills the air, and then I sigh. After applying for the internship, I was shocked when I actually got the job along with ten other interns.

  And it was a paid internship!

  I‘d already mentally spent all the money I was going to earn by my first day, but by day twelve, I was ready to commit murder.

  And it was all his fault.

  Staple.

  Staple.

  Staple.

  Newsflash, basically everything we do is digital, but he clearly remembered that things like stapling and nails going down a chalkboard trigger me past the point of sanity.

  Staple.

  Staple.

  Must he hit it so hard?

  What the hell is he even stapling?

  All of our desks are in the same area of the office, the newbie area, and lucky us, the CEO doesn’t believe in cubicles, so everyone can see everyone and hear everything.

  I can still smell the tuna from Anderson four desks down.

  My row of five desks faces the other row of five with a nice little community area in the middle with coffee, snacks, and a nice little conference table.

  And yet I still hear the staples being punched into the paper.

  I didn’t know when I took this internship that he would too. My old next-door neighbor, childhood nemesis, high school bully, and college crush.

  It was a slight crush, but he’d really filled out, and I hadn’t recognized him, so I hit on him… he kissed me then said he didn’t date girls like me.

  Whatever the hell that meant.

  He then grabbed another girl’s hand and took her upstairs. After that, the party was a blur except for puking up those little Jack in the Box tacos into the toilet and watching them swirl down toward the ocean to meet Nemo.

  It’s his fault I can’t even eat Jack in the Box anymore!

  Not that it matters since his name is, in fact, Jack; should have been a huge beaming neon sign in front of that one. My roommate at the time said that I was so sad about his rejection I wanted to actually eat him.

  Thus, the tacos.

  Staple.

  Staple.

  Staple.

  I finally look up.

  Jack’s green eyes lock onto mine as he continues to staple what looks like blank paper

  Over. And Over. And Over. AND OVER.

  “Shouldn’t you be working?” I snap.

  He staples again, his annoyingly sexy smirk looking hotter and hotter, damn him. “This is work.”

  “You’re costing the company a shit ton of money in unnecessary staples.” I smile, my lips tremble at the sides because it’s so hard to actually keep it frozen like that when I want to rage. “Don’t you think?”

  He staples again. “No, I think I’m good.”

  He has no business having such pretty green eyes that almost look like he’s wearing eyeliner, they’re so intense. He has gorgeous long black eyelashes and perfectly manicured fingernails, which is a weird thing to fixate on, but because of the staples, I can’t look away.

  Bet he could do a lot with just one of those fingers.

  Stop it!

  I take a deep breath. “What are you working on that needs so many aggressive staples?”

  Swear if he staples one more time…

  Staple.

  I jump to my feet; the scrape of my chair being shoved backward fills the room as the rest of the interns look over at us in interest; then again, this is a regular occurrence or has been since we all started working.

  “Jack.” I grit my teeth. “Why do you have to be so hateful?”

  “Why do you have to be so loud?” he counters quickly. “I’m doing my job, and all you’re doing is standing there… wearing…” He frowns. “But seriously, what are you wearing?”

  I self-consciously look down at my older pair of black heels, my black tights, and matching black dress with my white tuxedo jacket.

  I literally clutch the pearls around my neck—the ones my grandma gave me—and want to hurl them at him, but then I wouldn’t have them anymore, and I never take them off.

  I haven’t since her death.

  Never will, I think.

  “And now she’s clutching her pearls, literally.” He sighs. “You look like you went into your grandma’s closet, raided it, and came out with the worst possible outfit.”

  It stung because it was true.

  She’d helped raise me.

  And I didn’t exactly have work-appropriate clothes, so I raided pieces from her closet that were too precious to toss out or donate.

  I bite back tears of anger and hurt.

  “Jack,” Anderson says from his spot down the line. “Lay off it for today,
yeah? It’s almost time for happy hour anyway.”

  “Like she ever comes,” Jack mumbles and starts to staple again.

  I swipe my cheek and slowly slump back into my chair and stare at my laptop screen as it continues to blur in front of me.

  “Boss is here!“ One of the receptionists rushes around the corner in her heels, nearly colliding with my desk. “Get your badges on now!”

  We all fumble for the badges we keep in our desks and put them on as fast as possible, even staple boy.

  I quickly check my face in selfie mode and set my phone down only to catch Jack doing the same. As if he has anything out of place; the guy’s a walking magazine spread, and I mean that literally.

  He’s also so rich I’m actually offended he’s working with me. Can’t he just work for his dad or something? Become a lawyer for his firm?

  I‘ve spent way too much time thinking about it, and stress is bad for my soul, so I turn toward the footsteps coming our way.

  I tense.

  I‘ve never actually met Max Emory, but I’ve heard he’s… extremely out there. As in, he has a pet gecko in his office rather than a fish. Keeps goats randomly on hotel property, actually has a foundation for them now called Hades and Persephone Farms, and well, the list goes on and on.

  And on.

  Some people say he even thinks of himself as a matchmaker of sorts in his spare time, but they also say in that same sentence that he nearly killed the last two interns he promoted, so who knows?

  You’d think that would deter anyone from working for his massive empire, but the pay is really good for an intern; plus, you smack that on one of your resumes, and people are impressed you actually survived Hadesgate.

  Whatever that is.

  I mean, I’ve heard rumors that the goat attacked an employee, but I’m sure that’s all just office gossip.

  He turns the corner, dressed in a smart navy blue suit with his chocolate hair slicked back. His strong jaw is shockingly attractive, as are his eyes. Actually, if I was into men in their late thirties, I’d say he was sexy.

  He stops and crosses his arms, staring all of us down. The entire office is completely silent. I’m afraid to swallow because it might make a noise.

  Am I breathing too loud?

  Oh no! He glances my way, then quickly averts his eyes.

  I breathe a silent sigh of relief.

  “The second annual Emory Games are about to begin,” he announces in a boisterous voice. “This year, however, will be a little different.”

  What the hell are the Emory Games?

  But also, does this include Hadesgate?

  “I’m sure you’re wondering what the hell the Emory Games are…” He grins. “Follow me.” He suddenly stops; I nearly run into his back before he turns around and adds, “Don’t walk loud; it irritates the gecko.”

  And that, folks, was my first intro into what would soon be—the weirdest few weeks of my life.

  Chapter Two

  Jack

  I don’t hate her.

  I think she thinks I hate her.

  It’s more of a: I have a really hard time tolerating her holier-than-thou attitude, and that’s constant.

  Would it kill her to have one hair out of place? Roll around in some dirt? I swear I sometimes look back on the one moment we had, and she actually sneered at me when she got too close like I was this complete waste of time.

  I grabbed the first girl I could find and swore I’d never let her get under my skin again, no matter how pretty she was or how much she wanted to strangle me.

  It was really all we had between us.

  An immense amount of tension that sometimes felt sexual if I were being completely honest.

  Damn, I wonder if she’d freak out if I just threw her against that conference table and tugged those thick nylons down with my teeth, forcing her to walk around with holes in them the rest of the day.

  Yeah, weird fantasy, and yet I’m still getting hard as I try to walk quietly behind the rest of the interns. What the hell does he mean “loud walking upsets the gecko”?

  Are lizards that sensitive to noise?

  And isn’t his office above us, not below?

  Jude elbows me. I don’t know him well, but he has inky black hair and really blue eyes, which pretty much means every girl in the office flirts with him, including the cougars. “Who do you think he’s going to pair you with?”

  “Pair me?” I frown. “What do you mean?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Come on, bro, The Emory Games. The. Emory. Games!”

  Why does he say it twice? And why the hell is he raising his hands like he’s auditioning for The Godfather?

  He shakes his head like I’m the dumb one. “Why else would you apply for this internship? It went viral last year, the shit he put his interns through just to win a bonus plus a guaranteed job in management. It’s literally the only reason people apply for this job now. We probably had to beat out at least two thousand other applicants.”

  I’m in shock.

  I had no idea.

  I just thought it sounded like a good way to get out of law school and get my dad off my back about taking my LSATs.

  I‘m still confused when we all find seats in a theater-like room with cushy leather chairs and a giant screen up front.

  “Lights, please.” Max claps his hands and moves to the side.

  The smell of popcorn fills the air.

  But, seriously, what the hell?

  Suddenly, honest to God, I’m getting handed popcorn and a soda while the screen flickers then lights up with “A Max Emory Production” during work hours, so, whatever… I’ll eat. I’ll drink. I’ll play.

  Music plays.

  And then hell ensues as I watch teams of two go through challenge courses and weird gameshow shit.

  The music slowly shifts to something more romantic as the camera pans in on an apartment with two of the interns. They’re arguing, trapped in a closet, sweaty, then building a bed, and then sleeping in it, and oh shit.

  That would make a Hollywood scene look bad.

  Is this fucking legal?

  The scene fades to black.

  The pair is outside competing again. They lose, but they somehow win. I can’t tell what happens except everyone’s cheering for them even though they were in last place.

  Words scroll across the screen; my eyes widen as I read.

  “Each winning contestant was given a ten thousand dollar signing bonus along with a job at Emory Enterprises starting at eighty thousand a year, a company car, and a company penthouse apartment.”

  Sign me the fuck up!

  I nearly jump to my feet, throw my hands into the air, and yell, “I volunteer as tribute!”

  I still live with my parents.

  But for real, I‘ll kiss that damn gecko if that’s what it takes, and lizards scare the shit out of me. It’s their eyes like they know things.

  All the things.

  Adrenaline courses through me as I look around the room. I have at least twenty pounds of muscle on most guys here, the girls look anything but athletic, plus I played collegiate level sports.

  I‘m going to destroy them all!

  I wonder if we get to choose partners.

  I start eyeing all the girls and get irritated when I realize that my best prospect would actually be my greatest enemy.

  Ivy.

  She played volleyball in college and was actually pretty good. She also did gymnastics in high school, not that I actually paid much attention.

  Really, I didn’t. I mean, cool, you can do the splits and are super bendy, and that does not, at all, lead me to think about things we can do in bed.

  I gulp. Ever.

  She has an athletic body and would honestly be my only ticket to the top.

  Damn it!

  Why did we have to argue this morning?

  Fucking staples.

  “Now,” Max says as a crafty grin spreads across his face. “I’ll give you a second to dig
est the movie you just witnessed. This year, as I said, we will be doing things a bit different. First things first, you’re going to be allowed to choose your own partner since last time we paired people up, we almost had babies ha-ha, am I right?”

  He holds his hand up for a high five to his assistant Dustin, whose eyes are twitching behind his black-rimmed glasses as he rocks back and forth and whispers, “We’re going to get sued again.”

  I choke on my laugh.

  “Nonsense.” Max smacks him on the back. The poor guy’s glasses come flying off. “That was one time.”

  “That was last week,” he says through grit teeth.

  “Dustin, Dustin, Dustin…” Max chuckles. “You’ll scare the littles.” He lowers his voice. “Look at their brains, like little gerbils running in their little cages on those circle things; what are they called again?”

  “Wheels—”

  “Never mind, I’m bored now. Did you start those dance lessons I asked you to?”

  Dustin shakes his head.

  I notice people start to get up like they’re going to pair up the way you would when working on a group project, so I do what any desperate guy does: I jump the seats and plop down next to Ivy with a grunt.

  She jumps in response and leans so far away from me that I wonder if she’s going to fall on the floor. “Can I help you?”

  “We can help each other,” I say. “Look, hear me out. I know you hate me, and I hate you, blah, blah, sorry for the staples, but…” I hold out my hands. “We would destroy the competition. We’re athletes in our prime, just graduated college. It’s not like we’re forty.”

  Max clears his throat.

  “Not that there is anything wrong with that,” I say loud enough for him and everyone else to hear.

  “Better.” Max sniffs.

  “Anyway…” I lower my voice. “If we get to choose our own partners, we’re each other’s best bet. Did you see what the winners get? That’s huge!”

  Her eyes narrow. “But you’re rich?”

  “And that automatically makes everything perfect?” I scowl. “The last thing I want is to work for my father and be stuck living at home until I’m forty!”

  Max clears his throat again.

  “Not that there is anything wrong with a finely dressed man in his prime!” I nearly yell it this time.