Digging a Hole by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
“Just go, Abi,” I whimper. “I can’t take you feeling sorry for me. I do that well enough on my own.”
What an idiot I am! I’d actually thought Brooks might have an ounce of humanity inside him. And those looks he gave me? He was probably thinking about how much fun he’d have watching me cry. Jerkface!
“Really, I’ll be fine. Just go,” I sputter.
The silence on the other side of the stall door is palpable. “Okay, Syd. Call me later?”
“Yeah. I’ll call.”
Her heels click across the tile floor, and I hear the door squeak open and shut.
I cover my face with my hands and let out one last juicy sob. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him! And I know I have it in me to fight back, but something’s holding me back. Okay, Georgie. Where’s the girl who fought for her sisters and mother on that beach?
Suddenly, I’m thinking about that pilot again and the way I so coldly turned my back. It was so unlike me, yet I did it. I could easily see myself doing it again, too, because the rage I felt is still there. The audacity of that man to threaten me and my family. Regardless, knowing I have it in me to be so vindictive and heartless is truly unsettling.
Shit. Maybe that’s the problem. My fear, at least part of it, could be the fact that I don’t want to end up like my father, because I can’t deny that the piece of me I’m suppressing isn’t a saint. Dear God. I’m a closet asshole. Chester Walton’s daughter. If I let her out, I might become everything I hate.
For fuck’s sake, Georgie. Now you’re just being delusional. Listen to yourself! I am nothing like that dick-tator. Not even on my worst day. I am kind and gentle, but fiercely loyal. I am quiet, resourceful, and smart.
I am a warrior squirrel. Yes. That’s what I am. And warrior squirrels don’t carry swords. We move silently like the wind. We sneak to get what we want. But most of all, we crack nuts. And Brooks, if anything, is surely one of those.
I have been going about this the wrong way, trying to make myself into something I’m not, instead of using what I’ve got to my advantage.
And now I know what I must do. I’m going to get him fired.
CHAPTER NINE
Imagine, if you will, a stormy sky and you’re that little warrior squirrel standing on a rock in a dry riverbed. Off in the distance, you hear rain and see the black clouds unleashing their fury. While you’re standing there, watching with equal measures of fear and awe, a wall of water rushes toward you. You have one second to decide: Run your furry little ass off, or dig those claws into the rock and hope for the best.
Knowing how fast squirrels are, most of us would choose to run. But I am a warrior squirrel and have decided to face the storm head-on. Which is why I’ve spent the entire past week and weekend focusing on two things: studying for my makeup finals for last semester and making Brooks’s life hell with a carefully planned mindfuck. I’m going to wreck this man. Yes, revenge is part of it, but a tiny piece of me wants his respect too. Not that I care what he thinks. Okay, okay. I do care, but only because I want him to feel a little pain when he realizes he’s messed with the wrong woman.
I release a breath, pick up the phone on my desk, and dial Travel. I haven’t seen Brooks since the middle of last week, and it’s now Wednesday, so he’s due back from New York tonight.
“Meg speaking,” says the woman on the phone.
“Hi, Meg. This is Geor—” Crap! That was close. “This is…Geographic National’s biggest travel lover, Sydney Lucas, Mr. Brooks’s new intern.”
“Errrr…thank you for that tidbit of useless info. And don’t you mean National Geographic?”
I wince. “Yep. But you know us travelin’ types and our nicknames: Geo Nat. Nat Geo. We roll loose and free, yanno?” I’m an idiot.
“I have no clue what you’re saying, but what can I do for you, Geo Nat Sydney, the intern weirdo?”
Ugh. Fuck her. “I booked Mr. Brooks on an RT to NYC last week. He’s there now but says he’s staying oh-forty-eight hours past zero. Copy.”
“Are you high? No, really. I get that the ganja is legal in some states, but showing up to work high is illegal everywhere.”
Dammit. I’m freaking out and my brain is misfiring my mouth. “Sorry. It’s my…military upbringing.” I wince. There’s not a person on this planet in the military who acts this lame.
“Sure. Whatever. So when does Brooks want to return to Houston?”
Shit. Shit. I hadn’t thought of that. My plan only went as far as stranding him in New York. “He said he wasn’t sure and to leave it open until further notice.”
I hear the clicking of her fingertips on the other end of the phone. “Oh…kay! He’s all set. I’m sending the revised itinerary—”
“Ju-just send it t-to me. He said his email is down and asked me to text it to him.”
I wait with bated breath.
“Sure,” she says.
Yes! She bought it. The best part is that I heard one of the managers in the bathroom talking to a coworker about the travel department being shorthanded for the next two weeks since Meg will be on vacation. Brooks won’t be able to ask her who altered his flight. And when he tries to call me from the road, he’ll find his cell has been reported missing and no longer functions. He’ll be left trying to borrow a phone at the airport—good luck with that!—and like most people, he’s not likely to have any work numbers memorized. He’ll eventually get the main PVP number, but nobody answers past four. He’s going to be SOL stuck at JFK. If he tries to book a flight on his own, well, I have a few other surprises for him. Like, uh-oh! Someone reported your company credit card as lost and it’s no longer active!
Who would do such a horrible thing? Warrior squirrel.
“Thank you, Meg,” I say in my usual quiet voice. “I’ll call back as soon as I have his return info. Oh, and have a really awesome vacation.”
“Thanks, ganja Syd.”
She ends the call, and I let out a long breath. Great. I’m now pothead Syd. If the reward of my retaliation weren’t so great, I’d be mortified. But the nectar of victory is waiting. So sweet.
With phase one complete, I go to the next step—getting him fired—and log in to Mr. Brooks’s personal secure server. He’s giving a presentation this afternoon in New York to a bunch of physicians from some of the top hospitals across the country. It’s a big deal because getting them to prescribe our drugs is how we make money, and I hear that funding our cutting-edge R & D is very expensive. No, I don’t want to sabotage the company, so I will make it look like human error. One human in particular. We’ll make it up to the doctors with fruit baskets and free golf clubs or something.
I open Brooks’s presentation and grin. He only works off the server in case his laptop crashes or gets lost. The bonehead doesn’t even keep a backup on a flash drive. But why would he? Our servers are sooo safe.
I begin toggling through the slides, making subtle changes. “Efficacy rate among patients is over forty percent.”
You are now…
“Mortality rate among patience is eighty percent…” I hear Brooks’s “patience” dying already.
Next, I swap out his graph—showing the long-term cost comparison of our drugs versus the competition—with a graph I found that compares the growth of online porn to a surge in bestiality.
Oh, and look! Let’s add a caption for the doctors underneath that graph: “Nine out of ten doctors prescribe sheep for Nick Brooks. Because he’s a sadistic wanker.”
Is that too much? I wonder. Nah! Not like he’s even going to suspect me because no one but him has access to his server.
So how’d I get in? Well, remember Robbie, the tech geek who makes fake driver’s licenses? For a hundred bucks, he’ll hack into anything. Including, oh yes, bank accounts. Which for Brooks now has a whopping $0 balance.
Uh-oh. Looks like your checks are going to bounce. I smile with a contented sigh. He’ll get the money back in a week, but once these doctors complain about Brooks, he’ll be
With his cell not working, his presentation sabotaged, his money gone and flight cancelled, it’s time to get to work on his office. I’ve got one more thing planned, but it must wait until he returns from New York.
“Whenever that is.” I smile. “Never mess with a smart woman, Nick.”
Friday morning, I am sitting at my desk when the boogeyman slithers in. “Good morning, Mr. Brooks. How was your shitty long trip? I’ve packed up your office,” I say with a smug smile.
Okay. That’s only what happens in my mind. Really, I’m sitting at my desk, typing up an email for Rebecca, Abi’s boss. I bumped into her in the morning and mentioned that Brooks hadn’t given me anything to do. She hopped right on the opportunity for extra help, so now I’m happily busy and giddy with delight. I can’t wait to see Brooks’s tattered expression when he finally makes it home.
But when Brooks walks in just past eleven, his beautiful face is clean shaved. His corpse-gray eyes are bright and twinkling, like he had a good night’s rest, and his black suit, which fits his tall masculine frame like a glove, is freshly pressed.
My heart does a little pitter-patter. What the… You are not pittering or pattering for that man just because he looks so good. Especially given that his glowing mood means my plan has gone terribly wrong. He should be a pissy mess!
“You still here?” he snarls.
“Yes.” I nod dumbly.
“Then get me some coffee.” He enters his office, and I’m doing my best to hide my shock.
How did my plan not work? Okay. He’s not stupid. Maybe he caught the mistakes before he gave his presentation. And maybe he just used a personal credit card to fly home. I mean, I couldn’t shut down all of his access to money.
All right. Regroup, Georgie. Regroup. I open his calendar and see he has a meeting with our president, Mr. Craigson, in five minutes.
Wow. Okay. Maybe Craigson is coming to fire him. My plan might’ve worked and Brooks is just playing it cool.
I’m unsure, but this is perfect! I’ve got a little career-wrecking surprise waiting for Brooks inside and—Wait. Wait. What if I make sure Craigson gets to witness Brooks’s awesome leadership skills? If Craigson is coming down here, I can give him a second reason to fire the a-hole.
I wait patiently until I spot Craigson step off the elevator. To my delight, he actually stops to chat with some guy in a cubicle. This is wonderful.
I get up and knock on Brooks’s door.
“Come in,” his deep voice calls out.
I open the door, step inside, and shut it for one very good reason. I want him to feel comfortable yelling at me.
“Oh, it’s you.” He frowns and goes back to working on his laptop. “What do you want, Cindy?”
First I’m Gail. Now I’m Cindy? Okay. I stand there wanting to say something that will push him through the roof like, “You’re a stupid creep and I’ve learned absolutely nothing from you.” But of course, my mouth and brain are never in sync.
“Well?” he prods impatiently.
“I, uh…”
“Dear God, woman, spit it out or leave. I have things to do, none of which you’re qualified to assist with, given they require a functioning brain. Did your mother smoke and drink while pregnant with you, or did she just hit the crack pipe?”
Ohmygod! He insulted my mother! Again! I feel the rage build, and I’m unsure if it’s because he’s picked on someone I love or because his words are particularly mean this time.
“Well? Which is it?” he prods. “Because I know there has to be a reason for that thick, inbred look on your dumb face. And didn’t I tell you to stop stealing clothes from the homeless?”
Asshole! This man has got to go—from this company, from my life, from this planet!
“Why are you so fucking cruel!” I belt out to my complete and utter shock. Then, all of a sudden, words are flowing from my mouth, and I want to sing and dance (on Brooks’s fat handsome head) and never stop. “You are the most vile, condescending, despicable man I have ever met. No. Wait. You’re not a man; you’re less than human. You’re a pig! A goddamned shit-covered pig. I mean, where do you get off calling me names and swinging your dick around like we’re all supposed to suck it just because you can sell stuff? Well, fuck you, Brooks! Swing your big dick at some other woman, because I’m smart. And I’m kind. And my clothes are perfectly fine you…asshole!”
A smug smile creeps over his full lips as he leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his broad chest. “Well, looks like you do have it in you. Very good, Cindy. But next time you’d like to talk about my big dick, how about doing it out of earshot of Mr. Craigson there?”
My feet meld with the gray carpeted floor. Oh, dammit. He’s standing right behind me, isn’t he? I slowly turn to see Craigson’s white hair and cold blue eyes. I’ve actually met him once at our Thanksgiving charity event last year, but I’m sure he wouldn’t remember me. I hid in my room most of the time. Plus, I have a new hair color.
Mr. Craigson clears his throat. “I see your fan club is growing by leaps and bounds, Brooks.” He walks past me and takes a seat in front of the desk. I’m mortified, but he doesn’t seem to give a crap about my outburst.
“Yeah, well,” Brooks leans forward in his chair, “I’m here to make obscene amounts of money, not friends. And they’re here to work, not bitch and complain like pussies.”
“Well, keep up the good work. We couldn’t be happier,” Craigson says.
Huuuh? It seems that none of my plans worked. The man is actually getting praise!
Brooks looks at me, and there’s a hint of pride on those lips. “Let’s catch up later, sweetheart.” He winks.
What is happening? Like a stiff board, I swivel my rigid body and leave, closing the door behind me. Oh my God. Did he just wink at me, all Mr. Charming like, as if to say, “Hey, Cindy, way to go, woman?” He totally did.
I suddenly can’t help but wonder if he’s been pushing my buttons on purpose. A test?
No. He’s a giant jerk, and he needs to go!
I sit in my chair, grab my phone, and stare at the playlist. This is my last move. If Craigson doesn’t fire Brooks for this, nothing will work. I hit play.
Suddenly, the sound of a man saying, “Suck it, baby. Suck it hard!” followed by a woman orgasming booms through the office from underneath my desk.
What the…? I look and the Bluetooth speaker I hid in Brooks’s office is sitting at my feet with a note.
Nice try, sweetheart.
—N.B.
I scramble to shut it off and cover my mouth. He must’ve either gotten into the office before me, or he came in last night. But how did he know to look for it?
Wait. Who cares? I stood up for myself! I finally did it! Curse words and everything. I just took a monumental step, and this is a moment to be proud of!
“Porn at work?” says a woman walking by my desk, shaking her head.
“Oops! Sorry. My laptop caught a virus.” And I’ve just caught an epic case of confidence.
CHAPTER TEN
“If only I’d thought of that!” Abi says as we walk out of the building and head through the underground parking garage to grab her car and go to lunch. My car is parked three blocks away since it cost about one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Not your usual intern car.
Abi goes on, “Really, I’m so proud of you for yelling at him.”
“I’m proud, too.”
“So now what?” she asks.
“Well, now I need him to let me do some serious work—a big project with a presentation.”
“You think he’ll let you just because you yelled at him one time?”
It’s a valid question. “I’m hoping he will. Not like I’ve got
“All right. Let’s assume he says yes. Do you think you’re ready to stand up in front of a room full of people and give an actual presentation? Not that I think you can’t. I just know you’ll need time to work up to it.”
She’s right, as usual, which means I need to step up the pace in my “occupational therapy.” Just then, we walk by a really nice-looking Harley, electric blue and sleek chrome. My father has a few bikes, and I know they’re not cheap, but this one is especially expensive. It has custom blue stitching and extra-large tires.
“It’s Brooks’s,” Abi says.
“Really now.” I start digging through my purse for a pen.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Continuing my training. Keep an eye out, wudja?” I crouch beside the bike and start letting the air out of the back tire.
“Oh my God, Georgie. Seriously?” Her head whips from side to side. “Hurry. We’re going to get caught.”
“No. We’re not. That’s why you’re keeping a lookout.”
She groans, but does like a good friend, giving me a few precious minutes to deflate half the tire. Brooks might know it’s me, but he’s got it coming. Wait. Does he know I’m behind the bank hacking, too?
No way. A porn soundtrack and a flat tire do not a hacker make.
“I don’t see how that’s going to help you,” she says. “Messing with a man’s Harley might be crossing the line.”
“Or it might make him fear me. Just a little.” With my task complete, Abi and I nonchalantly stroll to her car and leave. “Lunch is on me,” I say with a grin.
We get into her blue Jetta, and she turns to me with tight lips and a frown. “Georgie, can I ask you something?”