Tis the Season for Revenge: A Holiday Romantic Comedy

I’m closing the door of my corner office, briefcase in hand, and waving to my assistant when the voice hits me.

“Going somewhere, Martinez?” I stop walking, the shiny, expensive shoes I wear to fit the image squeaking on the glossy wood floors. I don’t turn, though. The voice isn’t worth that kind of effort, much less the air of actually caring what he says.

“Can I help you with anything, Benson?” My eyes are on the desk outside my office where my assistant Tanya rolls her lips into her mouth, biting on them and trying to fight a laugh. My eyes move to her, giving her a playful glare.

Slowly, I turn to face the entitled grandson of Simon Schmidt.

I respect the man who built this firm alongside me, but I do not respect his daughter’s spawn.

He’s staring at me with his arms crossed, a look on his face like he caught me embezzling instead of leaving my office at four in the afternoon. The man is not only a shitty lawyer and a pain in my ass, but he also can’t seem to keep his story straight. One minute he’s kissing my ass, and the next, he’s trying to pin me in some kind of “gotcha” moment.

“Where are you going?” he asks, his tone full of vehemence and irritation.

I stare at him. He stares right back. We’re collecting stares from nearby employees in cubicles and standing at water coolers, tipping their chairs and changing angles to get a glimpse of the showdown.

I fucking wish.

I fucking wish I could have a true showdown with this asshat. There have been more than a few conversations with Simon over the years, but each time he assures me he’ll speak to his grandson, that things will settle down, that he’s just getting used to the firm.

It’s been six years, though, and I still can’t hear the man’s voice without wanting to wring his neck.

“What makes you think that is any of your business?” I ask.

“Well, some of us stay the full day. However, I think those of us who are working hard to earn money for this firm deserve an explanation as to why you’re allowed to leave when you wish.” His lips turn up in a challenge. He really thinks he’s doing something right now. “Some of us even work late, Martinez. When was the last time you stayed past five?”

“Oh, trust me, we all know you stay late, Richard. And why.” My eyes drift to Misty, the paralegal with whom he’s been having an affair for months. “You do know there are cameras in the building we all have access to, yes?” I say, and a few snickers come from the room. I narrow my eyes on him, noticing the overhead lighting catching on the specks of his clothing.

“And why do you have . . . Is that glitter?” I ask, stepping forward and realizing a few specks are different colors, some pink and some blue. “Was arts and crafts time too messy today? Maybe you should stick to the colored pencils.” A few laughs erupt as Richard’s face goes red. I don’t like to call people out like this, to embarrass them in public this way, especially if they work for me. But as a lawyer, Richard should know that if you can’t handle it, don’t dish it out. “Huh?”

“I uh . . .” He looks around the room, and you can almost feel the waves of unease pouring off him. Embarrassment. “An ex put glitter in my vents,” he says under his breath. I stare at him, noting a small amount of glitter all over him—his hair, a few fine pieces stuck to his face, and in the seams of his black suit. It’s even in the laces of his shoes.

I bet it will take weeks to live a life that’s glitter free if his ex really put it in the vents. Now that’s the CCTV footage I’d love to see—Richard getting into his ugly ass car and cranking the heat to cut the November chill, only to be doused in glitter.

Good for her.

“Huh. I bet you deserved it,” I say, dismissing him, turning around, and walking.

“So?” Richard’s voice continues, causing me to stop again.”Where are you going?” I turn.

“Look. I know you think you’re some kind of all-mighty power in this office, but remember who I am when speaking to me. Not only am I a partner, but I am a founding partner. Your fate? It’s in my hands, bud,” I say to the man nearly a decade younger than me.

“My grandfather—” His face is turning red either from frustration or embarrassment.

I don’t care. I have much better things to worry about.

“Knows my thoughts. Your grandfather—my partner—knows we will not be moving forward with anything regarding your future at this firm without my approval. So you better change your attitude, stop disrespecting people in this office, and start winning some fucking cases. Stop fucking your paralegal and worry about your clients instead.” I stare at him and can almost see him shrink before my eyes with embarrassment.

Good.

As he should.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving now. Make sure you stay late to make up the time you wasted arguing with me and eye fucking the interns.” I watch his face go redder, and from the corner of my eye, Misty’s entire body goes still.

But I don’t stay to watch the drama unfold.

I have a date to get to.