The next morning, I step into the office, head held high, my plan locked and loaded.
Eliza thinks she has me pegged, that I’m just some doormat she can stomp on whenever she pleases. But today, if she wants to play with fire, I’m going to show her how badly it can burn.
I don’t have to wait long. Fifteen minutes after I settle in, Eliza comes strutting over, her usual pile of paperwork in hand. Her smile is plastic, oozing with fake sweetness that makes me want to roll my eyes.
“These are the Sloane files,” she says, dropping them onto my desk like a sack of bricks. “Joanne needs them done by lunch. And I cannot stress how critical this is.”
I glance up at her, feigning confusion. “If it’s so important, why don’t you do it?”
Her smile vanishes. “You don’t get to ask questions, new girl. Just don’t screw this up.”
She stalks off, leaving me with the towering stack of papers. I watch her go, a smirk forming on my lips. Little does she know, she’s just made this too easy for me.
Instead of sorting through her precious files, I casually stroll over to the radiator behind the copy machine. I set the pile on top, making sure to arrange it so the heat has full access to the stack. Then I prop the fire extinguisher within arm’s reach — safety first, right?