Free The Hating Game by Sally Thorne Page A

picky.”
    He steeples his fingers so hard it looks painful. “Really.”
    â€œSuch a complete drought of eligible men here.”
    â€œThat’s not true.”
    â€œYou’re searching for your own eligible bachelor?”
    â€œI—no—shut up.”
    â€œYou’re right.” I drop my eyes to his mouth for a split second. “I’ve finally found someone in this godforsaken place. The man of my dreams.” I raise my eyebrow meaningfully.
    He makes the connection to our early-morning conversation seamlessly. “So your dream was definitely about someone you work with.”
    â€œYes. He’s leaving B&G very soon, so maybe I need to make a move.”
    â€œYou’re sure about it.”
    â€œYes.” I can’t remember the last time he has blinked his eyes. They are black and scary.
    â€œYou’ve got your serial killer eyes on again.” I stand and take my proposal from him. “I’ll get you a copy for Fat Little Dick. Don’t screw this up for me, Joshua. You’ve got no concept of how to build a team. Leave this to the expert.”
    When I return he’s a little less dark looking, but his hair is messed up. He takes the document, which I have stamped COPY .
    He looks at the document, and I can see the exact moment he has his idea. It’s the sharp pause that a fox makes as it moochespast the unlatched gate of a henhouse. He looks up at me, his eyes glittering. He bites his bottom lip and hesitates.
    â€œWhatever you’re thinking, don’t.”
    He takes a pen and writes something across the bottom. I try to see, but he stands and holds it so high a corner touches the ceiling. I can’t risk standing on tiptoes in this dress.
    â€œHow could I possibly resist?” He rounds his desk and touches his thumb under my chin as he brushes past.
    â€œWhat have you done?” I say to his back as he walks into Mr. Bexley’s office. I scuttle into Helene’s, rubbing my chin.
    â€œI agree,” she says, laying the document aside. “This is a good idea. Did you see how the Gamins and Bexleys sat apart in the team meeting? I’m tired of it. We haven’t done anything as a team since the merger-planning day. I’m impressed that you and Joshua came together.”
    I hope my weird brain doesn’t file away her last filthy-sounding sentence.
    â€œWe are working out our differences.” I have no trace of lie in my voice.
    â€œI’ll talk to Bexley at our four o’clock battle royale. What are your ideas?”
    â€œI’ve found a corporate retreat that’s only fifteen minutes off the highway. It’s one of those places with whiteboards all over the walls.”
    â€œSounds expensive.” Helene makes a face, which I had already anticipated.
    â€œI’ve run the numbers. We were under the training budget for this financial year.”
    â€œSo what will we do at this corporate love-in?”
    â€œI’ve already come up with several team-building activities.We’ll do them in a round-robin style, rotating each group so teams get regularly mixed up. I’d like to be the facilitator for the day. I want to end this war between the Bexleys and Gamins.”
    â€œPeople absolutely hate team activities,” Helene points out.
    I can’t argue. It’s a corporate truth universally acknowledged that workers would rather eat rat skeletons than participate in group activities. I know I would. But until business team-building models make a significant advance, it’s all I’ve got.
    â€œThere’s a prize at the end for the participant who’s made the biggest effort and contributes the most.” I pause for effect. “A paid day off.”
    â€œI like it,” she cackles.
    â€œJoshua is planning something though,” I warn. She nods.
    She enters the Colosseum at precisely four. As usual, I can hear them shouting at each other.
    At