Chapter 1

Imagine this: There’s a trendy, modern office staffed mostly by young professionals. Phones beep or vibrate at the same time, employees lucky enough to get a text smile at what they’re seeing. You’re in the same age bracket, but you didn’t get a message. You wonder if there’s a secret group chat you’re not privy to. You wonder why this stings so much.

That’s what I’m feeling at the moment.

What’s baffling is that I pride myself on being the cool 29 year old boss. I encourage people to dress how they want, we have parties, I order catering from hidden gems in the city. We currently have 32 employees and last year we leased this office floor on a commercial building.

And that, I think, is why this stings the most, because I’ve given 32 people awesome jobs and things are happening behind my back.

I explain this in a private session with Katt, our newly hired performance coach. In her early 50’s, she’s the oldest person here, and I value that experience. She considered retiring from the profession but I was able to nab her. The prospect of working with a younger crowd appealed to her.

“You’re not alone,” she says. “People are sensitive to being left out. It doesn’t matter if the exclusion was intentional or not. It’s part of human nature.”

“Has anyone here mentioned the same thing? Or have I become psycho?”

I notice Katt shift in her seat and purse her lips. True to form, she never breaks, never reveals anything, putting herself back into neutral position.

“You’re not a psycho. And I’m not at liberty to discuss other employees. What I’ll say is that more can be done to create a cohesive environment. If you’d like I can draft a few ideas and email them to you.”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

“How’s everything else?” I ask. “Are people happy working here?”

“They enjoy working in a lively environment. Everyone is optimistic. Everyone gets to be creative. I must admit, I feel the same way.”

“You know, hearing that made my day a little brighter. Thank you.”

“Thank yourself. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

After a hug I leave her office. Back to the bustling sound of a workplace.

What I neglect to tell Katt is that I’m fairly sure I know the source of the newfound office cliques. Several months ago I received job applications from three girls who bullied me in high school. When I say bullying, I’m not exaggerating.

High school was a nightmare because of them. I was 15 at the time, tall and lanky, very awkward, shy in a goofy way. My eyebrows were also a mess. I didn’t make the volleyball team despite my height and that led to their taunts. Passive aggressive tones, wrapped in bow tie smiles. In the cafeteria ketchup or yogurt would be flung at my back, sticking to my long hair. I’d turn around to see them giggling, but no one looking at me. Panic attacks came soon after.

That was my life from 15 – 18 years old. Later I’d come to learn that I developed bullying-induced PTSD from these formative moments in my life. A wonderful therapist helped me unpack these feelings and allowed me to heal, but these things never heal completely.

I can honestly say that the experience made me a stronger person. Getting bullied does something to a person’s psyche. It’s a sink or swim type thing. It can ruin you. Or it can make you more resilient because you’ve already been there and done that.

So yeah, it was ironic when I saw their job applications several months ago. Deleting their applications was so fucking tempting — or the thought of dragging them around multiple job interviews just to reject them was equally delicious — but I don’t believe in revenge. In fact I’m against revenge as a whole. I think it’s pointless. Carrying anger around for years and years can do more damage than the initial offense, that’s my philosophy.

On a more practical note, those girls had the skills I was looking for. Social media personalities with the amount of followers to back it up. They each had around 50-100 thousand followers from documenting their lifestyle as young women navigating professional life. That’s why I hired them. Business is business and they bring financial value.

They were gracious when I hired them and they apologized privately for what happened in high school. Do I regret my decision? I can honestly say that they’ve driven the most revenue since being brought on board. They write content, cut videos, and work autonomously. These girls are valuable assets and they know it, so they can get away with whatever they’re doing.

But I’m human, sometimes I doubt myself.

The sound of people typing on their laptops and having conversations is always comforting. The city view surrounds us. Abbey is getting a cup of coffee, she’s a zesty 21 year old, the youngest on our team. She’s always vocal with her opinions and I need that right now.

For the sake of my own sanity, I grab her attention.

“Hey, let me ask you a question,” I say.

“Would you hire girls that used to bully you?”

“How exactly would that scenario even happen?”

“Let’s say, you start a business, it grows, and your former bullies apply for jobs.”

She roars laughing. “Fuck no.”

“Even if they’re useful and drive revenue?”

“They can drive revenue up their asses.”

I hang around the office and Greg passes by. He’s a 46 year old in charge of our small legal team. As a lawyer, he’s level headed, so his advice must be solid.

The same question is laid bare for him. He thinks.

“Yeah, why not?” he says. “No one is ever the same from high school. People mature. It also depends on the landscape. If they’re the best options available, if they can be loyal, then move ahead.”

“Thanks for the moment of clarity.”

“Why are you asking?

“Just a thought experiment.”

I run a business that manages social media pages for other businesses. Financial services, that local pizza shop across the street, traditional restaurants, anything… They’re good at what they do, but having their social media run properly is a gold mine. That’s the service we provide for them.

My office is a cozy little place in the corner surrounded by glass walls. We have a panoramic view of the financial district. In front of my glass door is a view of the open-space work area. I want to see my employees, and I want them to see me.

In between shooting emails, something catches my eye, and I think I’ve only caught it because of the recent mood in the office, but Imani is looking at her phone with a wry smile. Normally I’d think nothing of it, but a guy is doing the exact same thing further down.

Putting things aside, I leave my office and approach Imani so fast that she’s surprised and puts her phone away and smiles. A forced smile. The kind you’d see at school when a student gets caught by the teacher and has to play it cool.

“Anything interesting?” I ask.

Her eyes are like saucers. “No.”

“Can I see what’s so funny? I noticed someone else got a text at the same time.”

“Nothing’s funny. Sorry, it was a personal thing.”

Imani takes a deep gulp while looking at me. I know she’s mentally praying that this interrogation ends, but something about this enrages me, like I’m being triggered for unprocessed issues I have. And I hate that I’m becoming the boss I’ve long despised.

“Was it a group chat?” I ask.

“Show me or you’ll be out of a job.”

When she reluctantly unlocks her phone and hands it to me, I understand why she was so nervous getting caught with this, as the screen shows a faceless nude woman wearing heels in an office space. Imani has an African background and the nude woman is white, so it’s not a selfie. Swiping the screen, there’s another office nude, and I realize these pictures are taken on this floor.

An employee of mine. Taking nude pictures here.

The realization hits me like an explosion: Erica, Kate and Vivian.

Being young influencers, their fit bodies are so recognizable along with their even tans and their collection of Michael Kors heels. So this is the reason they applied to work here together, to have unbridled access to an office space with relaxed rules and casual employees who wouldn’t be bothered by their antics.

And to be clear, yes, these are the girls who made my life miserable.

Who made my high school years hell.

I feel like the biggest fool in the world letting them work here and paying them a generous salary. Plus commissions. I’m so angry that my eyes start to water, but I hold these tears back because Imani is looking at me. I can’t let my insecurities show.

None of them are in the office today. Most of their work consists of going out and meeting with clients and creating content on their behalf. Creators work. If they were here I’m positive I’d freak out because I’m no longer the person I used to be.

“Who else knows about this?” I ask.

She gulps. “Less than a dozen, I think.”

“Are you going to fire me?”

“Not unless you tell me everything. Everything. Understood?”

It’s close to 6 pm when I get back to my apartment, then after changing my clothes and freshening myself, I sit on the living room floor, my laptop on a coffee table. Those three girls — Erica, Kate and Vivian — post on a subscription based platform. The banner image shows their legs in stockings and heels. In the bio are buzzwords like, ‘Lifelong friends who love working together,’ and ‘Naked adventures in the office. Come join us!’ Customs available. Feel free to message anytime! We reply personally as soon as possible.

As much as this hurts, I pay $20 from my debit card to gain monthly access to their content. There’s zero doubt it’s them. I recognize their figures, their tans, most of all their legwear and heels. Always designer. Since we’ve started working together they’ve come to the office in skirts and a variety of heels. Now I know why.

Their faces are never shown but they sometimes wear ballroom masks, the sexy kind which hide their identities, but open enough to highlight their eyes and luscious lips. Yes, these are the girls in all their glory. Nipples, tits, legs, and even pussies.

What can be found in these pictures are them playing in different areas. Sitting on desks, tables, or chairs, they pose for the camera, sometimes smiling with their face masks or sporting serious expressions, pretending to type on a computer or leaning back on a seat and talking on the phone.

There’s a picture set of Erica fingering herself in the legal department, sitting on a guy’s desk. Yes, the guy I mentioned earlier, who advised me that it would be fine to hire former bullies. I’m sure this guy would be thrilled to know there was pussy on his desk, next to the computer and stacks of paper.

There’s a set of pictures of Kate sitting behind someone’s desk in the finance area, her blonde hair draped over her blouse, as she pretends to type on a laptop while showing her pussy. By the end she’s butt naked and putting lube on a dildo which she uses on herself. Her pussy is drenched with white fluids coming out. I wonder if she cleaned the seat after. I wonder if that person in the finance department knew how her seat was used.