"Quinn's totally right. No wonder my stomach's been killing me lately. It's all those diet meals of hers I've been eating."
That was Luke Sullivan from Sales, dumping the blame in the group chat.
He had the worst numbers in the department, and month-end was breathing down his neck.
Desperate not to get cut, he'd been chasing deals like a madman.
Drinking with clients until the early hours every night—if his stomach didn't ache, whose would?
"Quinn's a struggling mom, you know, and one diet meal is only $8.80. If you ask me, everyone should be ordering from Quinn. We're all coworkers. Think of it as helping each other out."
That was Vice President Whitney.
When I clocked in this morning, I'd seen Quinn Gable come strolling out of his office, grinning ear to ear.
I hadn't thought anything of it at the time.
It never crossed my mind that, just to steal my business,
Quinn had already greased the wheels with Vice President Whitney.
With his endorsement, the crowd caught the scent and moved fast.
The chat notifications came faster and faster.
"Canceling my order for tomorrow lunch." "Not eating tomorrow." "Refund, please."
Message after message popped up, all the same tune.
I handled every single one without batting an eye.
Just when I thought I was finally free of these rotten people,
free of this whole rotten mess,
Quinn slid into my messages.
"Fay, sweetie, you saw it yourself. The eyes of the crowd never lie."
"But hey, we're coworkers after all, so I've been thinking of you."
"Here's the deal. I charge everyone $8.80 a meal, give you $3.80, and you keep delivering like always."
Reading that, I was floored.
"The junk you make couldn't cost $3.80 to throw together. But fine, if that feels too tight, I'll bump you to four bucks."
Staring at those lines, I could picture the scheming spread all over that doughy, carb-bloated face of hers.
"No thanks. Not interested."
My flat refusal sent Quinn into a panic.
"Fay, how can you be like this? We're all coworkers. I'm only doing this so everyone can eat the healthiest, tastiest diet meals at the lowest cost."
"You've made a killing off everyone these past few months. What's it to you to earn a little less?"
"Can't you survive without scamming people out of their money?"
The more she ranted, the more her true colors bled through.
When I didn't answer, she quickly deleted that last line.
"Sweetie, how about this—I'll give you five bucks, and you keep delivering everyone's meals like before."
Her nonstop nagging messages were grating on my last nerve.
A woman like her—block her with one hand, and she'd be standing at my elbow yapping with the other.
"No thanks. Not interested."
"Each meal costs me at least $50 to make. Am I out of my mind, taking five bucks from you to keep delivering?"
Maybe the cost per meal knocked the wind out of her.
She didn't reply for a long while.
"If that's really the problem, go scavenge some wilted scraps at the farmers market, and just buy the meat straight from the slaughterhouse."
She was handing me tips, pleased as punch with her own cleverness.
"Quinn, you're the one who said you could deliver meals to coworkers for $8.80. That's got nothing to do with me, so don't try to drag me into it."
"If you keep being unreasonable, I'm posting these chat logs in the group."
In an instant, Quinn went dead silent.
She started frantically deleting her messages.
She lived for face, loved nothing more than building up her perfect image in front of coworkers.
But I'd been ready all along.
From the second she sent her first message, I'd been screen-recording.
I couldn't be sure whether a snake like her
would come back to cause me trouble down the line.
I wasn't afraid to make an enemy of her, but I had to cover myself.
Sure enough, she shoved her chair back, stood up, and stormed off to the break room to make a few calls.
Then she came charging out, her face dark with fury.
