Revenge Games (Revenge Games Duet Book 1)

by Sky Corgan

  “No, it's not my first job,” my voice trails off. Maybe she won't be my first friend either.

  A man walks into the room, and as soon as I lay eyes on him, it's like a choir of angels comes down from the heavens and starts singing. His skin is porcelain perfection. He looks pristine in a navy suit, his posture impeccable. There's a confidence to the way that he walks that demands attention, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks. His jaw is square, his face clean shaven, and he has the most amazing brown eyes, so dark that they're almost black, matching his slicked down hair. My panties grow moist just from looking at him.

  Becky squeals next to me before leaning over to whisper, “That's Peter Burgett. He's part owner of the company, and he's also going to be our trainer.”

  I don't even need to ask if she finds him attractive. Her reaction to his entrance said it all. I wonder if she can tell that I find him attractive. Hell, I'm pretty sure all of the women in the room find him attractive. If it weren't for the angels singing, I probably would have been able to hear the collective swooning sigh.

  Peter stands before us, his handsome face all serious business. As he begins to speak, he pulls his hands from his pockets to gesticulate. My gaze falls to his left hand, and I take note of the absence of a wedding band. From that point on, I barely hear anything that he says. All I keep thinking is that this is the man I'm going to marry.

  I spend the day in a dreamlike state. I'm so loopy and distracted that I have to ask multiple questions during the training class. Every time that Peter speaks directly to me, I feel my heart soar. I'm really not sure if I've ever seen anyone more attractive or articulate in my entire life. He's perfection on legs. I want all of his attention, but I know that's greedy, and I also don't want him to think that I'm an idiot.

  He stays strictly professional all day, his composure and ability to lead absolutely amazing. If he has a preference towards anyone in the class, he doesn't show it. He takes his time with those who don't understand what's going on while encouraging everyone else to move on when they can. Watching him is mesmerizing, and I'm thankful that it's an easy day so that I can spend most of my time perving on him.

  I return home in the afternoon with a smile on my face, determined that nothing can mess up my day. When I get to the third floor of my building, I notice that the dog shit has been cleaned up. I hope that Caleb had to pick it up, even though it didn't belong to his dog. More than likely, though, one of the maintenance guys cleaned it up when he was making his rounds. They seem to stay pretty on top of taking care of the place.

  As I look down the hall, I notice that a lot of the residents have their trash cans sitting out. We have valet trash service that comes by every evening from Monday through Friday. I'll have to remember to put mine out, I think as I shove my key into the lock. By the time I've turned the key, a new vindictive idea has come to me. I cast a glance over my shoulder, wondering if Caleb is home. Regardless, I'll have to work quickly and carefully if I want to carry out my plan.

  I set my trash out before glancing down the hall to make sure that no one is around. Then I scurry next door to grab Caleb's trash can and bring it into my apartment. My heart pounds as I close the door behind me, thinking that I'm going a bit too far.

  The trashcan has his apartment number affixed to the side of it with a sticker. If his trash were to get strewn all over the apartment grounds, he'd probably get in trouble for it.

  I take the trash can out onto my balcony, thankful that the back of my apartment faces the forest. I hazard a quick glance around to make sure that no one is watching me, then I toss his entire trash can over the side of my balcony. It hits the grass with a sickening cracking sound. I scowl as I realize that the bag didn't break. It just rolled out onto the ground. No matter. He'll still be bothered with having to figure out where it went. Just the thought of causing him stress makes me feel giddy.

  I make myself a salad and settle in front of the television, content with wasting my evening away and fantasizing about my sexy boss. I'm not the girl I used to be. I'm pretty now. More confident. Surely, there's some way to make him mine. I just need to figure it out.

  There's a knock on the door, startling me from the reality TV show I've been engrossed in. It's a show about couples who are married at first sight. I had thought about auditioning for it, but they always make the girls wear bikinis when they go on their honeymoon, and while I'm skinny, I definitely don't have a bikini body.

  I silently curse whoever is at the door. The apartment office is closed now, so there's no telling who it could be. As I walk towards the door, I debate on whether or not I should open it if it's someone I don't recognize. Then I think about how my one neighbor didn't open the door to me and it hurt my feelings. I don't want to be like that. I don't want to be paranoid or rude. Besides, who knows, it could be someone welcoming me to the complex.

  It's not someone welcoming me to the complex though. When I glance out the peephole, I scowl as I see Caleb standing there. Then panic clutches at my heart as I wonder if he saw what I did to his trash can or if someone reported me.

  I stand there for several seconds, debating on whether or not to open the door. I don't want trouble, but I kind of brought it on myself. If he's coming to confront me about the trash can, I'll lash out at him and explain why I did it. That asshole needs to know what he did to me, and that a little bit of spilled garbage isn't nearly enough revenge.

  I take a deep breath and fling open the door, holding my head up high, ready to chew him out. My gaze falls to something in his hand, and my expression contorts in confusion.

  “Hi there.” He holds the box up to me. “Um, I wasn't sure if you had a chance to get groceries yet, so I was wondering if you wanted to eat this pizza with me?”

  “No,” I reply almost automatically, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Oh. Do you not like pizza?” He arches an eyebrow.

  “I already ate,” I inform him, hoping I don't look suspicious.

  The smell of cheese wafts up from the box to invade my nostrils. My stomach growls in response. It smells absolutely delicious.

  Caleb lets out a small laugh. “Your stomach sounds like it's still hungry.”

  “I'm on a diet.” I turn my nose up to him. “I can't eat such things.”

  “Oh, well...” he hesitates. “I was going to ask if you wanted me to leave a few slices with you. I'm kind of on a diet too, but it's been a stressful past few days, so I figured I could splurge.” When I don't respond, he continues, “Speaking of stressful days, you didn't happen to see my trash can out here when you came in? I don't know what time—”

  “No, I didn't,” I cut him off. “Thanks for the offer. I'm busy.” I shut the door in his face, leaving him standing there.

  As soon as the door is closed, I whimper softly. My God, that pizza smelled so good. Now I don't want my salad anymore. Asshole. Coming over and trying to sabotage me.

  Maybe he remembers who I am. Perhaps that's why he came over and tried to feed me pizza. He's mocking me. I just know he is. I step away from the door and glare at it.

  Not going to work, Caleb Ryan. I'm glad you had a shitty day. You're going to have many more for as long as you live here.

  I return to the sofa and sit, brooding. All of my happiness was erased by that douchebag showing up. I swear he's determined to zap away every little bit of joy that I manage to grasp.

  I don't think I can wait for his lease to be up. I need him out sooner, because I just know I'll never be happy as long as he's my neighbor. And so, I make it my goal to do something nasty to him every single day that we live next door to one another.

  Caleb and I were close. Close by my standards, at least. As someone who never really had friends while growing up, close meant that he'd actually talk to me—that he wouldn't run away from me when I tried to talk to him.

  I remember that he would hang out with his friends at the local ice cream parlor, and because I knew he was there, I would go, too
. What little allowance I received from my father, I spent on sitting somewhere within viewing range of Caleb, listening to him and his friends talking and having a good time. There were so many days that I fantasized about being a part of what they had. I never was, though. I was the fly on the wall. But Caleb never swatted at me. He never seemed upset that I followed him around like a puppy. He always acknowledged me and at the very least said hello. Everyone else just passed me by, wishing I didn't exist.

  I spent my time at the ice cream parlor learning everything that I could about Caleb Ryan, hanging on his every word. I knew about the girls that he was dating, learned what kinds of foods he liked, who his favorite sports teams were, what he did on the weekends. I also learned a few things that I didn't even know would be useful until now.

  I stand in the kitchen whipping up another batch of cookies. These cookies are special cookies. Cookies just for Caleb Ryan. For as much as I don't want to see him again, doing this dastardly deed will be worth it to know that I fucked up his handsome face for a few days.

  I grind the peanuts into powder, adding just a few to the batter so that they won't be detectable. He's allergic to them, but not deathly so. I remember him saying that he breaks out into a full body rash when he eats them. Too bad I won't be able to see it. Knowing that I wreaked havoc on his immune system will be reward enough for me, though.

  I hum while I stick the cookies in the oven, wondering how I ever got to be such an evil bitch.

  “It's not your fault. They made you this way. He made you this way.

  “You will have your happy life. His entire life has been happy and perfect. You deserve yours. If you have to be evil to get it, then so be it.”

  My conscious screams at me not to do this, but my determination to get rid of Caleb is stronger. The world is a cruel place. No one knows it better than me. But I can make it a better place for me, and that starts here.

  I pull the cookies out of the oven when they're done and examine them thoroughly. They look like regular chocolate chip cookies. I nibble the corner of one to make sure it doesn't taste like it has peanuts in it. Satisfied, I wait for them to cool before plating them and wrapping them in plastic wrap.

  When I'm ready to deliver them, I plaster on my best fake smile before heading next door. Even after I knock, the little angel on my shoulder chastises me for what I'm about to do. Reporting Caleb to the office for the dog poop was wrong. Throwing his trashcan over the balcony, also wrong. But this...this is the pinnacle of wrong. This could be dangerous.

  My nagging conscience finally gets the best of me, and I sag as I decide that this is pushing things too far. I'm just about to turn around when the door opens.

  “Hey.” Caleb scrubs his hand across his face, looking weary.

  “Hey,” I pipe up, smiling from ear to ear.

  He just stares at me for a moment before his eyes dip to the cookies. “Do you make it a habit of walking around carrying a plate of cookies?”

  My heart drums in my ears. Are you going to do this or not? It's now or never.

  I swipe my tongue over my bottom lip, letting the devil within me take control. “I brought these for you, actually. I remember how disappointed you looked the other day when I showed up with the other cookies.”

  He beams at me, his smile like an attack to my heart. I remember that smile from so long ago. It used to bring me comfort. Now, it only incites my loathing for him.

  “Well, that was mighty nice of you.” He holds out his hands to take the cookies from me. I hesitate before handing them over. “What kind are they?” he asks as if it's not obvious.

  “Chocolate chip.” Guilt gnaws at me as the plate leaves my hand.

  “They look good.”

  “I hope you enjoy them.” I wave to him awkwardly before walking away.

  I groan once I'm back inside my apartment with the door closed. “Good job, Willow. You couldn't look more suspicious if you tried.”

  Oh well. What's done is done. He has the cookies. I can't take them back. Well, I suppose that I could, but I'm not going to.

  I sigh, feeling regret tugging at me. There's only one way to alleviate it. Watch mindless television. So I do just that.

  I plant my happy ass on the sofa and flip through the channels until I get to The Bachelorette. “Isn't that just every girl's dream,” I say to the television. “Having twenty-five hot guys vying for the chance to marry you.”

  The TV doesn't respond. The fact that I'm talking to it is proof of how lonely I am. A person develops the habit of talking to themselves when they have no friends.

  I settle into the show, putting myself in the girl's shoes, fantasizing that Peter Burgett was vying for my attention. Imagining him pulling me aside at work and confessing his feeling to me makes me giggle wildly to myself. Maybe if I somehow manage to work my magic on him, it will happen someday. That's my other main goal next to getting rid of Caleb.

  The show is almost over when I hear a knock at the door. I glare at it, pissed that I'll miss who the bachelorette sends home if I go to answer it. I wait a bit longer, hoping to catch who she doesn't give a rose to, but the person knocks again, more persistent this time. I hiss at the knocker before going to open the door.

  “Crap. Stupid asshole messing up my show,” I grumble before flinging the door open.

  Caleb is standing on the other side, and he doesn't look good at all. His lips and eyes are starting to swell, and there are red blotches on his cheeks.

  I draw my hand up to my chest and gasp at the sight of him. “Oh my God, are you alright?”

  “You don't happen to have any allergy medicine, do you?” He looks hopeful.

  “I don't.” I sink back slightly, feeling my guilt settling on me like a two-hundred-pound barbell. This doesn't look like something that an allergy pill is going to take care of. “You should probably go to the doctor.”

  “It's fine.” He shakes his head. “I'll be fine.”

  Caleb turns to walk away. I expect him to head towards the elevator, but instead, he goes to his apartment. I stand there, watching him disappear back inside.

  I close the door and lean against it. He didn't ask what was in the cookies. He didn't try to blame me for his allergic reaction, even though my baking was obviously the cause.

  Stop feeling guilty, Willow. What's done is done. He'll go to the doctor and get a steroid shot and everything will be fine. Maybe this will teach him not to bother you anymore.

  I drag myself back over to the sofa, feeling the weight of what I've done with every step. It's time to distract myself again. I grab the remote and flip over to a romance movie that I've watched at least a dozen times before. For as much as I try to get into it, though, I can't. All I can think about is how horrible Caleb looks and that it's my fault. I definitely went too far this time. Maybe I'll give him a break for a few days.

  A break isn't good enough. You need to make sure he's okay. He said that he broke out in hives when he ate peanuts. That is not hives. That is his face and throat swelling up. He could die.

  For as much as I had thought I wanted him to die, that no longer seems to be the case. In fact, I worry about him so much that I eventually turn off the television and head over to check on him, praying that he's done the smart thing and gone to the hospital.

  He opens the door shortly after I knock, looking worse than he did only thirty minutes ago. His lips have almost doubled in size. His eyes are barely slits.

  “You need to go to the hospital,” I chastise him.

  “I'm fine,” he insists. “I probably just had an allergic reaction to something I ate.”

  “And that's exactly why you need to go to the hospital.” I cross my arms over my chest. “You look like shit.”

  He quirks his head back at my language. “Wow. Thanks, Blunty McGee.”

  I sigh, dropping my hands to my sides in exasperation. “I'm not making fun of you. I'm telling you the truth.” I'm silently screaming on the inside to stop talking, but my treache
rous mouth lets the words out anyway. “I'll drive you.”

  “Nope. I'm good.” Caleb holds his hand up and takes a step back. “I just need to rest for a while.” And with that, he closes the door on me.

  I huff. This guy. What in the hell is wrong with him? He's obviously not fine. And it's my fault.

  I trudge back to my apartment, realizing that if he dies, I'll never be able to forgive myself. Was revenge really so important that I'd go out of my way to physically harm him? What does that say about me as a person? I'm not worthy of getting married—not worthy to be loved.

  By the time I make it back to the sofa, I'm feeling all sorts of depressed. I used to hate most skinny girls for being ugly on the inside. Now I've become just like them, in a way. Who could ever love such a horrible person?

  I turn off the television and slump over onto my side, figuring that I deserve to be crushed by my guilt. That two-hundred-pound barbel is suffocating me, though not as literal as Caleb's constricted airways.

  What if he dies? Will they figure out that I fed him the cookies and charge me with murder? Surely, the police will put it together that we knew each other in the past. I can play innocent. But really, no one puts peanuts in chocolate chip cookies.

  Oh God, I might have just fucked up my life way more than it was back in Marfa. Moving here was a horrible idea.

  I'm so upset that I'm shaking and about to cry. My life has just begun, and I feel like it's already almost over. I'm going to go to jail for this. I deserve to go to jail for this.

  A knock on the door startles me from my thoughts. I fly to my feet and take long strides to get to it, praying to God it's not the cops. Would Caleb have called the police already?

  When I look out the peephole, he's standing on the other side. I swear, his face keeps getting worse by the minute. I open the door to him, genuine concern etched across my features.

  “Is the offer to drive me to the hospital still on the table?” He looks skeptical. At least, I think he does. It's hard to tell what kind of expression he's making with all of the puffiness.