く
at four in the freaking afternoon.
I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t.
Mr. Lane was famous for being a freaking
snake and freaking cursing out the
opposition, like a freaking dragon.
I’d been at the freaking law firm for three months, and he had cursed me out thirty
times.
He always said I was dumb.
Dumb and quiet.
I was spacing out when his freaking face
appeared right in freaking front of mine.
“Mr. Lane…”
“Tsk.”
Mr. Lane stared at me for a few freaking
seconds. Then he stood up: “You’re not even
pretty. How did you end up in a love
triangle?”
“How do you know about them?”
“Shouldn’t you say something about the first
<
thing I said?”
“Huh?”
Mr. Lane was freaking furious: “Riley freaking Jones, when someone calls you ugly,
shouldn’t you fire back? Why do you take it
so freaking calmly?”
“But it’s true.”
Mr. Lane choked.
“Even if it’s true, you have to fire back. Don’t
you have any self–respect? Don’t blame
yourself, blame someone else. Got it?”
“But you’re my boss…”
“So what? So I can insult you whenever I
want, and the guy you like can trash you? You
always make excuses for yourself.”
“Someone said that if you’re not freaking
crazy at 20, you’re worthless. You’re 22.”
“Mr. Lane, someone also said that if you’re
still crazy at 30, you’re still worthless.”
“Riley freaking Jones, do I look worthless?” Mr. Lane tsked. “That’s for normal people, like you. Freaking genius is always worth it.” ‘…Mr. Lane, you’re freaking conceited.” “Nope. No power is freaking conceited. Me, I’m just freaking self–aware.”
He snapped his fingers: “Riley freaking Jones!
I’m not 30! Don’t round up!”
The rumors that Mr. Lane was sensitive about
his age were true.
