The Wrong Attachment

I opened the document at lightning speed. It was the piece I had written while goofing off.

Luckily, it was still there.

I set up my snacks and water, all geared up. Ready to burn the midnight oil and hit the ground running.

I would deal with the voluntary layoff and the severance package later.

Being liked had not been easy, but getting on someone's nerves was a piece of cake.

The cool night air wafted in through the window.

After a sneezing fit, my nose started running.

Another cold.

I went through tissues like water, and the trash can got full quickly.

Fighting off drowsiness, I sent out messages and files.

[Worked my tail off tonight. I'm sore all over, and now I think I've caught a cold. Could use some TLC.]

My editor and I were close, and I often chatted with her like that.

I waited for the file to arrive.

However, no luck.

With heavy eyelids, I messaged the editor again, [Is my far-off baby still mad?]

It was quite the tale.

A while back, my editor got a nasty email in the wee hours, and it upset her so much she cried to me for hours.

So, in a daze, she decided not to check her emails after dark.

She probably forgot that today was my deadline because of my constant procrastination, so she had not made an exception for me.

Yawning, I sleepily sent the new draft into the chat box.

Trying to smooth things over, I added, [Don't be mad, I've got something good for you.]

With that, I crashed.

I missed the flood of messages that came in, only to be retracted one by one.

…

The next day, well past dawn, I finally woke up.

To my surprise, I had a cold.

Janice had messaged that the whole company was meeting up for a meal.

I passed.

[Stayed up all night, I'm aching all over, and I've got a cold.]

In the company's ladies' chat, the onlookers were having a field day.

[You've only been off for half a day, and you're already going overboard. Come on, get ready to be lectured!]

[Ditching your pals for a pretty face, huh?]

[Wow, that intense? Hook me up, too!] they joked.

I just shook my head, a rueful grin on my face. Recommending those racy novels to my friends was a mistake. After that, their heads were filled with nothing but naughty thoughts.

My phone pinged again. It was Edmund, of all people.

"Feeling under the weather? Taking any meds? Better rest up."

I almost replied on impulse, but then I remembered my goal: I needed Edmund to want me gone, to be the one to cut me loose from the job.

So, I left him hanging and turned back to the group chat. I sent a cheeky voice message, [Yep, I could go another three hundred rounds.]

That set my colleagues off. They were all chatter and no filter, every other word bleep-worthy. I scrolled through their messages, laughing so hard I was a mess, rolling around on my bed.

Once I had had my fill of fun, I tried to message Edmund back.

[Done and done.]

One more time. [Done and done.]

Message not sent. The guy had blocked me.

I bolted upright. What happened? Who ticked him off?

After a quick mental replay, I messaged Janice.

[Is Mr. Lynch with you guys for dinner?]

She replied, [Yeah, he was asking about you. Told him you were too sick to leave bed.]

I could not believe it.

[He's got no heart. I'm laid up here, and he blocks me?]

[Uh oh, might be 'cause of that voice message. He might think we're playing him.]

[What voice message?]

[The 'three hundred rounds' one... I accidentally blasted it on speaker.]

I was speechless.

…

I wanted to cry but had no tears.

There was an old saying that fortune and misfortune were two sides of the same coin. Well, I had certainly made an impression.

No turning back at this point. I might as well go all in.

We had both hit the block button on each other, but I could not resist stirring the pot. I fired off a message with a bit of historical flair.

[Back when lords ruled and serfs labored, even a capitalist wouldn't have made a dime.]

The message zipped through cyberspace and landed with a ping.

When did he unblock me?

I froze for a second, then scrambled to soften the blow, [But you're not like the rest; you've got a heart for the humanities.]

The chat bubble teased me with a constant [Typing…] at the top.