And here is the 2024 edited version of Dear Jerk! 😁

"Late again, Kathleen?" The deep baritone voice booms around the wide meeting room, the smooth syllables of my name ricocheting off the pale grey walls until my tiniest nerves as all gazes around the long, oval table turn to me.

I'm not looking at them, though. My attention is only on the pair of forest green eyes at the end, and that mocking sparkle, appearing even brighter now than an hour ago, when I've been given a last-minute file to finish. It's surely because of the perfectly arched, thick eyebrow above them as Elijah Anderson, my boss, waits for me to say something.

And oh, I would have a lot of profanities to yell at him.

"Sorry, sir."

But I need my job.

I need my job. It's what I repeat to myself as I take a seat around the large table, and Mr. Anderson resumes whatever lecture he's been giving about marketing and brand management... for the next 30 minutes.

One would think hearing him soliloquizing for so long would make me fall asleep. But for me, it has the contrary effect, all my nerves standing on edge, and while Todd, beside me, is battling to keep his eyes open, I'm fighting to keep my mouth shut.

My lower lip is almost bleeding from how hard I'm biting down on it, and when he starts talking about finishing tasks on time, I grasp the ballpoint pen in front of me with white knuckles, hoping to let out my frustration. Not by stabbing him—I need my job—but with an outlet letter.

'A letter to let out everything weighing on your heart, but instead of sending it, you burn it.' I can still hear my sister's words, and the fact that I'm listening to her Cosmopolitan psychology tips proves how desperate I am.

What do I have to lose anyway?

I have time, a pretty headed paper with my name, which I won't use to take notes of this endless speech, and a lot to write...

Dear EliJerk Anderson,

First, since you're so adamant about 'finishing tasks on time', can we talk about the report you handed me last minute because you clearly weren't 'skilled' enough to wrap it up yourself? Always leaving me the dirty work, but you know what?

You can put that file, along with all the others, up you preppy little round ass!

Also, yes, I was late, but let's be honest everyone here is wishing they weren't here at all.

So I'd love to know why you're always picking on me?! You're lucky that I really want this promotion for the job of my dreams because otherwise, I'd have put you back in your place Mr 'I'm the rich and hot boss so I think I'm the center of the world'!

It's annoying how infuriatingly handsome you are!

Wow, I don't know where that comes from... Yet there seems to be more of it as all my frustration bubbles up to the surface, and the pen scratches the paper faster and faster.

With your rosy, plump lips and that satisfied smirk itching me to rip it off.

And that perfect slicked-back hair, if I could pull those dark strands, mess that impeccable, controlled facade, see what's under those shiny suits, and check if your dick matches your ego.

The worst is I'm sure it does.

Argh, I hate the way you can make my legs go weak with just the sound of my name, the way each syllable rolls off your tongue in that taunting tone—

"Kathleen?"

Exactly like that, and lifting my gaze from my outburst letter, I find back the presumptuous crooked smile I've been writing about.

"Can you serve us coffee?"

"Of course." I put up my best, tight rictus and slide the letter—to which I'll have to add a few lines later—under my stack of papers before complying with Mr. Anderson's orders.

It's what everyone always does, hustle and shuffle of paper echoing around the table when he announces,

"Meanwhile, pass me your works for the file Turner."

By the time, I've finished with my 'task' and slump back on my seat, he's already jogging the stack of paper on the table, making sure the sheets are all perfectly aligned before putting them in his folder, placed at a right angle from his pencils case, of course.

Control freak.

I'll write that down too, after I give him the file he's asked for, which should be right...

"W-where are my papers?" My wide eyes jump between the table in front of me and Todd's stare next to me, both looking too empty and making me break into a cold sweat.

"I passed them like Elijah asked."

"What?!" I gasp loudly, making everyone's attention turn to me again, although once again, I only see a taunting pair of green eyes before everything starts to spin.

"A problem, Kathleen?"

"N-no," I assure quickly because it is not a problem.

It is a disaster, a cataclysm, an enraged letter I've written to let out my frustration and that is now in his neat folder, a letter where I call him a jerk and talk about the size of his dick.

If he finds it, I'm fired... humiliated... dead—when he finds it because it's only a matter of minutes now, and my heart is already ticking each millisecond.

***

One hour, it has now been one hour since the end of the meeting, and almost half of it I've spent rummaging in here.

It shouldn't be that hard to find something in an office that immaculate. There's nothing on his shiny glass desk but a picture of him with his family on his graduation day and a fancy metal lamp, and everything in his drawers is ordered alphabetically, even his snacks.

Control freak.

At least, I haven't got the time to write this in my letter.

No, instead, I've talked about ripping his perfect plump lips and shiny suit.

That thought is enough to make me resume my search with more vigor, and I find it! The file Turner between the Rohan and Sawyer ones.

Tsk. Tsk. Not so perfect, Mr. Anderson...

I bet I could find some dirty secrets if I continued digging. But right now, my focus is on the stack of papers in front of me as I recognize my documents for the file Turner, and my fingers flip through the sheets, faster and faster, just like my heart rate taking a run-up, ready for the jump of relief...

Only to crash with all my hope when I don't find my letter.

"No, no, no," I whisper frantically, going back through the papers as if I could have missed it. "It was in there. How is it possible?"

"Looking for something?" an unmistakable baritone voice asks from the other side of the room, and if I've thought my heart has crashed when I haven't found the letter in the folder, it has been nothing in comparison to the impact when I finally see it in Elijah Anderson's hand. "Really interesting letter..."

"It's not what you think," I blurt out in a first instinct of survival. Well, my first one would have been to run, but I'm left with no escape when he clicks the door closed and slowly circles around the room like a predator.

"It isn't? Because, to me, it looks like a very clear letter addressed to me. Unless you know another 'EliJerk' Anderson?"

And I am the helpless prey, the walls of his office closing off on me like the ribs lacing on my tight lungs.

"I... It's a prank." December 16th is a little late for an April Fool, and that is surely why the joke tastes so bitter as I force a short laugh. "Someone tried to prank me."

"Really? And this someone knew how to forge perfectly your round handwriting?" His eyebrow lifts slowly in a mocking question mark while the jerk doesn't even try to hide his smug smile at my struggle.

Sadist. I bet he's enjoying watching me choke on his spicy scent as he walks closer and closer until stopping right in front of me.

"And stole your headed paper printed Kathleen Thomas? Or maybe I shouldn't call you like that?" He pauses, letting his gaze trail down to my shaky legs before slowly ascending all the way up again to dive into my wide eyes, and I discover a new sparkle in the dark green as he continues in a raspy whisper,

"Knowing the effect it has on you..."

Another one-shot inspired by the #AimToEngage2019, this time for the Wattpad AfterDark Prompt. 

What do you think of 'EliJerk'? Who would want a hot boss like him? And how do you think he will punish her? ;)

I hope you liked it, if so, vote and let me know what you think in the comments :)