Workplace Short Stories & Novels

My employees host a savage livestream cursing me out as a cold-blooded Scrooge just because I didn't hand out frozen turkeys for Thanksgiving. What the internet didn't know was that our company, rooted in a powerful mafia family, has one, single, unbreakable tradition for every major holiday: ten uncirculated American Eagle gold bullion coins hand-delivered directly from our private vault. No paper trails, no taxes, no exceptions. As the whole internet was calling for my head after watching her livestream, I decided to give them exactly what they wanted. I sent out a company-wide memo: "To honor our cherished holiday traditions, the family gold distribution program will be discontinued this year. In its place, to ensure everyone experiences a traditional Thanksgiving, all employees will receive a complimentary, grocery-tier frozen turkey." The memo dropped. The office exploded. A stampede of my employees swarmed my office door, practically on their knees begging me to bring back the gold.

I was the only daughter of the Sheffield family, and I had three older brothers. Life was going well until a memo app appeared on my phone. [June 15th: My eldest brother, Ian Sheffield, signed a bet agreement with his female secretary, and Sheffield Group's market value plummeted by 80 billion dollars.] [September 3rd: My second brother, Hayes Sheffield, was tricked by his dream girl and left the shareholders' meeting with nothing to his name.] [December 1st: My third brother, Liam Sheffield, gave up his inheritance rights for his dream girl, and the Sheffield family was completely ruined.] Just like that, I, Trina Sheffield, lost all three of my guaranteed providers? From that day on, I began the 'Save My Providers' plan. I swiped Ian's black card for 30 million dollars a day, causing him to become busy handling returns and customer complaints all day. I flew Hayes' private jet to Prosia and casually dismantled the entire interior, saying I was going to redo it. He was so mad that he kept me under surveillance through an eight-hour international video call. I turned Liam's temperature-controlled wine cellar into a karaoke room and sang all night, even using all eight million dollars' worth of wine for foot baths. Dark eye circles constantly plagued my three brothers from all this fuss; they did not even have time to look at their phones. As long as I was around, they could only revolve around me. This went on until a female secretary, Erin Langley, suddenly appeared in Ian's office. She glanced at me, her tone gentle but her eyes icy. "Little girl, the CEO's office isn't a playground. You can get lost and go play now." The corridor fell silent. My most fiercely protective brother, Ian, was about to push open the door and walk in.

I fell in love with a mysterious stranger online. Morpheus. For three months, I’ve fallen asleep blushing at his blunt, dirty texts. "Can you feel how much I crave you, sweetie?" "I saw you in my dreams again last night. Writhing beneath me, screaming my name." I was finally ready to ask him to meet. Then he sent a photo. Just a casual shot of his desk. But right in the center sat an ancient book. Stamped on the cover was a crest I knew all too well: the Ouroboros of the Valerius vampire clan. And I happened to work at the exact museum where the Valerius clan stores their immortal relics. For three whole months, I had been sexting an immortal predator. A vampire who was probably watching me from the shadows every single day. While my brain was spinning, trying to piece together his face, my eyes landed on it. The custom blood-garnet signet ring I had helped "Morpheus" design... was currently gleaming on the finger of my boss, Alistair.

It's my fifth year working at my relative's factory after giving up a high-paying job. I'm in the middle of helping the administrative staff clear out the printer when I accidentally catch a glimpse of the new clerk's payslip—Base Salary: 6,500 dollars. I freeze right on the spot. Five years ago, I've turned down two high-paying offers and joined Dad's younger brother, Liam Graham's, factory. Back then, he patted me on the shoulder and said, "We're family. I'll never shortchange you." I believe him. However, it's been five years, and my salary is still the same five grand I started with. Every single time I ask for a raise, Uncle Liam cries poverty, claiming that the factory isn't doing well. My girlfriend breaks up with me, saying my salary makes it impossible for her to see a future. I pull the weight of three people and pour my heart into training the newcomers, only to find out a new hire is making 1,500 dollars more than me. I jeer out of sheer exasperation and hand in my resignation to Uncle Liam. "Why?" he asks in shock. "The pay is terrible. There's no career progression. I can't do this anymore!"

Right in the middle of the workday, my coworker, Stanley Graham, suddenly jumps up and slaps me on the shoulder. "Next week is Mr. Todd's birthday. Since your family runs a seafood restaurant, I'll tell you what—I'll chip in 99 bucks to treat the whole department at your place to celebrate!" He starts counting dishes on his fingers. "We need lobster and king crab. The fish has to be a fresh-killed red snapper. Don't skimp on the appetizers, and keep the beer and sodas flowing. Oh, and keep an eye on the shellfish. Mr. Todd has gout. Do a good job. Don't embarrass our department." He nudges me with a smirk. "When Mr. Todd walks away happy, he'll probably throw a massive bonus your way. You'll be laughing all the way to the bank. You make money, you get the credit, and the boss is happy. Dylan, you seriously owe me one." I stare at him, completely baffled. My family owns a small diner. Where on earth are we getting seafood from? The moment I flatly refuse, Stanley rolls his eyes and walks off. That night, a sign-up list pops up in the company group chat. "Mr. Todd's birthday is this Saturday! I'm treating everyone to a seafood feast. Eat as much as you want, and you can bring your family too. Add your name to the list if you're in!" The chat immediately erupts into cheers. In less than ten minutes, over 50 people sign up. "My dad's never even had lobster. Thanks to Stanley, he finally gets to experience something new!" "My kid loves tuna. Save a few extra portions for him!" Stanley promises everyone everything. After dropping a location pin in the chat, he transfers 99 dollars to me. "Dylan, take the cash. Make sure the ingredients are top-notch. Don't rip off your own coworkers." I take a closer look at the location and smile. It is the high-end seafood restaurant right next to my family's diner. The owner is a reformed gangster with tattoos climbing all the way up to his jaw. The last guy who tried to walk out on a bill there still can't get out of bed.

At the company's quarterly review meeting, Joey's girlfriend suddenly turned to me and snapped. "Where's your common sense? Go prepare everyone something to drink!" Everyone was stunned as she slammed a stack of documents onto the table. "Don't think you can coast just because you're Joey's older sister. Shaw Group is a major corporation, and we have no room for nepotism here." She then scanned the room, and her tone softened. "Since everyone is here, I have an announcement. Effective immediately, Cheshire is no longer authorized to participate in any of the company's core operations. From now on, the only work she'll be assigned is making drinks and running errands for everyone. "She'll marry into another family eventually, so she should stay away from anything that could create a conflict of interest. Joey doesn't have the heart to say it, so, as the future chairman's wife, I will." Joey shot to his feet, but she raised a hand to silence him, speaking with even greater confidence. "Ryan Lane has always admired you. The Lane and Shaw families are a good match, and I've already agreed to the marriage. This is your duty as a daughter of the Shaw family." Ryan was the Lane family's second son. He had gone through seventeen lovers in a single month, had equal preference for men and women alike, and the scandal over the children he had fathered out of wedlock was still trending online. I watched her confident expression and smiled slowly as I leaned back in my chair. She had no idea that the daughter she planned to marry off owned a majority of shares in Shaw Group. Meanwhile, Joey, the so-called future chairman, could not even tell the figures from the dates on a financial statement.

To everyone else, Helen Hart was just Ronin Dudley's ignored, pregnant wife. In reality, she was a world-class interpreter who could dominate any international negotiation. Ronin Dudley thought the $50,000 she owed him would keep her trapped forever. Kelly Choney thought a few social media posts could ruin her. They were both wrong. With one bank card, Helen paid off the debt that had chained her down for years. With one divorce agreement, she ended a five-year marriage. She wanted no money. No excuses. And no love that came too late. When Ronin finally learned the truth, he fell apart. "I got revenge for you!" Helen smiled. "You're the one I hate most." Only after she stepped into the spotlight, shining brighter than ever, did he realize what he'd destroyed with his own hands. Not just his wife. His only shot at redemption.

Gold prices had recently crashed, and five hundred thousand dollars' worth of purchase reserves had vanished from the branch's accounts. Jane Lynch, the department manager, threw a report in my face. "Mavis Gomez! We sent you to buy equipment, and you used the money to trade gold? The chairman is inspecting the branch this afternoon. Sign this confession now, and the company might still put in a good word for you." Thomas Jones, the branch manager, stood beside her and tapped the table. "You're an intern with no connections. Where did you find the audacity to do such a thing?" My coworkers were already blaming me in the company group chat for costing them their year-end bonuses. [Interns these days have some nerves! She always looked so meek, but to think she would steal company money!] I knew Jane and Thomas had used the money to trade gold. They just wanted to use a nobody like me to take the blame. I looked down at the report bearing my forged signature and burst out laughing. They had no idea that the chairman everyone described as ruthless and merciless had made me a sandwich that morning and begged me to cut my internship short and come home to take over the family business.

I'm a Gen Z rookie at work. When my boss is being poured a drink, I intercept the bottle. When he gives a speech, I strike up a chat. He opens the car door, and I hop right in. I don't do overtime, and I never take the fall. My manager wants to steal my credit and pocket my bonuses? Hilarious. The company belongs to my family. Your boss is my dad!

After I left prison, my best friend and I opened an auto repair shop together. He provided the money, while I brought the skills. We agreed from the start to split the profits seventy-thirty. Thanks to my talent for performance tuning and custom car builds, our shop quickly became the talk of the local wealthy car‑enthusiast scene. In our first year alone, we cleared a net profit of eight million. When I went to collect my share at the end of the year, my so‑called brother handed me a check for only one hundred thousand. “The business is doing well because I became friends with those rich kids,” he said with a dismissive laugh. “Anyone can modify cars. Do not tell me you actually think you are someone special.” He looked at me with open contempt. “Most repair shops pay their mechanics six grand a month at best. I am giving you ten. You should be grateful.” I stood there in stunned silence, and anger rose in my chest. I had trusted him like family, only to discover that my loyalty had been repaid with lies and betrayal. I quit on the spot without another word. I rented the workshop across the street and opened a repair shop of my own. Six months later, he showed up at my door with all his arrogance gone. “If you come back,” he pleaded, “I will pay you five hundred thousand a year. That should be enough to keep you with me this time… right?”

At our college reunion, I returned from running an errand for my boyfriend and found my best friend sitting in my place. My wineglass and plate had been cleared away and replaced with a fresh set. There was no trace that I had ever been there. When I came back, Serena Blake started to rise, but Adrian Bennett pressed her back into the chair. "She doesn't understand our casework anyway. She'd only sit here and smile along." No one else dared respond. Everyone knew my family had collapsed financially while I was in college, forcing me to leave school for a semester. Back then, Adrian and Serena were the law school's celebrated dream team, winning every difficult mock case they touched. After graduation, they rose together at an elite corporate firm, while I was dismissed as the little assistant who only got hired because I was Adrian's girlfriend. I stood there stupidly, unsure what to do. Adrian took the cigarettes I had bought for him and casually gave me another order. "Serena wants a milkshake. Go get her one." He did not even look at me before turning back to their conversation. As they talked and laughed without me, something inside me finally went quiet. I no longer wanted to chase the person I had spent years trying to catch.

The company booked a lodge at Osprey Lake for the Labor Day weekend retreat. All 35 other people in the company were invited, and I was not one of them. My team lead even posted a group photo from their kayaking trip in the chat, captioned with "One less person and the boat rides lighter." I did not reply. I turned off my phone, bought some tamales and a beer, went back to my apartment, and slept for 15 hours. When I woke up, I had 203 missed calls. The latest voicemail was my team lead, practically in tears. "Please, man, I'm sorry! Just pick up the phone!" I grabbed another slice and took a bite. I took one weekend off. How was the company already falling apart?

Last night, I got my layoff notice. The official excuse? Too old, under-educated, and holding the team back. This morning, HR pulled me aside with a sympathetic sigh. "Look, Gina, you really pissed off the wrong person this time." I followed her gaze across the floor of Brown Media. Two weeks ago. Catherine Chase, the CEO’s niece, dropped into the sales department with a squad of her college buddies, branding themselves the "Elite Youth Squad." Yesterday, I rejected her project proposal. Catching my eye, Catherine smirked. "Some aging, uneducated women should just stick to being housewives. Save yourself the embarrassment." I didn't argue. I just signed the severance paper in silence. What she didn't realize was that I never needed Brown Media. They begged me to stay. Before walking out, I posted a simple status update… “Officially resigned. Let the fun begin.” Within seconds, my phone blew up.

As part of a deal with my husband, Shane Ford, I went undercover and spent a week interning at his company. On my very first day, I walked into the lobby and found a woman waving a certified copy of a marriage certificate in the receptionist’s face like she owned the place. “Do you understand what this proves?” she demanded. “I’m Shane Ford’s wife. The one and only Mrs. Ford.” She looked the receptionist up and down. “Why are you slouching? Stand up straight. And when I’m speaking to you, show some respect. Keep your head down until Mr. Ford gets here.” Then she turned her attention to the company cafeteria. “You actually expect people to eat that food? I’ll have a Michelin-starred chef brought in to redo the entire menu.” I was about to step in when the coworker beside me grabbed my arm. “Don’t. She’s Mr. Ford’s first love. I heard he proposed 100 times before she finally said yes.” She nodded toward the marriage certificate and lowered her voice. “If you offend Mr. Ford, you’ll probably just get fired. But if you offend Mrs. Ford, you could disappear without a trace.” I nearly laughed. I pulled out my phone and called my brother. “Tell Shane to come down here, and have him bring divorce papers.” I checked the time. “I want him on his knees begging me within five minutes.”

I spend eight years being Ashton Clark's secret girlfriend, bending over backward for him like a maid. It takes the company's cleaning lady to finally make me see the truth. Late that night, while working overtime, I place some stomach medicine and a bowl of warmed seafood chowder on his desk. "Eat while it's warm, Mr. Clark. Don't let your stomach flare up again." His eyes stay glued to the financial reports on his screen. He doesn't even bother to grunt an acknowledgment. I reach out to push the bowl a little closer to his hand. Nearby, the cleaning lady emptying the trash suddenly stops. "Save it, sweetie. Mr. Clark already ate something someone else brought him. The fancy lunchbox is sitting right here in my bin." My hand freezes mid-air. Ashton's fingers pause over his keyboard, his brows knitting slightly. Even a woman in her 50s who just quietly cleans the office every day can tell that he doesn't love me. Looking down at that bowl of chowder, I suddenly feel like the last eight years of my life has been nothing but a joke. I pick up the bowl and dump it straight into the trash. "Right. Mr. Clark's tastes have changed." That's the last time I ever put him at the top of my list.

I walked into the Marxell Motors showroom with my girlfriend, Fleur Harper, and got straight to the point: I wanted to look at the SX. The salesman, Lenny Sloan, gave me a once-over, then acted like he hadn't heard a word. He pulled Fleur aside instead, all smiles. "You've got a great eye," he told her. "People are lining up just to put a deposit down on this one." I trailed along and cut in, frowning. "Can I take it for a test drive?" He didn't even look up. "This one's sixty-eight grand out the door. You sure you want to try it?" "I'm sure." He sighed like he was doing me a favor, then walked me around the car, dripping condescension the whole way. "A car to keep up appearances, sure, that's fine. Just don't get too full of yourself. It's seven hundred a month on the financing. You sure you can keep that up?" I kept my face flat and didn't answer. He leaned in and dropped his voice. "Real talk, man, what do you even do for work? Fresh out of school and already buying a luxury car?" I fired back with a question about the trim specs. He waved me off. "Not bad, you actually did your homework. But I already sent the details to your girl. Go hash it out with her." I swallowed my anger, finished negotiating the price, and put down the deposit. A week later, Fleur got a message: the dealership wanted her to come pick up the car. I called the dealership to ask what was going on. The man on the other end didn't bother hiding his contempt. "That deposit—who knows whose money that really was. You're wearing five-dollar canvas sneakers. No way you can afford an SX. Whoever's footing the bill gets the call to come pick it up. Problem?" No problem at all. After all, I was just a mystery shopper sent from corporate.

I'm scheduled to work overtime for all five days of the long Thanksgiving holiday weekend. However, I decide to just put up with it because I remember that I have a 200,000-dollar year-end bonus at stake. On the first day of overtime, the HR manager, Karen Beech, deducts 200 dollars from my pay, citing "lack of attention to personal image and affecting the company's overall reputation" as the reason. I look at my neatly pressed dress shirt and slacks and frown. "I've strictly followed the company's rules regarding my appearance. What's the problem?" Without saying another word, Karen grabs a cup of hot coffee and splashes it all over me. "Well, you've got a problem now." That day, an official message is pinned on the company's Slack channel. "Alex Sutherland violated our company's policy, affecting the company's overall reputation. Thus, he's fined 200 dollars." Nobody speaks up for me in the channel. That's because the newly appointed General Manager, Remy Lincoln, says that he wants to reduce costs and increase the company's efficiency, which would mean random layoffs. As a result, the entire office has been thrown into a state of panic, and everyone is looking out for themselves. As for me, I am the highest-paid employee in the company with a monthly salary of 10,000 dollars. On the second day of overtime, someone locks my front door from the outside, making me almost a minute late for work. When I reach the company, Karen writes me up for being tardy and fires me on the spot. I look at another sales associate behind her, Sandra Leach, who is pretending to be busy with work to avoid my gaze. She is the only person in the entire company who has ever been invited to my home. I refuse to leave without a fight and request to see the company chairman, Mr. Richard Lincoln. However, Karen scoffs disdainfully at me and says, "Don't think that you have any influence on the company's decisions just because you're a sales manager. "Mr. Remy Lincoln is Mr. Lincoln Senior's only son, which means his will is also the chairman's." She then glances at my chest and adds, "Did you seriously think that a woman with zero assets like you could even attempt to seduce the chairman into changing his mind? In your dreams!" I'm at a complete loss for words. For starters, I am a man, and Karen has to be completely blind not to notice that. And secondly, if Remy really were my dad's only son, then who am I supposed to be?

For three years, I worked for my coworkers for free—designing, covering for their mistakes, cleaning up their messes. They used my work to get promoted, to win awards, even to run side jobs on the sly, and I never took a cent for any of it. Then I single-handedly landed the hardest client project the company had ever taken on and walked away with a hundred-thousand-dollar bonus. That was the day everyone lost their minds. The same people who'd leeched off me the hardest led the charge, cornering me at my desk and tearing into me in front of the whole office. "The whole concept for that project was a team effort. What gives you the right to keep the bonus for yourself?" "Your work has always been garbage. That free labor of yours was never worth anything anyway!" Worse, they spent the whole night digging up old grievances, stitching together every minor slip-up they could find, and spreading rumors through the entire company—that I'd stalled projects, that my work was worthless, that I'd tanked the department's numbers. Finally, they gave me an ultimatum. "Either split the entire bonus with the department, or pay us two hundred thousand dollars for our trouble. Take your pick." Even the department manager tried to smooth things over, telling me, "We're all colleagues here. You've already got a big bonus—taking a small loss won't kill you. Don't be so difficult about it." Wonderful. So three years of quietly covering for everyone had just produced a pack of lazy, credit-stealing backstabbers. Since they wanted to gang up on the one person who'd always played fair, fine. I was going to lay out three years of original files, timestamps, and proof of exactly who'd done the work—all of it, all at once. And what none of them knew was that the special project behind my bonus was an AI system built to replace every single one of them.

I'm a man of principle who doesn't curse someone else without good reason. Even if I do curse them, the curse is only active for three days. In elementary school, my seatmate steals my eraser. When I flippantly tell him that he'll slip and fall in the next three days, he falls into a cesspool on the third day. The class representative accuses me of cheating during an exam during middle school. When I say that the entire school will learn something humiliating about him in the next three days, his love letter to another female student is pasted on the notice board. A bully kicks my desk during high school. When I tell him that his family will fall to ruins in the next three days, his father is arrested for embezzlement on the third day. When my boss, Frank Gordon, refuses to pay me after forcing me to work overtime, I calmly say, "You'll become bankrupt in the next three days." Frank scoffs indignantly before he grabs my resignation letter and tears it to pieces. "Get out of my sight! Either you continue working, or you can kiss your salary for this month goodbye!" He scatters the shredded paper over my head and continues, "I'm curious to see what will happen in the next three days. Will my company fall? Or will you starve to death first?" I lick my lips and say, "You must pay me within the next three days, Mr. Gordon—" However, Frank kicks me out of his office before I can finish my sentence.

My name and the name of my girlfriend's assistant, who was in a lower grade than us, were homophonic. His last name was Reid, whereas mine was Reed. Shawn Reid mixed up our names yet again at the joint bachelor-bachelorette party the office was throwing for Anne Nash and me. Everyone was cheering and jeering at us as the banner celebrating the end of Anne's and my singlehood was unfurled. Someone read it aloud. “Congratulations to Anne and Shawn. Wishing you eternal happiness together!” The private room was plunged into silence. Shawn spoke cautiously. “Sorry, Sean. I accidentally got it wrong again.” I said nothing and turned to look at Anne. She didn’t even bat an eyelash and instead comforted Shawn. “It’s no big deal. He won’t mind.” Then, she walked over to stand in front of Sean while she confronted me. Just like every other time, she shielded Shawn behind her, looking at me with the same warning gaze. “Sean, it’s only a banner. “Shawny didn’t do it on purpose. “After all, everyone knows today it’s about us. Don’t sweat the small stuff, alright?”