As soon as Violet's alarm had gone off in the morning, she had already started to formulate a plan. There was a nagging voice in her head that told her to call in quits, to send the tow letter off to Tate and call it even. However, Violet was never the one to listen to her own logic.
The whole time she got ready for work, she mulled over the idea. She would let Patrick know eventually, of course, but for now she didn't need the distraction. Naturally, Patrick would fly off the handle but she knew he would come around and support her idea. They were partners in crime, those two.
Violet had cancelled plans with Gabe just before he reached the coffee house so she could go home and browse the vehicles that Tate had in his inventory. She needed to be knowledgeable, but she also needed to sound like she really needed his expertise.
Violet reasoned that if she were to befriend Tate and find out where he usually parked his vehicles, she could send in a personal recommendation to the City of Los Angeles, telling them exactly where his fancy sports cars were located. Tate wouldn't know what had hit him. Not only would he have to pay of the impound fees, but he would need to pay off this parking tickets, unless he wanted to be towed over and over again.
When Violet reached her office, she practically marched to her desk and set to work. She didn't want to call Tate today because she knew he would recognize her voice right off the bat. Instead, she searched his name in the database to see if she could dig up any more dirt.
That's when Violet hit the jackpot.
There was an American Express file that had over $10,000 owning on the account. Violet skimmed through the note lines and saw that Tate had used stall tactics on each collector he came in contact with until they completely gave up on the account. It seemed like all efforts had been exhausted, which meant that legal action could be taken.
Violet began to formulate another idea. She needed to befriend this guy, of course, but now it was looking like she needed to spy on him. In order to sue this file, Violet would need to figure out if he owns his home and what sort of annual income Tate was making.
Violet could feel the excitement bubbling up in her chest. If she was able to acquire the evidence needed to sue, and legal action was taken, she would be able to rake in $4000 from the file, which would go straight to her own pocket. Not to mention her generous raise, paid lunch breaks, and maybe even a desk of her own.
Violet locked her computer and walked up to Patrick's desk. She was grinning from ear to ear, waiting for him to notice her.
When Patrick finally looked up, he gave Violet a double take once he noticed the shit-eating grin plastered on her face.
Patrick immediately raised his index finger towards Violet.
"No. Whatever it is, no." Patrick said, waving his finger in the air.
"What are you and Chad doing on Saturday?" Violet asked, still grinning.
Patrick furrowed his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair.
"We're not doing anything," Patrick replied, still giving her a quizzical look. "Why? What are you doing?"
"Having dinner and wine with you and Chad." Violet replied before she turned back to her desk.
"Well that was presumptuous!" Patrick called after her.
"Make sure you have the Riesling wine that I like!" Violet replied, giving Patrick a wink before she went back to her work.
After Violet's lunch break, she headed back to her desk with a cup of coffee in hand, mentally calculating the hours she had left until she was free.
Before her ass had the chance to get acquainted with her seat, Samuel popped his head over the top of her cubicle.
"There's a call for you, should I transfer it?"
"Give me a second," Violet replied, her mouth full of croissant.
She quickly logged into the system and picked up her phone.
"Do you have the account number?" Violet asked.
"It's gonna be a blind transfer." Samuel informed her.
Violet nodded and pressed the first line on the receiver, connecting her to the call.
"Violet Harmon speaking, how can I help you?"
Violet heard a sharp intake of breath from the other line, followed by complete silence.
"Hello?" Violet spoke again, furrowing her eyebrows. "It would help if you said something." She added, growing impatient.
When the person on the other end finally spoke, Violet swore that her lungs deflated.
"Hello princess, do you have time for me?"
Tate fucking Langdon. She should have guessed.
Violet muted the phone for a second, clearing her throat as she tried to put on a different voice, something that Tate wouldn't recognize.
"I suppose I do." Violet sighed as she started to look for Tate's file on her database.
She decided that she would put a slight southern twang to mask her usual speaking voice, praying that he wouldn't take note of it.
"May we start with your date of birth, Mr. Langdon?" Violet asked once she found Tate's file.
Tate chuckled. "I like it when you call me mister."
"Sir, if you're not wanting to talk business, then there's no reason for—"
"It's even sexier when you call me sir," Tate let out a breathy chuckle. "See, I get this image of you blindfolded on my bed, over my lap, waiting for—"
"I take it that Tatiana didn't want to speak with you?" Violet interrupted, silently thanking her voice for not shaking, even though her core started to throb with need. Her eyes were practically glazing over with lust and she found that she hated herself for letting his words affect her so much.
"Why would I dial a sex line in order to talk to some broad claiming to be a Slovakian girl, when in reality I'm probably connected with a three times divorced 40 year old woman who has a gross mole on her nose that's sprouted hair?" Tate started to laugh at the scenario he painted for Violet.
Violet rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help the smile that plastered itself onto her face. He could be an asshole, but at least the guy was witty.
Violet silently chastised her lack of self-control when she let out a laugh. The last thing Violet needed was for Tate to think that she condoned his obnoxious, not to mention sexist, behavior.
"Well, you never know, I could very well look like that three times divorced 40 year old broad." Violet retorted, biting her lip to conceal her smile when she heard Tate snort from the other line.
"I severely doubt that," Tate replied. "You're probably this gorgeous eighteen year old—"
"Nineteen year old." Violet corrected.
Tate chuckled. "Sorry. A gorgeous nineteen year old."
"I'm sure you're not bad yourself," Violet replied hastily, trying to get back to business. She cringed when she thought of her upcoming call reviews; she silently prayed that Patrick wouldn't pull this call.
"Now if we could continue, I still need your date of birth." Violet said, taking on her monotonous tone once again.
"I never noticed that you have a southern twang," Tate ignored her question. "Where did you live before LA?" Tate asked.
Shit, shit, shit. Violet bit her lip, her fingers scrambled to pull up a map of Louisiana on Google.
"Louisiana." Violet replied, stumbling.
"What area?"
Violet pulled up a map, quickly scanning the cities.
"My family and I came from Lafayette." Violet replied, furrowing her brows, hoping that Tate would just drop the subject.
"Great gator gumbo, hey?" Violet could hear the smile in his tone.
"Fantastic, actually." Violet laughed, "Now if we could continue, I'm still needing you to verify your date of birth."
"I wasn't calling about my account princess," Tate snorted with laughed on the other line, "I just wanted to hear your voice."
With that, the other line dead, leaving Violet to worry her bottom lip with her top teeth.
"Fuck." Violet sighed, disappointed in herself.
Violet shook off the nagging feeling that she was losing this battle and put her game face on. She would let Tate think that he has the control over the situation, while her real intentions played in the shadows. She would pretend to be the naïve, up-tight collection agent when Tate called, she would hide her cunning mastermind and allow Tate to slip into a false sense a security. Tate would become smug and believe that he holds the cards, when really, Violet was the dealer.
She would have him right where she wanted him by tomorrow evening.