Emily Meyers strode into the office, her resolve iron-clad after the previous day's chaos. She had barely recovered from Luke Edmunds' Thailand Day debacle, but she told herself she wouldn't let him get under her skin again. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
But as soon as she stepped inside, the unmistakable strains of an accordion greeted her ears. The sound of La Cumparsita echoed through the office, mingling with the rich aroma of sizzling meats and melted cheese.
The breakroom was, once again, unrecognizable. This time, it had been transformed into a Buenos Aires dream. A pair of tango dancers twirled dramatically in the corner, their sharp footwork and passionate expressions captivating the audience. Tables were lined with platters of Argentine delicacies: Provoleta with melted cheese, crispy Farinata, juicy Argentine Asado, and baskets of golden empanadas. A makeshift karaoke machine blared the opening lines of "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" while coworkers stood in line, holding microphones and humming along.
And there, in the middle of it all, was Luke, wearing a fitted black tango outfit and a wide-brimmed hat tilted jauntily to the side.
"Welcome to Argentina Day!" he announced, raising a glass of Malbec. "Eat, tango, and be merry!"
Emily clenched her fists. "Not again."
When she reached her desk, her fury hit its boiling point. Provoleta—melted, gooey cheese—was smeared across her desk like some deranged artisan's idea of abstract art. Her keyboard was sticky, her mouse unusable, and her computer screen bore a greasy handprint, likely from someone who couldn't resist touching it with cheese-covered fingers.
She stared at the mess, her blood boiling. For a moment, she considered calling IT. But after their lackluster response to the Thailand incident—and the milkshake massacre—she decided to take matters into her own hands.
Grabbing a cleaning wipe, Emily started scrubbing her desk with the vigor of someone trying to erase not just cheese but the memory of Luke Edmunds entirely. The Provoleta came off easily enough, but the screen was another matter.
As she wiped the surface, pressing harder and harder in frustration, she heard a faint cracking sound. She froze.
Slowly, she leaned back to assess the damage. A spiderweb of cracks had spread across her computer screen, radiating out from where she had applied the most pressure.
"Are you kidding me?" she muttered, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Reluctantly, she called IT.
"IT Department," Greg answered, his tone flat and uninterested.
"Greg, it's Emily," she said, her voice tight. "My computer screen is cracked."
Greg sighed audibly. "What happened this time?"
"It was covered in Provoleta," she explained, already bracing for his response.
"Provoleta?" he repeated, as if the word itself was a personal insult. "That's melted cheese, right?"
"Yes," she said through gritted teeth. "I tried to clean it, and the screen cracked."
"Sounds like a personal problem," Greg said.
"It's not a personal problem," she snapped. "It's a workplace issue. My desk keeps getting trashed because of Luke's ridiculous parties!"
Greg chuckled. "You're just mad because you can't handle a little cheese."
"Greg," she said, her tone icy, "can you fix my computer or not?"
"Not," he replied bluntly. "We don't cover damage caused by Provoleta-related incidents. Maybe next time, don't be so—"
He hesitated, then muttered, "Slutty with the cheese."
Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Greg said, clearly amused.
Emily hung up before she could say something that would get her fired. Her hands trembled with anger as she stood up, determined to find Luke and end this madness once and for all.
She found him near the breakroom, standing by the empanada table and chatting with a group of coworkers.
"LUKE!"
Her shout cut through the festive atmosphere, silencing the accordion music and turning heads.
Luke turned to face her, a bemused smile spreading across his face. "Ah, Evita herself! What brings you to the dance floor?"
"Don't call me Evita!" she snapped, marching up to him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Care to be more specific?"
"My desk is covered in cheese!" she yelled. "My computer is ruined—again—and IT just called me a slut because of your stupid party!"
Luke tried—and failed—to suppress a laugh. "Slutty with the cheese? That's a new one."
Her fists clenched at her sides. "This isn't funny, Luke. You've destroyed my workspace, and now I can't even do my job!"
He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. I'll make it up to you."
She glared at him, skeptical. "How?"
Without a word, he picked up a plate of Mango Sticky Rice from the dessert table and held it out to her. "Here. A peace offering."
She stared at the plate, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. "You think you can fix this with food?"
"It's really good sticky rice," he said, grinning.
Without hesitation, she slapped the plate out of his hands, sending the sticky rice splattering onto the floor.
Luke stared at the mess, then back at her, his grin widening. "Feisty. Very Argentine of you."
"This isn't over," she said through gritted teeth.
Before she could storm off, the new HR representative, Sylvia, entered the room, clipboard in hand and an expression of weary professionalism.
"What's going on here?" Sylvia asked, her sharp gaze flicking between Emily and Luke.
"Emily's having a moment," Luke said casually, brushing Provoleta crumbs off his shirt.
"She destroyed my desk!" Emily shouted. "And my computer! And IT—"
Sylvia raised a hand to silence her. "Emily, calm down. Luke, explain."
"It's Argentina Day," Luke said, shrugging. "A little cheese got misplaced. No big deal."
"No big deal?" Emily repeated, incredulous. "My computer is destroyed!"
Sylvia sighed, jotting something down on her clipboard. "Emily, perhaps you should take a step back and cool off."
"I'm perfectly cool," she snapped. "He's the one causing problems."
Sylvia turned to Luke. "Luke, try to be more mindful of your coworkers' spaces."
"Always," he said with a wink.
Emily's blood boiled as Sylvia turned back to her. "Emily, I suggest you clean up your desk and move on."
"Move on?" Emily repeated, her voice rising. "That's it?"
Sylvia raised an eyebrow. "Unless you'd like to file another formal complaint."
Emily glared at both of them, her frustration reaching its peak. "You know what? Screw this. And screw both of you."
With that, she stormed out of the breakroom, leaving Luke grinning and Sylvia shaking her head.
Back at her desk, Emily sat down, her hands trembling with frustration. Her phone buzzed with a notification.
Luke Edmunds: Instagram Story
She groaned, opening it.
The video showed the aftermath of the sticky rice incident, with Luke narrating: "Breaking news: Emily Evita takes a stand against Argentine cuisine. Watch out, cheese—she's coming for you."
The caption read: "#ProvoletaMeltdown #OfficeTango "
Her blood boiled as she typed out a reply:
"You're unbearable."
His response came almost immediately:
"And you're predictable, Evita. "
She threw her phone onto her desk, glaring at the sticky mess that still covered it.
The feud wasn't over—not by a long shot. But as Emily sat there, plotting her next move, she vowed that Luke—and his HR ally—would regret underestimating her.
Because if they thought this was the end, they were sorely mistaken.