Harem

By Erin Lee and Olivia Marie

The quintessential outcast. She was nothing more than the girl with stringy hair who came from a

messed up home. The last one picked but first with her hand up, they looked right past her.

To them, she was invisible.

But Kimberly had a secret:  All along, Kimberly was the single person running the show.

Until now.

Now?

She was tired of riding alone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crazy Ink
• Release date: Mar 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224028016

Erin Lee

Erin Lee lives in Queensland, Australia and has been working with children for over 25 years. She has worked in both long day care and primary school settings and has a passion for inclusive education and helping all children find joy in learning. Erin has three children of her own and says they have helped contribute ideas and themes towards her quirky writing style. Her experience working in the classroom has motivated her to write books that bring joy to little readers, but also resource educators to help teach fundamental skills to children, such as being safe, respectful learners.

Book preview

Dedication:

For all who underestimate us regularly.

The joke’s on you.

Chapter One

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she repeated his words in her head. "You can all be part of my harem." That was what he’d said. The audacity of it. The horror in it. Hell, the god dammed irony in it was almost too much. But no matter how many times Kimberly tried to shake the words from her head, they stuck against the foggy gray matter that failed to let her finally close her eyes.

She pulled herself, again, from the tired cot on the far corner of her office. She hadn’t even driven home. There was no sense in lying to herself. She’d given that up years ago. She knew too well that there would be no real shot at sleep that night. In general, there never was. But Jameson Odis had pushed her too far. Who the fuck did he think he was?

Brothers. Two shitty husbands who’d reminded her in more than one drunken scuffle that she was less then, not good enough, hell—pure shit. Underestimate me. That will be fun. Those were the words she’d mumbled under her breath each time she’d left them. And yes, they’d fooled her not once but twice. But now? Kimberly wasn’t the same as she once was.

At forty years old and with nothing more to show for a twenty-year career as an editorial columnist for a newspaper that was nearly defunct than a shabby downtown office and tinier studio apartment, she was just done. Tearing the thin sheet from her legs and moving clumsily toward a wooden desk that sagged in the middle, she flipped her laptop open and pulled up a new document.

Harem. That’s what she’d call it. That’s what he wanted. And she’d prove him wrong. She was tired of being invisible — passed over for editor’s jobs and even in staff assignment meetings where Jameson Odis spoke the loudest. He, no different than her former husbands and drunk of a stepfather, had gone too fucking far in underestimating her. Banging on the keys and without so much as a drop of coffee, she vowed to work into morning. She still had two hours before the pressmen showed up; not that they would notice. They never came past the editorial department. Even they knew that it was territory pissed on by Jameson Odis.  

She knew what he was doing right then. He sure as shit wasn’t pumping away at a keyboard. He was sleeping off another drunk in a tiny ball snuggled up to his wife, who he claimed so much to love. She wondered what his wife would say about him offering himself to the entire staff of cadet reporters. Shame on him! He even had a daughter. And for as much as Kimberly wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, the facts were that she knew too much.

That was the thing about women like her. They were quiet, but that didn’t mean dumb. Instead of yammering to listen to themselves talk, they watched. She’d been that way her entire life. She’d paid close attention to every detail—from a person’s shoes to mannerisms. It had been no different with Jameson Odis. More important? She did it, too, with herself.

She wasn’t so unaware of her own motivations to know she wasn’t immune to the same fate as he. Egos ran hard and strong in a newsroom where a handful of writers were eager for the next promotion, the lead story, or even the front page. Scott Henderson, the paper’s managing editor, made no bones about who his favorites were. And that might even have been why Jameson Odis so clearly detested her. It was possible he knew. It was quite likely that he’d come once too close to the dark room where Kimberly and Scott escaped every now and then for a quickie.

Had he seen them? It didn’t’ matter, she told herself. If he had, he’d be even less likely to fuck with her. It was impossible. But on the off chance that he did know her secret, what would it matter? When the paper closed, it wasn’t like Scott would have a job either. And, if she didn’t work for him, they could finally bring their relationship out of the darkroom—the last authentic one she knew of in the whole of New England—and into the light.

Determined to get the words down while her rage was as clear as the 4:10 a.m. blinking light on the clock above the filing cabinet, she did what she could to put both of them—Scott and Jameson—out of her mind. Both of them could go to hell. She was not only tired of Jameson’s passive aggressive remarks about her but of sneaking around too.

Harem. It was such a fascinating word. It was one that all men craved—older ones anyway. And while she was no spring chicken herself, Kimberly Oliver was still young enough to know there was a new term. And it would sell. The term was reverse harem. She would write a book. As she tapped vigorously at the keys, she considered something as simple as a message to Jameson’s wife about him being all over the cadets again. But that would be too simple. No. The best revenge? That would come in both the silence and proving him wrong.

She knew what he said about her. He called her bland. He said he had no idea where her voice was at all. And that was the best part there was. Jameson Odis, even if he did know about Scott, was clueless to the fact that Kimberly Oliver was exactly the one calling the shots. In fact, it would take under five minutes for her to ensure he was packed and gone—another cadet pounding the streets for freelance work—if she ordered it so.

But that wasn’t her style. She liked to think of herself as a team player. There were things about him worth keeping around. In fact, if she was to build herself a reverse harem, it might be nice to bring him along. He could watch her. She could show him exactly how to do his job. And instead of stirring everyone up, the newsroom could get back to a hard day’s work. Maybe, she could even save their jobs.

An evil smile spread over her thin lips as she licked at them and got to work. She could see Scott with his jaw hung slack. She could even picture herself bringing her old penname back. The terror in her lover’s eyes alone might be enough to shut it all down. Or, better, she could live it.

A journalist, after all, did her best research on the beat. Never one to enjoy hours behind a desk, it was what had won her the Rookie Reporter Award in 1999, while her colleagues were still getting their feet wet and mulling over the perfect word. She had been the one to uproot an entire police department. She laughed—out loud—in the empty office space as she thought of it. It had been years since she remembered convincing the police chief to leave his window cracked just enough for her to slip through and grab the female officer’s sexual harassment claims. It had been long before the #MeToo movement. It was funny, then, thinking about just what one officer Tammy Yale would do. She was quite positive she would approve.

It’d been years since she’d reached out to the female officer she’d helped sue an entire department. And even to that day, she wasn’t sorry for making the men who’d harassed Tammy and threatened to pistol whip her if she didn’t agree to their boyish games, spend some time finding other trades. That could be Jameson. But a harem? That might be more fun too... She had plenty of time to decide those things. One thing, she knew: the boys club was no longer a thing. It was time to lay down new rules.

Chapter Two

After checking the clock and seeing it was only a little after five, Kimberly grabbed her coat and scarf and headed out into the crisp, early spring air. She had an idea. And when she got one of those, nothing could stop her.

She marched down the deserted walkway shaking her head at how lazy the world had become. She didn’t care that it was Saturday. They should have been up hours before ready to start the day. She was the only one at the paper who worked seven days a week. Not getting paid a dime for her extra time didn’t matter as much as the fact that she knew she was doing the best she could. If the others wanted to be dog shit, that was up to them. She wasn’t going to let them drag her down like Scott had.

Mindlessly, she walked lost in her own head and filled with rage toward Jameson, until it hit her where she had ended up. Making it her business to know where everyone lived, a smile broke out across her face.

Facing the plain, red brick building, she walked over to the index on the wall listing last names and apartment numbers. Running her finger down the cold metal, she traced every name until she landed on the one she was looking for.

Sheila Thomson.

The latest hire and conquest for Jameson, she would be the start to her project. Looking around once more to see who was around, the smile grew larger on Kimberly’s face when she saw the streets were still deserted. Reaching for the button marked Thomson, S., she pushed it hard and long. When Shelia didn’t answer her fast enough, she did it again.

Yeah? a screechy, childish voice asked through the intercom.

Sheila? It’s Kimberly. There is a huge story breaking and since you haven’t been on one yet, I thought I would come by and see if you wanted in on it with me?

What? What time is it even?

Does it matter? Kimberly snarked at the fact Sheila would ask that first. When she had started, she jumped at any chance she got to go on assignment. Asking for a time would have never crossed her mind. If you want to be the best, you have to put in the work. Skating by wasn’t going to cut it.

No. I’ll be right down. Give me five minutes.

You have three.

Kimberly paced in front of the building, not because she was cold but because Sheila was taking too long, and she hated waiting for anyone. She had an idea, and it wasn’t one she could wait on.

Finally the front door opened, and Shelia came running down the four steps that led out of her building. She was dressed in sweatpants and an oversized coat. Nothing about Sheila said professional, and it pissed her off even more. That little skank, who made men work at dumb tasks to sleep with her, would beat Kimberly out sooner than she wanted because she could skate by on what other people did. They would build it all for her and she would play the star. It made Kimberly want to make her fall that much more.

Where are we going? Shelia asked, running to catch up.

There is a crime scene in the alley off 8th and McDonnel. They want us to interview cops and witnesses.

Oh.

She yammered uncontrollably the whole walk, and Kimberly thought about taking her out right then and there, but they were too out in the open. Rounding the corner to where the scene should have been hopping, Sheila froze when she realized they were the only ones there.

Come on you big baby. Think of this as your initiation into journalism.

What’s really going on? She folded her hands over her chest, and her tiny boobs tried to stick out from under her coat.

I thought it’d be fun to have a lesson in the field.

What kind of lesson?

You’ll see.

Not having anything with her since it wasn’t planned, Kimberly improvised when she found an old piece of plumbing half hanging out of the dumpster behind the hardware store.

I have one question for you and how you answer it will tell me what needs to be done with you. I need you to listen and answer right. Got it?

What? Sheila was shaking, and it wasn’t from the cold. She could see the shift in Kimberly and knew it wasn’t going to be a