She Ate My Lunch for Free Every Day—Until Six Tins of Luxury Caviar Arrived Chapter 01

My coworker Kelsey Lane was always calling herself a total foodie.

Apparently, that meant sneaking into the break room every day and somehow choosing my lunch out of everything in the fridge.

For months, she ate whatever I brought, forcing me to order takeout for myself. My food expenses practically doubled.

Whenever I confronted her, she clutched her stomach and looked ready to cry.

“I’m sorry, Maya. I’m still growing. I was just so hungry.”

Our supervisor told me to be the bigger person, while my coworkers urged me to let it go.

“She just likes to snack. Do you really have to nickel-and-dime someone that young?”

“Let it go. Consider it your good deed for the day.”

I changed containers. I moved my lunch to different shelves. I even taped my name beneath the lid.

Nothing worked.

Eventually, Kelsey stopped pretending it was an accident. She polished off my lunch, then had the nerve to complain.

“Maya, could you bring something a little fancier next time? I’m getting tired of this stuff.”

I looked at the grease around her mouth, then pressed a hand to my aching stomach.

Smiling, I nodded.

Then I placed the client’s outrageously expensive caviar in the refrigerator.

***

At one o’clock that afternoon, the click of a glass lid came from the break room.

Kelsey stood with her back to the door, pinching a piece of beef between her fingers and lifting it toward her mouth.

“That’s mine.”

Her hand jerked, and the beef dropped back into the container. After two seconds of surprise, she smiled.

“Maya, you scared me. Can’t a girl get a snack around here?”

I walked over and turned the lid toward her.

I had rewritten MAYA CARTER on a strip of white tape that morning. The letters were nearly an inch tall.

“Last time, you said you couldn’t see my name on the side. Can you see it now?”

She blinked innocently. “I just finished a ton of work. I was so hungry I wasn’t thinking.”

I pointed to the black lunch bag on her left.

“Then how did you know to move Derek’s lunch out of the way?”

Her smile froze. A second later, she pushed the bag back where it had been.

“I was making room for you. Why do you always assume the worst?”

I looked down at my lunch.

Only three steak bites were left. The green beans had been pushed onto the roasted potatoes, and the whole container looked like someone had picked through it.

I had gotten up at six to make it.

Kelsey rubbed her stomach and switched to a wheedling tone.

“You’re such a good cook. Eating your food is the highest compliment I could give you.”

“If I ever need validation, I’ll enter a cooking competition.

“Now give me my lunch.”

She handed over the container with a theatrical pout.

Kelsey spoke before I could when we returned to our desks.

“Everyone, tell me if I’m wrong. I ate two pieces of Maya’s beef, and she interrogated me like a criminal.”

Several coworkers looked up. Our supervisor, Derek Cole, glanced at me from behind his monitor.

“Maya, we can discuss lunch after work. Is the client workflow ready?”

My grip slowly loosened around the container.

When Kelsey first joined the company, she bought me a coffee. I returned the favor by sharing my lunch once.

After that, “Can I try some?” became her favorite phrase.

She took a sip of my yogurt drink and left the bottle empty.

She tried one piece of fruit and left nothing but the pit.

Eventually, she stopped asking altogether.

I had told her I didn’t make much. I had also told her I had stomach problems and needed to eat on schedule.

Every time, she nodded solemnly. The next day, she took my food again.

That afternoon, I put the small strawberry cake I had bought for overtime into an opaque food container with two lids.

I placed it on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator and wrapped tape around the outside.

The label read [PERSONAL FOOD. DO NOT TAKE.]

Kelsey was standing in the doorway with a cup of water when she noticed it.

“Seriously? Who do you think is going to steal your food?”

“People who can’t read names.”

She set her cup down with a sharp crack and walked away.

At seven that evening, I finished checking the materials for our event. Rain tapped against the windows, only a few people remained in the office, and hunger gnawed at my stomach.

I opened the refrigerator.

The container was still there.

The tape had been sliced through. The strawberry was gone, and someone had scraped the frosting all the way to the bottom. Two bites of sponge cake sat in a puddle of melted cream.

Kelsey’s desk was already empty.

I took a picture and messaged her.

She quickly replied with a GIF of a puppy begging for food.

[You weren’t eating it, and I didn’t want it to go to waste.]

I replied: [I put it in a sealed container and labeled it DO NOT TAKE.]

The typing indicator stayed on for a long time.

Finally, another message appeared.

[Seriously? I ate a little food. Stop acting as if I robbed you.]

Standing in front of the refrigerator, I took screenshots of the entire exchange.

Beside my ruined cake sat Derek’s afternoon snack. Even the ribbon on the package was untouched.