I need to see what else is out there.

Hindsight

There is a spring in your step as you make your way back into the office Monday morning. The bagels taste fresher, the elevator muzak chimes edgier, the overcast skies betray a hint of cornflower blue. As Mondays go, this is one of the good ones.

What a weekend! The incredible events of Saturday night have barely left the forefront of your consciousness for a minute. As you make your way back to reality and the reports and checklists and data compiling before you, it’s still difficult not to smile. How? You haven’t a clue what made that wild night possible, but somehow you, Will Saxon, have become the kind of man who can get women like Avery and Ingrid.

Literally. Avery _and _Ingrid.

Ingrid neither called nor texted since – you never even got Ingrid’s number, nor gave her yours – and your only communication with Avery was a text notifying you that she had an early meeting today and would drive herself. You could be chivalrous about it and insist, but why? After all, this is the dawn of a new day. Yes, they’re amazing, and yes, you’d do it all again in a second with either or both. Ideally both. Still, you’re at Monarch Industries, and so long as your contract is in place (and you mean to milk this job for every sweet drop), you have a plethora of options all around you.

Avery and Ingrid? Notches on the bedpost. Incredible, sexy, fuckable notches, but notches. Who else is there? Somewhere in these walls is Jenna, a woman so easy she flashed her boobs within ten minutes of meeting you. She’s on your bucket list for sure. Maybe try to grasp beyond your reach and try your luck with that VP Amy? You seemed to hit it off. Beyond that, options and options and options for days. There’s something about this place. Sex is in the air.

That feeling lasts until around 10:15. A personal Monday best.

By noon, you’re shuffling toward the elevator with a weary sigh, on your way to the BMV to order a new license plate sticker. Exactly how anyone would want to spend the middle of their day, standing in line and paying fines to be allowed to use your own property. Fines you already paid the first time around. Maybe if you fill out the right form, you can get it reduced. At least Aubrey Merriman offered to comp you for this bullshit harassment, even if she can’t stand in line for you. Better than some bosses would do.

As you board the elevator, there are three other people inside it. One you don’t recognize but is so Monarch it hurts, a sharply pretty black-haired girl who looks too young to be working at a place like this, to say nothing of the partially visible neck tattoo being outside the norm for office fashion. The second is a man, tall and reedy, engrossed in reading something on his phone. The third, taking up every square inch of remaining space, is none other than Nolan King himself.

He lets the other two shrink into the corners to make room for you. As the doors slide shut, however, he gives you a sidelong look. “Wait, I remember you. You’re, I know this, the IT consultant, and your name is…” He snaps his fingers and at last points, his finger jabbing into your chest. “Something ethnic, I know it. Like… Fukushima, or… no, that’s not it. Something like that, though.”

You blink. “Will. Saxon.”

He laughs, far too much of a laugh for the limited space. “Will, right! You don’t even look… I should shut up before I get a suit on my hands, right? Why did I think Fukushima?”

“I mean, there was a reactor disaster, but…” You shrug, immediately wishing you’d kept your mouth shut. Not exactly the kind of thing you wanted the CEO to associate your name with.

“That’s gotta be it. Smart guy. Jenna’s buddy, right?”

“I… am?” You’re not sure what you meant that response to sound like, but the idea that he would file away that one fact yet not even your commonplace one-syllable name is pretty jarring.

“Yeah, now I remember you. She would not shut up about you for a while there. Good on you. Speaking of, now that I’m recalling the name, I heard you’re making quite the impression in general, eh?”

How was this all moving so fast? “I didn’t realize…”

“Oh sure. People think the CEO’s out of touch with the gossip, but we’re a tight little circle around here. Took half the ladies of the company out Saturday night, eh?”

Those other women in the group were also Monarch? News to you. Made sense though. Young, hot, horny. Sounded like Monarch women. “Only the one,” you assure him.

If the other two passengers in the elevator have any thoughts about the increasingly explicit conversation, they’re giving no sign of it.

“Not what I heard. Said you bagged some chick from accounting, that little blonde with the hot nerd girl glasses? I’ve seen her around. And then one of the maids? Sly dog. Hell, you’re Kujo, buddy, lady killer, right?”

You’re pretty sure Fukushima was a less troubling allusion. “Custodian, I think is the term, but… Well. A gentleman never tells, right?”

You catch the dark-haired woman smiling softly at you, but try not to notice. Make eye contact and it sounds like Nolan King will alert half the building before closing time! “Sure, sure. I hear you there. Could probably stand to learn a little restraint myself. Hell, don’t even know what I’m saying or who I’m saying it to half the time. I just go where Aubrey tells me, ya know?”

You chuckle, trying not to register how his bro-ly nudge knocks you right into the guy with the phone. He slips further into the corner somehow. At last, the elevator opens on two, and out steps Nolan King. He pivots, though keeps moving away from the elevator with blind faith that nobody will step into his path, and fires a few finger guns in your direction. “Keep at it, Kujo. Ow owwwww!” He’s still laughing at his impression when the elevator shuts.

“Quite a character,” you mutter sheepishly.

The man with his phone says nothing. The woman’s grin only widens. “So you’re some kinda player, huh?”

Half an hour later, after slogging through lunch rush traffic, you are reminded that the BMV is closed Mondays. You’re left with just enough time to swing through a drive-thru and pick up lunch and then hustle back to the office.

“Plate’s missing its sticker,” someone points out as you exit your car. You’re a block away from Monarch’s as ever overflowing lot, thanks to having to forfeit your space for the pointless errand, and not expecting to hear anyone. Pivoting, you see exactly who you expected to see.

“Yeah, well, tell that to the son of a bitch who stole it from me last week, right over there in _your _lot,” you snap back.

Brook arches an eyebrow coolly, seemingly oblivious to either of your implied accusations. “Nothing was reported to us.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “Would it have helped? Do you have some kind of sticker detection tool that would help you uncover it?”

“We have surveillance cameras. Might’ve seen something.”

“Shall we check, then?”

“Tape’s deleted after twenty-four hours if nothing’s reported.” She shrugs.

“Darn, I guess it remains a mystery.”

Brook unhooks a thick baton from her belt and taps it to the license plate a few times. “Still needs replacing, Mr. Saxon. Illegal to operate the vehicle without it.”

“I know that. I just went to the BMV to get a new one, literally half an hour ago.”

“Nice try. BMV’s closed Mondays.”

“I KNOW!” you roar in spite of yourself.

It’s Brook’s turn to fold her beefy arms. She might not be a looker like so many of the Monarch women, but she's got muscles for days. “No need to raise your voice, Mr. Saxon. Are we going to have a problem?”

You take a deep breath and remind yourself there’s nothing to be gained from picking a fight with her. “No.”

“Other than your missing sticker, that is. Still have to write a citation for that, Will. In the manual.”

Your teeth grit together. “You know you aren’t a real cop, right? You’re just a glorified parking lot attendant! Why do you even care if my car has a sticker! I’m only here because I work for _your _boss, Monarch Industries! Is it in the manual to piss off contractors doing important and necessary work for your own company, Brook, since we’re apparently on a first freaking name basis here!”

Her hands move to her hips. “My folks call me Brook, my friends Brooklyn. ‘Officer Diamond’ to you.”

“Oh no, I called you Brook, better write me a citation for that, too, huh? Huh, Brook? Is that in the manual? Thou shalt not call the toy cop who signs her own name as Brook, Brook? Whatcha gonna do? Report me? Because I have news for you – I just spoke with Nolan King himself not two hours ago, and he seems to think I’m pretty hot shit around here! What do you think he’s gonna think if he hears you’re pissing off his new guy?”

You’ve overplayed your hand and then some. You know that. You can only hope that she doesn’t.

After a staredown, one which you feel sure you’re losing, she at last stands aside, clearing the sidewalk for you. “By all means, Mr. Saxon. Have a nice day. Sir.” She does something with her lip, then. A lick? A bite? Chewing on it to keep her tongue in check? It passes too quickly for you to be sure.

“Oh. Well… you too. I suppose.”

You hurry past her, back into the refuge of your temporary office building. Glancing back, you see her eyes are still on you as you make your way inside. When you come back to your car that evening, there’s no ticket in sight. No sticker either, but no ticket.

What a day! As much as you had your head in the clouds that morning, at least you kept your wits about you for a moment here and there throughout the day. After all, at least…

We're mixing it up with Decision Time this installment. Any and everyone can come on down and vote. The poll is up on my patreon, though you do not need to be a patron to vote. As we keep going, I'll do an occasional post that's patrons only, too, so keep your eyes peeled for announcements.

Without further ado, your choices:

• At least you got the number of the hottie with the neck tattoo.
• At least you worked up the nerve to ask for Jenna’s last name from Nolan King.
• At least you earned a bit of respect from “Officer Diamond.”