I check my wristwatch on the crowded Woolworth Building elevator.

“It’s after nine already,” I mutter under my breath.

Every square inch of this elevator car is occupied with moody office workers. They’re moody because it’s Monday, and every one of them heard my muttered complaint about how late in the morning it’s getting.

No, I didn’t get my quiet Saturday in the office. No quiet Sunday either—not at the office, anyway. This weekend was spent enjoying my scotch collection, and, for the first time ever, dreading having to go back to work.

Leave at five on Friday, return at nine on Monday, wearing an appropriately gloomy expression—this is what it’s supposed to be like to have an office job.

The elevator stops at the twentieth floor, the twenty-first, the twenty-second, and the crowd keeps thinning until I’m all alone riding up to my floor.

Yep, this is what the nine-to-five lifestyle is supposed to be like. It feels pretty fucking unnatural to me, though.

“Monday, Monday.” Samantha, the HR manager, laments the day of the week as I pass her in the hallway. It almost sounds like she’s singing a funeral dirge.

“Can’t trust that day.” I’m half responding to Samantha and half talking to myself as I walk down the corridor. I turn my head around to see her smiling at me weakly.

Samantha is the only HR employee in the entire firm. Her life must be a fucking nightmare these days.

She’s been here forever, though, and with her experience, I’m sure she’ll land a job somewhere else. Maybe somewhere better, probably somewhere friendlier.

The door to the boardroom is open, and there’s a janitor vacuuming the floor. The sound of the vacuum grows louder as I pass the door, drowning out the other usual office noises.

Walking past Barrister’s office, the sound of hearty laughter undercuts the roar of the vacuum. Barrister’s door is partway open. I don’t look in, but I can’t avoid the sound of Barrister and a few other executives laughing much too hard for a Monday morning.

Even for a weekday, the office is fucking loud this morning. My closed office door never looked so appealing.

Once I’m finally safe in my office—my second home—the old, thick walls of this building will filter out most of this obnoxious racket. Wherever I end up, I’ll miss this place.

They’ll probably end up converting this entire floor into condos, like the other upper floors of the building.

And my office will be fucking gone.

I turn the doorknob, ready to enjoy my workspace while it lasts.

When are they moving again?

“Why, good morning, Ethan!”

“What the fuck?”

My greetings are usually more cordial than that, but it’s not every morning I arrive to find one of my coworkers in my office, sitting in my chair, with her fucking bare fucking feet resting on my fucking desk.

“Not a fan of Mondays, are we?”

My face must the color of a fucking eggplant by now, but I respond with slow, careful words.

“May I help you, Kallie?”

“No.”

“Could you help me, then?”

Kallie shrugs.

“Mmmaybe.”

“Could you please take your feet off my desk?”

Kallie shrugs again and slides her feet back under my desk.

“Kallie,” I continue, feeling too fucking flummoxed to even be angry, “I don’t mean to be condescending, but you know that’s my desk, right? And this is my office...”

“For now.” Kallie stands up and walks toward me around my desk. At least she’s slipped her feet back into her platform sandals.

“Kallie, I don’t want to play games. I’m here to work. What the fuck is going on?”

Kallie ignores me and stays on her path, getting closer to me. She’s wearing a blue sundress, which is a little less unusual for the office than what she had on last time.

“What I see today proves it,” Kallie says after stopping about a foot away from me. “You have the best wardrobe of anyone in the office.”

“Uh, thanks. Why are you here?”

“Oh, come on, Ethan.”

Kallie’s eyes are on me, but I can’t stop looking at the surface of my desk—the surface that Kallie’s feet just left. I need to go take care of that shit.

“Come on, what?” I ask while making a beeline for my desk. “Be specific. I’ve got things to do today.”

“You haven’t heard the news?”

Digging though my bottom desk drawer, it takes me a few seconds to find the small aerosol can of disinfectant I keep there. I knew it would come in handy someday.

“There’s been a lot of news, Kallie,” I comment while spraying.

“Like what?”

My deep well of patience is just about fucking exhausted.

“Just tell me your news, Kallie.” I throw the disinfectant back in my desk, and I try not to slam the drawer.

“I’m your competition!”

Kallie grins merrily at me as I sit down at my desk.

“What does that mean? And be specific, please.”

“I’m up for the position in Basel!” Kallie’s chirpiness is downright disconcerting. “The two-year contract! And there can be only one of us, you know.”

My first instinct is to call bullshit, but who the fuck even knows anymore.

“Who told you that?”

“John!”

“Barrister?”

“Just this morning. Leroy was there too!”

“Rosen?” Who calls these people by their first name? I doubt their wives even do that.

“Kallie...I think I might have been misinformed. Are you a hedge fund manager?”

“Not yet.”

“So, you have no experience with hedge fund management.”

It’s time to call bullshit on this, which is what I’m trying to do. Kallie’s silence and her unceasing grin are telling me that she’s full of it.

“This has been fun, Kallie, but I’ve got—”

The office door swinging open interrupts my dismissal.

“John! Leroy!” Kallie greets Barrister and Rosen with her enthusiastic smile. “I was just telling Ethan that I’m his competition.”

Holy shit, I think Kallie might live somewhere outside reality.

“Yes,” responds Barrister. “Thanks for delivering the news.”

I nod silently, because what the fuck? Is he humoring her?

“Okay,” I say finally. “What in the world is happening?”

“We’ve come to the conclusion that Ms. Fern...that Kallie is a worthy candidate for the hedge fund manager position in Basel.”

I nod again at Rosen’s words. A worthy candidate.

“We’re in competition?” I ask.

“How many times to you need to be told, Barrett?” Barrister growls.

This is really happening, I guess. What the fuck else is new?

“Kallie, how much experience with hedge fund management did you say you had?” I’m not even trying to be antagonistic. I’m just making sure I understand this correctly.

“Ms. Fern has a BA in economics from Hunter College,” Rosen responds.

“With a solid grade point average,” adds Barrister.

“I like to call it ‘Cunter Hollege,’” Kallie says proudly.

Whoa.

Barrister and Rosen sure enjoy that joke. Their robust, executive laughter fills my office. The sound is so intense, I can almost smell the cigar smoke and brandy.

Just as the laughter starts to die down, Barrister chimes in with a quip of his own.

“Didn’t your wife go there, Rosen?”

Rosen, Barrister, and Fern break into unrestrained fits of laughter.

“It is a prestigious school, Barrister,” Rosen gets out between laughs. “Being your mother’s alma mater!”

As I sit, watching quietly from my desk, the three guests in my office dissolve into wild hysterics.

“Hey, watch out for this guy!” Kallie shrieks, her face red from laughing.

Watch out for this guy? Fucking really?

It works. Kallie’s comment adds fresh fuel to the laughter. Tears, honest-to-fucking-goodness tears, are rolling down Barrister’s face.

I’m almost envious for about a second. I’ve never laughed that hard in the office or had that much fun at work.

But despite the tears and red faces and near-falling over, it just doesn’t seem real. I feel like I’m watching a play in my office, and the actors know their parts very well, but boy are they overdoing it.

Rosen is almost ready to collapse, his hand gripping Barrister’s arm for support.

Just like that, with Rosen still leaning on Barrister, the two executives leave my office, guffawing their way into thecorridor.

Fern stays planted where she is. The smile doesn’t leave her face, but the laughter drains so quickly from her eyes that I almost fucking gasp.

And I am not usually a gasping man.

Kallie Fern doesn’t say another word. I watch her cross her arms, and smile.

That was indeed a performance I just watched, or part of one.

Kallie doesn’t have the experience I do, and she doesn’t have an exceptional track record going back years. But she’s picked up on the culture and the language of the firm’s upper management almost instantly.

She knows just what to say, no matter how ridiculous it is, and when to say it.

As for me, I’ve always been more of a lone wolf within the company. I shine when speaking with investors and with lenders, but I was never interested in ingratiating myself with the inner circle of upper management.

Looking satisfied, Kallie leaves my office, closing the door behind her.