"Venice, can't you wear the blue dress? I like that one on you."

"Why do you alway side with her? I never get to wear things that are actually in fashion."

"You wore the green suit to—"

"Not helping, Marizza."

Marcus shook his head, glancing at the phone. "I can call back," he offered.

"Don't you dare leave me alone with these harpies," Kurt said. "Ow. Did you just bite me?"

"You called me a harpy."

Smothering a laugh in his hand, Marcus flipped to another page of the report he was supposed to be reading. Robert Parker had sent it down for him to take a look at, ostensibly to mark places where things could be improved.

The phone call crackled as something crashed to the ground.

"That is enough. You, go to your room. You, clean up this mess before Mama sees it," Kurt said, his voice raised to just below a shout. Whining rose and fell as a door shut firmly. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"You know," Marcus mused, "I have a big family, but even I don't get you and your sisters, Kurt."

He laughed. "Spaniards, man. So what's this about the job?"

"Do you ever get the feeling that no one is actually listening to you?" Flipping to another page, Marcus ran his highlighter over a random section of text.

"All the time," Kurt said. "You think they're not taking you seriously?"

"Something like that. It's been almost a month, and not a single one of my suggestions has been implemented." Marcus capped the highlighter and dropped the report into his out tray. "I have one meeting a week, and the rest of the time I might as well be playing solitaire."

Kurt hummed. "You said they were all older guys. Maybe it's just taking a while to get them to come around."

"Maybe." Marcus pulled up his schedule again, staring at the hours and hours of empty time. "They're all very helpful and cheerful in the meetings, but..."

"But what?"

"I get the feeling there's something I'm missing. Some kind of inside joke." He got to his feet, crossing to the window. His office was impressive, but with the building crammed into the middle of the city, the view was mostly of other buildings and the roof of the parking garage.

"Marcus," Kurt said, his voice serious, "you've only been there for two months. I'd be worried if there weren't things you didn't get."

Marcus sighed. He wasn't sure how to explain it. Maybe it was all in his head, but he felt like every time he entered the room, conversations stopped. And there was something about his award...

"They keep bringing up my reputation, how good it's going to be for the company. They insisted on putting that ugly award that I got out in the main lobby on display. Do you have any idea how hideous that thing is?" He ran a hand through his hair, then had to smooth it down again. "Am I losing my mind?"

"I've seen pictures," Kurt said dryly. "Look, this company has been around for almost a hundred years now, and they're doing fine. Why would they need you to bolster their reputation?" Something crashed in the background again, and he sighed. "I don't think you're losing your mind, but I do think you're stressed out and in a new situation. Remember that first year after college?"

Wincing, Marcus forced a laugh. He'd almost had a nervous breakdown the first year without the safety net of his friends to keep him from working too hard. "You might have a point."

"There's nothing wrong with hating change," Kurt said. "You'll get used to this place, and this time next year, we'll all be visiting you and your new boyfriend from Accounts."

Marcus choked. "How the hell did you know about that?"

In the quiet that followed, Marcus could hear people shouting, loud thumps, and one or two crashes. "Did you just curse at me?" Kurt asked. "Did Marcus 'Watch Your Language' Stern just curse at me? Now I'm intrigued."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Marcus groaned. "Nevermind. Please. It's just stress."

"No, no. See, I was joking, but now I'm curious. Do you actually have a boyfriend in Accounts?"

"No?" Even to Marcus's ears it came out as a question.

"You do!" Kurt crowed, loud enough to make the line shiver with static. "Oh, this is great."

"He's not my boyfriend," Marcus hissed.

"But there is a he. I want to know everything." There was a burst of noise for a moment. "Venice, I swear to Mama if you break another one of my dishes, I'm sending you back to your husband. Both of you, keep it down." The door closed on a scramble of shrieks, and Kurt chuckled. "Oh, this is going to be good."

"No, it isn't," Marcus said, crossing to the coffee machine that had come with the office. It was smarter than he was, with the capabilities to make just about any drink he could think of. He selected a decaf macchiato since he definitely didn't need any more caffeine. "There's nothing to tell."

"I'll be the judge of that. Start with the beginning of the nothing. Is he cute?"

Against his will, Marcus smiled. "No."

"Liar. How did you meet him? I mean, obviously he works in your building, but did you catch his eye across a crowded lunch meeting? Come on, man. What's the story?" Kurt whined melodramatically.

"Don't you have a stock market to check?" Marcus asked dryly.

"You say that like I can't multi-task. Who's the guy?"

"There is no guy."

"Who's the guy?"

"There is no guy."

"Who's the guy?"

"What are you? Five?" Marcus threw his hand in the air, laughing. "Fine. His name is Gio, and he works in Accounts Receivables. We met at my hotel the night of the award banquet, and he is not my boyfriend."

"Why not?"

"Because he's an employee? Because I don't have time for a relationship right now? Because he's not interested?" Throwing himself back down into his chair, Marcus checked his email again. Still empty.

"Interesting," Kurt said gleefully. "Let's see... The employee thing is tricky, I'll give you that. I'll come back to that. You just told me that you have nothing to do at work, so I can't imagine why you don't have time to sext some hot guy."

"I—"

"Still," Kurt continued, ignoring Marcus's sputtering, "the most interesting statement there is that 'he isn't interested.' Not that you aren't interested. He isn't." He hummed, and Marcus could just imagine him with his feet propped up on his desk, leaning his chair back until it threatened to dump him on the floor. "You're not the kind of guy to go all 'woe is me' over the untouchable guy, so that means that you know he's not interested for a fact. Did you sleep with him?"

"How do you come up with this stuff?" Marcus asked, feeling the flush burn its way up his neck and into his ears. "No!"

"You did!" Kurt sounded delighted. "Holy shit, you slept with him."

"I hate you," Marcus grumbled, spinning his chair around so that no one looking in would see him pouting like a toddler.

"So he hit it and quit it? That's tough, man."

"Please stop," Marcus said. "We met at the hotel, and I slept with him, yes. He left the next morning. Neither of us knew we both worked at Bainbridge and Parker until I started the next week."

"Technically, you didn't. Both work there, I mean," Kurt said.

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Technically, we do now. I already assured him that I don't expect anything else from him."

"Of course you did," Kurt muttered. "How are you so sure this guy doesn't want to go out?"

Getting back to his feet, Marcus paced back to the window, pressing his forehead against the cold glass. "I'm not so incompetent that I can't tell when a guy is interested."

Down on the concrete, a cluster of people filtered across the roof of the parking garage. Even from this high, he could see them laughing and calling goodbyes to each other. "I didn't realize it was so late," he said, glancing at his watch. "I should head home."

Kurt snorted. "I'm not letting you go that easy. What's this guy's full name?"

"Not telling," Marcus said, sticking his tongue out at the glass. The flood of people was getting thicker, and cars were starting to disappear down the ramp. "I really should get going."

"You know I'm going to find out," Kurt said.

"Good luck," Marcus singsonged as he hung up.

He stayed there, forehead against the glass and watched people filter out, on their way home to families and pets. He thought about getting a cat, about whether the allergy shots were worth it to have something warm waiting on him at home.

The last few stragglers were trudging across the concrete when he finally straightened up. These people were as exhausted as he felt, no cheerful goodbyes or laughing waves. Just one foot in front of the other, their jackets and bags clutched close.

His eyes narrowed as one of the figures made its way across to a car that Marcus would have consigned to a junkyard, a familiar messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Gio walked like the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders, each step getting heavier. When he got to the car, it took him a long time to get in, although at that distance, Marcus couldn't be sure of why.

Grabbing his jacket, Marcus kept one eye on the car, waiting for Gio to get that junker going before he left. For a long time, the car just sat there, but finally the lights came on and the car started to back out of the parking spot.

Relieved, Marcus headed for the elevator.

Without thinking about it, Marcus headed right out the lobby doors, then stopped. His condo was the other direction. The Indian restaurant he wanted to try was this way, though. Ducking his head so that his burning cheeks were hidden below the collar of his light jacket, he strode quickly past the hulking shadow of the parking garage.

He was almost to the corner when the frustrated shout stopped him in his tracks.

"Goddamn piece of shit. Fuck!"

A horn went off a few times, and Marcus shook his head, an unwilling smile curling the edges of his mouth. Bounding over the low concrete wall, he took the stairs to the roof two at a time.

Gio's car, a term Marcus applied only loosely, hadn't made it much farther than what he'd seen upstairs. Stalled a good fifty feet from the ramp down to the next level, the hood was up and sending off a thin cloud of steam. Gio was slouched in the driver's seat, his head against the steering wheel and a series of very creative epithets spilling from his lips.

"Having problems?" Marcus asked, propping his hip against the wheel well. The steam didn't smell like anything but hot metal, so he wasn't terribly worried about the car suddenly bursting into flames.

It was worth it for the way the omega's defeated posture disappeared. Straightening up with a glare, he crossed his arms. "No," he said, his nose in the air.

Unable to resist the dare, Marcus glanced into the engine compartment and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, shut up," Gio said, getting to his feet. "I've got this under control. There's a crack in the hose, and I forgot to buy more radiator fluid." He slammed the door shut, but it popped back open with a metallic squeal. Gio slumped again, tipping his head back to stare at the sky. "I'm taking it to a mechanic after payday."

"That thing needs a garbage compactor, not a mechanic," Marcus said as he leaned over the engine block. "If I were to list the top twenty most urgent repairs that this car needs, the radiator hose would only be number five. Six. Maybe eight. Are you aware that your engine mount is cracked?"

"Yes," Gio snapped, "but not all of us get million dollar starting bonuses."

Marcus frowned, shifting uncomfortably. "I could—"

"I don't need your charity." Shoving past him, Gio stomped toward the stairs. It never ceased to amaze Marcus how heavily the shorter man could step when he wanted to. "There's an auto shop a mile or so down the street. I'll just go get some fluids."

"I could give you a ride," Marcus offered, straightening up and carefully nudging the car door closed. It shut with a gentle clunk, but he could tell the mechanism was on its last legs. "I know the shop you're talking about."

"You?" Gio spun around and stormed back over. "Don't pretend that you and your hundred dollar manicure have seen the inside of a car engine. I bet grease wouldn't dare stick to you."

Crossing his arms, Marcus tried not to show how much that stung. "I like cars," he snapped, thinking of his lovingly restored '57 Chevy that was safe in storage back East. "If my friends heard you say that about me," he added, trying to smile, "they would die laughing." Gio didn't so much as twitch, his patrician face twisted in a sneer. "I spent most of college under the hood of one car or another, and for a while I thought my nails were going to be permanently dyed black."

"I don't need your help," Gio growled, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

"Okay." He backed up until he could lean against the car. "I'll just wait here and make sure no one steals it."

Gio snorted. "If they want it, they can have it," he said, heading back toward the stairs.

Marcus crossed his arms against the encroaching chill of evening and sighed as Gio's dark hair disappeared into the stairwell. Tilting his head back, he stared at the sky. The sun was just starting to set, the wispy clouds overhead tinged with gold on the edges.

"What are you even doing here?" he asked himself, but there was no answer. Why was he always drawn to the omegas with sharp edges? Maybe it was his parents’ example, but he’d never been interested in the quiet, demure type.

His hands twitched with the need to be doing something, and he pushed himself off the car with a huff. Nothing short of a rebuild was going to get this car running smoothly, but it didn't hurt to take a look.

He lost track of time around the third time he cracked his knuckle trying to tighten a loose connection. There was oil under his fingernails again, and it felt better than he would have expected, even when there was just as much rust there too.

Crawling under the car, he used the light from his phone to check the hoses. The hoses weren't torn so much as they were disintegrating from age, and he grimaced as one of them crumbled to dust in his hand.

"What are you doing?"

Sliding out from under the car, Marcus grinned sheepishly up at Gio. "I got bored."

"You got bored," Gio said flatly. "Are you kidding me?" Hefting the jug of fluid with surprising ease, the omega slammed it down on the bumper. It shouldn't have been as sexy as it was.

"That's not going to help, one of the hoses down there is completely gone. Let me give you a ride home." Marcus got to his feet, brushing the dirt of the parking lot off his slacks. "I just live up the street, if you want to push this into one of the spots, I can—"

"No."

Marcus stared at the smaller man, confused. "It's no trouble. I can—"

"No." Crossing his arms, Gio narrowed his eyes until they were just a strip of hazel. "I don't need your help."

"The car isn't going to run without a—"

"Then I'll go back to the damned store and get one." He stabbed his finger into Marcus's chest hard enough to bruise. "Just because we slept together doesn't mean you get to boss me around. Get lost."

"I'm just trying to help you out," Marcus said, catching Gio's wrist and rubbing at the imprint of his fingernail.

"Didn't ask you to." Twisting his wrists free, Gio slammed the hood down and grabbed the bottle of fluids. "Get lost before I call security."

Confused, Marcus pressed a hand to Gio's shoulder. "Why are—" A firm shove displaced his grip, and he stumbled back a few feet.

"What part of go away are you having trouble understanding?" Gio asked, stomping around the end of the car.

If it were Cody, Marcus would have followed him, would have pestered him until the full story emerged. Because that was what Cody wanted him to do, learned through years of friendship and long talks in the middle of the night.

Gio was not Cody.

Biting his tongue, Marcus took a deep breath. "Nothing. You're right." He headed for the stairs, glancing back from the top step. Gio was glaring at him, so he waved and went on his way.

"So, I may have earned myself a sexual harassment suit today. —Marcus."

Typing with one hand, he leaned against the wall of the Indian restaurant as he waited for his takeout. His phone rang a few seconds later, but he sent the call to voicemail. He loved his brothers, but he didn't want to talk about this.

On the way back to his condo, he forced himself to keep his head down and not check if he could see dark hair over the edge of the garage wall.