“Looks like another occurrence, Ayla,” a delighted Teri Palermo announced, as Ayla clocked in three minutes late.

The last minute blowjob would cost her a two-day suspension from work, a fact of which Teri was more than eager to remind Ayla. “You know what that means! Sus. Pen. Sion! Two days. That means two days with no pay. Tsk tsk. I thought you loved your little boy, Ayla. Don’t you want to provide for him? You look like shit, by the way.”

Ayla had reached her limit.

“Teri, if being late is an occurrence, and a suspension, what would happen if I told you to go fuck yourself?”

Teri was stunned, caught completely off-guard. Her mouth moved, but no sounds came out.

“Good luck finding husband number seven or eight, or whatever it is these days, when you look like the Joker’s twin sister because of all the bad Botox and permanent makeup.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ayla noticed co-workers peering over the top of their cubicles and around corners, wide-eyed.

Teri still struggled to compose herself, pointing at the work badge hanging from a lanyard around Ayla’s neck while she mumbled nonsensically.

“I… you c-can’t… I’ll…”

“What? This? Here, take it.” Ayla pulled the lanyard over her head and threw it at her manager. “I never want to see you or this building again. And if you ever mention my son again, you better pray you never run into me outside of this building.”

Two men in blue company security shirts came rushing up, flanking Ayla. “It’s time to go, Ms. Murray,” the smaller one, Angelo, said. He’d always had a smile and wave for Ayla, and she suspected he had a bit of a crush on her. He had a job to do, and she didn’t begrudge him.

Teri burst into tears amidst muffled applause from the cubicles behind her.

As Ayla crossed the threshold of the building for the final time, security in tow, Angelo hurried his pace to get near enough to whisper in Ayla’s ear.

“That was legendary. She deserved every word of it. Sorry you’ll be losing your job. Good luck, Ayla.”

“Thanks, good luck to you, too,” Ayla said as she distanced herself from the blue shirts and her former place of employment. It wasn’t until she reached her car and drove away that it occurred to her that her outburst, as good as it felt, had cost her the money that paid most of her bills. When she could afford to pay them.

“Shit!” Ayla exclaimed, banging her steering wheel with both hands. “Not smart, girl.”

Meanwhile, Mick’s morning had run into an obstacle of its own; his mother.

After dropping Ayla off and sharing a fantastic kiss, he’d made the call he’d been dreading.

“Hello, Mum,” he said when she answered her phone.

“Mickey! You’re in London, then?”

“Not exactly. I’m still in Las Vegas. Change of plans. You’re going to be visiting me instead.”

“Well, that’s a load of shite,” Bev Merryweather countered. “I’ll do no such thing. Now stop taking the piss and tell me the truth.”

“I cashed in my ticket. I bought a new one. You leave first thing in the morning.”

“Why on Earth would I want to visit that Godforsaken desert?”

“I hesitate to tell you this, because it’s going to require tact and diplomacy, but there’s somebody here who you need to meet. And he’s not going to be flying to Sheffield anytime soon.” Mick sped past each of the two exits that would make the most sense to get him directly home. He wanted to drive. To get out into the desert and be alone with his thoughts, once his conversation with his mum ended.

“Then I guess we shan’t be meeting, since I won’t be getting on a plane anytime soon. Does it give you great pleasure to disappoint an old, lonely woman like this?”

Free from traffic, a straight, open road ahead of him, Mick shut his eyes and stepped on the accelerator. He kept them closed for a beat of his heart, and then a second, before speaking.

“Mum, I thought you’d be excited to meet your grandson.”

“Grandson? Hah! If only my only son thought highly enough of me to give me one. That’s a laugh.”

“I’m serious. His name is Preston. He’s six years old. I’ve only just found out about him. He looks just like Frankie.”

Silence.

Followed by an intense wailing from the Sheffield end of the line.

When Bev Merryweather had composed herself enough to speak, she had a million questions for Mick.

He assured her that everything was as he suggested, and that he looked forward to seeing her.

Bev couldn’t get off the phone quickly enough. She had a hair appointment to make and a trip to the department store downtown to make, to buy a new outfit. It’s not every day one becomes a grandmother, and any grandmother worth her salt should look her best for the occasion. Especially one acquainted with the Queen herself.