LEO
Ispeed walk through the lobby, nodding at Carl, the security guard. He looks at his watch and gives me an “oh shit” look. I’m late. I’m always late. Mal hates when I’m late. Thorin… he doesn’t care. As long as I get everything done, it doesn’t bother him if I’m less of a nine-to-five guy and more of an eleven-to-the-middle-of-the-night partner.
Slinging my cross-body laptop bag behind my back, I dash up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. The elevator takes fucking forever in this building. I pause outside our office, panting just a bit as I straighten my tie.
“You’re late.” Thorin’s gruff voice makes me jump. I turn to eye him. Jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket. That’s his uniform. But the bag slung over his shoulder tips me off.
“You’re one to talk. At least I got here before you.”
He grins and pushes me forward. I smack his hand and open the door. Gladys waves at me from reception. Normally I’d stop and say hi, but Thorin puts his hands on my shoulders, steering me toward the office we share with Mal.
We tried working in a conventional office space, each of us in our own corners with doors and intercoms and everything. But that’s just not our process. We moved back and forth between the offices all day long, running from one place to another and, in the end, we ended up working in the break room every day.
When the three of us split off to open our own agency, the open office space was Thorin’s idea, and I have to admit, it was a good one. After years of corporate work, it felt wrong giving up the corner office I worked so hard to get, but this is better. Plus, it still has that fresh paint smell.
Mal’s at his desk, no surprise there. What is shocking is his lack of response to our tardy arrival. We usually get scolded like kids who skipped homeroom, but not today. He’s typing furiously, eyes glued to the screen. He hears us though, because he raises one finger, forbidding us to interrupt him.
Thorin shrugs and tosses his jacket at the overflowing coat rack. It hangs on—barely—making him grin like an idiot. He sets his motorcycle helmet in its dedicated cubby and heads to the Keurig.
I’m too curious about whatever Mal is buried in over there. Sneaking up behind him, I read the email over his shoulder.
…immediately thought of you three. They want a boutique marketing firm. Small and focused on socials…
“That sounds promising,” I whisper, making Mal jump in his chair.
“God dammit. Why do you insist on sneaking around like that?” he growls, making Thorin laugh.
“I can’t help it if I’m light-footed.” I shrug. “We can’t all be as stompy as you.” Lifting my chin toward the screen I ask, “Scroll up, what’s the company?”
“No clue,” Mal grumbles, giving us an annoyed look as Thorin comes to read over his shoulder too. “You jackasses were CC’d, go read it at your own desk.”
“Why?” Thorin grins. “You’ve already got it pulled up.”
“Well, they won’t tell me the name of the company.” He shuts his monitor off.
“So?” I ask.
“So, I’m not going to a meeting blind.”
“It's a client,” I remind him. “You know, those people who pay the bills and keep the lights on?” Mal rolls his eyes, but even he can’t be that rigid. “Mal, seriously. Set the meeting. We’re taking it. I don’t care if they want us to hock electric cock rings, we need this.”
He doesn’t answer, but I watch as he opens the laptop back up and hits the reply all button. “This better not be electric cock rings,” he growls.
“Maybe it’s not!” I tell him cheerfully, smacking him on the back.
I’m at my desk hours later, re-touching a stock image, pixel by painful pixel, when Mallon’s voice booms through the office. “Our mystery meeting is set at five pm tomorrow evening. There you go! I put it on the calendar!” His tone is decidedly salty, but we need all the clients we can get. “You’re welcome!”
“Thank you!” I call back.
Thorin gets to his feet, stretching loudly. “I need to blow off some steam.”
I lean back in my chair, ears perking up. I could definitely blow off some steam. “Sin?” I ask. He nods, raising his eyebrows at Mal, already shuffling his papers into a messy stack.
“So, you’re just going to have a seven-hour workday?” he asks. I’m ahead on everything, and I know Mal is too, but that doesn’t stop him from being a dick.
“You want to sit and stare at the wall for the next hour? Or do you want to go find a rope bunny and spend the rest of the night making her come?”
Mallon clicks his monitor off, getting to his feet before I can even save and close my project. “You make a valid argument,” he says, heading toward the exit.