I took the stairs two at a time. One minute to nine. Ten flights to go. All the way to the Fifteenth floor.

  And before you ask, why the rush? Why the drama? It’s just five minutes late, right? It's not the end of the world. That’s how you know you’ve never worked corporate.

  I slammed my palm against the glowing “15.” Sweat ruined my stunning good looks, which, for the record, was a job qualification here. Now I looked like roadkill in a tie. Utter shit, and it wasn't even a Monday.

  But on the other side of wardrobe hell waited the only man who shouldn’t have been there: a face I’d never seen in nine years. An incompetent penis in a suit. A dick-cheese come to life.

  He used to haunt me through a monitor on wheels --- a remote little rodent. Today, the rat had come in person. I could smell his brown-stained fingers from across the lobby. Barbara had warned me once about those fingers --- right before she got distracted wetting her own.

  Geoff glared. Maybe he knew. Then again, everyone knew Barbara’s legs were an all-you-can-eat buffet. A bit dusty, like an old VHS tape, but---

  “You’re late,” the creature slurred.

  It sounded better on Teams --- compressed, dry. This had a wet spray. I wiped my chest and regretted it. The goo was rodent pus, and the skin under my fingers crawled.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Don’t be silly,” I said, doing my best not to strangle the man, “Five minutes is basically---”

  “I’m going to have to report this,” Geoff interrupted.

  My hand just started to itch. The sight of his lips flapping the words like a fish, that nonsense ringing like a drum.

  Me? My record was immaculate. And I would make sure it’d stay that way.

  “Geoff,” I called. “My good buddy. My pal.”

  The rat sneered. “You slept with my wife, you reptile.”

  Oh. So he did know. That made things awkward.

  For nine years, I kept it clean. Nine years smiling, shaking hands, pretending not to have my grip on that woman’s leg. That should count for something. A medal. A bonus. A promotion. I was always quite the actor.

  But Geoff, being well... Geoff, just held that glare. Standing there like the company’s ceremonial rat, clutching his moral badge. And I sighed.

  “Before you file anything,” I slithered, leaning in, “could you ask Barb if she left her edible bra in my shower?”

  That sent his face red. Then he lunged; clumsy, ugly, and predictable. His pudgy hand closed on my collar. The top button of my suit popped off, pinged to the floor, and fell into the narrow oxygen between us.

  I really liked that suit.

  I guess playtime was over.

  Step, step, step. Click, click, click. The gears turned.

  The printer’s hum. The same health-and-safety poster I’d ignored a million times: Beware of the long cables and fragile glass.

  I looped the loose tie around his neck, a simple double knot. He sputtered. They always struggled. I gave the window a shove. He screamed. The printer followed, still churning. Laser ink sprayed like confetti as both of them fell into the street.

  The thud came after. Below, the office people scattered. I straightened my tie, checked my watch.

  I was five minutes late.