Page 43 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

"Les Misérables references." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Perfect. Just perfect."

"Do you hear the developers sing? Singing the songs of agile men..." The parade continues past my office, led by Keith wielding a ping pong paddle like a revolutionary flag.

"Should we..." Grayson gestures at the spectacle.

"Emma's handling it." I check my phone – no new messages from Mac, but three urgent emails from HR about "concerning revolutionary behavior in the workplace."

"You know," Connor observes, "for someone trying to maintain a business-only no-marriage pact, you spend a lot of time watching your corporate cultureconsultant's office."

I tear my gaze away from where Mac is visibly organizing her desk supplies. Again.

"I'm monitoring potential security risks."

"Right." Grayson rolls his eyes. "Because security risks usually involve longing glances and almost-kisses in meditation rooms."

"How did you?—"

“I told you. That Brad guy’s very detailed in his journal entries." Connor grins. "The man has a future in romance novels if tech doesn't work out."

My phone buzzes with a notification – another post from @MizzByteMyAlgos:

"TECH TEA: Corporate is scarily similar to Revenge of the Nerds. The football players are still going against the geeks. What's next, a show down underneath the goal post? #BroLogic #ThisIsWhyWeCantHaveNiceThings"

"Okay," Grayson snatches my phone, "either this blogger is in your office, or they've got scary good timing."

I look through the glass walls at Mac's office, where she's now color-coding file folders with terrifying intensity.

"Or maybe," Connor muses, following my gaze, "their timing isn’t so bad after all.”

Before I can respond, Keith's revolutionary parade circles back, now performing what appears to be an interpretive dance about sprint planning.

"One sprint more! Another sprint, another destiny..."

"That's it." I stand. "Emergency management meeting. Now."

"Want backup?" Grayson offers, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“You guys couldn’t just wait for our next boxing sesh, could you?”

"And miss this? Not a chance." He settles deeper into his chair. "Besides, I want to see if Keith does the barricadescene next."

I head for the door, then pause. "This conversation isn't over."

"About Keith's musical theater revolution or your obvious feelings for?—"

"Out." I point to the door. "Both of you. Go run your companies."

"Fine." Connor stands, straightening his jacket. "But this isn't over. Bachelor weekend is coming up, and you've got some explaining to do."

"Speaking of explanations," Grayson adds, "your consultant looks like she could use one of those."

Through the glass, I watch Mac drop an entire stack of files, scattering papers everywhere. It's so unlike her usual graceful efficiency that something in my chest tightens.

"Go," I repeat firmly. "Some of us have actual work to do."

"Right." Connor grins. "Work. Is that what we're calling making eyes at?—"

"Goodbye, Connor."

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