Morthisal endured two days of tedium at Corsair Financial. The spreadsheets blurred together, and the meetings dragged on. He delegated most tasks to Willow and Ronny, who accepted their assignments. He had long since let the threads lapse as these two now followed his directions and understood his vision. They, in turn, bossed around a few other temps. It was an excellent arrangement.

  Friday morning arrived with a ping from his computer. A message from Jack Sweet requested his presence in the manager's office at eleven. Morthisal closed the notification and returned to pretending to work. What in the world could his pudgy supervisor want with him? Surely Thalindra had not whispered in Jack's ears? He had not seen or heard from her since their tryst over the weekend.

  At precisely eleven, Morthisal appeared at Jack's door.

  His desk was chaotic with papers, folders, and various office supplies. Stacks of documents teetered precariously, threatening to topple over at the slightest disturbance. A half-empty coffee mug, adorned with a dull motivational quote, sat amidst the disarray. It had left several faint brown rings on a loose piece of paper. Jack's head barely poked over one of his two computer monitors.

  "Come in." Jack gestured.

  Morthisal entered and sat in the chair across from Jack's cluttered desk. Jack held a phone to his ear and his free hand scribbled notes on a yellow legal pad.

  "No, that's not what we agreed to," Jack said into the phone. "The invoice shows a twenty percent increase from last month. We need to stick to the original pricing structure."

  Jack glanced up and mouthed "sorry" to Morthisal.

  "Look, just have your billing department call me back with the correct figures," Jack continued. "Yes. Thank you. Goodbye."

  Jack hung up and sighed. "Thanks for coming up, Vince. Sorry about that. Software vendor trying to squeeze more money out of us."

  "Ah. I hope you showed them who is calling the shots around here," Morthisal replied, using one of the many euphemisms that polluted this language.

  "You know it. Now, I'll keep this short," Jack said, folding his hands on the desk. "A few people in upper management have heard about your accomplishments with your team. They're considering you for a management position. Unfortunately, we've lost a few and need to promote from within. What do you think about that?"

  Morthisal straightened in his chair. "I am unsurprised. I already have much management experience."

  Jack laughed. "We didn't see that on your resume."

  Morthisal shrugged. "It was long ago. What would be involved?"

  Jack's quizzical look quickly vanished when Morthisal lightly tightened the thread. "Right. I had forgotten all about your previous experience. We do things a little differently here. There's a management training class starting next month," Jack explained. "Each one is an hour long, two days a week, for three weeks. You'd learn company policies, leadership techniques, conflict resolution—that sort of thing."

  "Very well," Morthisal said, but thought of the intricate nature of overcommunicating in this world. "I am appreciative of the opportunity. You are a wise man to select me."

  "Am I?" Jack laughed. "You seem so sure of yourself, Vince. You have worked for me for two years, and I had never observed a hint of management potential. You've really stepped up."

  "Why, thank you, Jack."

  "No worries. Good. Good. You have a good weekend, Vince," Jack said.

  "You, as well."

  Morthisal left Jack's office and wandered the floor. A sea of cubicles stretched before him, but several offices lined the perimeter. Some stood empty, their doors ajar. He paused at one, a corner office with large windows that overlooked the city. He pictured himself at the desk with minions scurrying to do his bidding.

  He turned to leave when Yvette Sterling rounded the corner. She wore a tailored charcoal suit that complemented her blonde hair.

  "Vince. How are you?" she asked, her face brightened with recognition.

  Morthisal bowed his head slightly. "Yvette. What an unexpected pleasure. I am well. I sincerely hope you are, as well." Her beauty struck him again, the sharp angles of her face and the cold intensity of her gaze. He didn't bother to reach for a thread. He knew it would be useless to even try due to a piece of curious metal in her skull.

  "I am, thank you. Are you still having issues with the coffee machine?" she said.

  "I have mastered the device and make use of it several times per day."

  "Right? That machine is the hardest working thing at Corsair."

  "You don't think the employees are hard working?"

  She laughed lightly. "I meant it as a joke. Why? What do you know? Oh, never mind. I probably don't want to know." She winked at Morthisal.

  "Eh."

  She tilted her head. "Any plans for the weekend?"

  Morthisal cleared his throat and said. "I do have plans tomorrow, another movie shoot. It will consume most of my day," Morthisal replied. "I hope to veg on Sunday," Morthisal emphasized the word 'veg', proud of his use of another euphemism.

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  Her brows shot up. "I'm sorry. A movie? Are you an actor, or do you hold one of those boom things, the mic?"

  "I am an actor. It is a small play-acting part. Nothing of consequence," Morthisal said with a dismissive wave. "I am replacing someone named Tommy Clayton Jr."

  Yvette blinked rapidly. "What's that now?"

  "My understanding is that he was an actor of some renown at one time."

  "You think? He was in the Ghoster movies in the '90s. God. He was so hot. I might have had a thing for him. How in the world are you able to replace him?"

  "He and the director had a falling out."

  Yvette blinked a few more times. "Okay. What kind of movie? Anything I might have heard of?" she asked with genuine curiosity in her voice.

  "A fantasy production. I portray a dark lord. The director seems to value my authentic approach to the role."

  "That's... unexpected. You work in finance by day and play villains on the weekend?" Yvette laughed. "I never would have guessed."

  "We all have a multitude of facets," Morthisal said.

  "You're right about that. Is it a hobby, or something you're pursuing seriously?" she asked.

  Morthisal shrugged. "It pays adequately and allows me to express certain aspects of my personality that remain dormant in this environment."

  "I'd love to see how a movie is made sometime," Yvette said. "Is it going to be in theaters?"

  "I doubt it will reach such heights. The production values are modest. The studio is near the waterfront."

  "That's not a conflict of interest with Corsair?"

  "I had not thought of that." Morthisal rubbed his chin. "I shall have to inquire. Thank you for pointing this out, Yvette."

  "You know, most people call me Ms. Sterling."

  "If that is what you prefer, I shall comply."

  "I don't really prefer it… Um. You're good. So, movies. Do you have a minute? We can go to the break room and get a cup of coffee. I'd love to hear more about the process and your role."

  Morthisal offered a smile. "Of course."

  Morthisal followed Yvette to the break room, his posture straight and confident. The room was empty, which suited him perfectly. The coffee machine hummed in the corner, and the scent of roasted coffee beans lingered in the air.

  "How do you take your coffee?" Yvette asked as she approached the machine.

  "I have peculiar tastes. I prefer the dark brew with excessive sweet cream," Morthisal replied.

  "Good for you. That stuff goes straight to my waist."

  Morthisal cocked his head to the side.

  "So tell me about Tommy Clayton Jr., what's he like?

  "He seemed to be a bit of an ass from my observation."

  Yvette snorted.

  "That's a shame. I always thought he would be nice. So about this movie role," Yvette said, and took down a pair of coffee mugs from the cabinet. "How did you get into acting?"

  Morthisal felt he should have made coffee for Yvette, but she had already taken the lead.

  "I stumbled into the role quite by accident. I inadvertently walked into an audition. Tommy Clayton Jr.'s performance was quite lacking as he attempted to act as a dark lord. I told the director so. Marty laughed and told me to try it. I believe they intended to make fun of me."

  "You just walked into a movie audition, like a boss, and demanded an audition?"

  "That is correct."

  Yvette handed him a steaming cup. He placed it on the counter and added a half dozen French Vanilla creamers. Her eyes widened slightly before she returned her attention to her own cup.

  Once he had mixed his concoction, they sat at one of the small round empty break room tables with Yvette directly across from him.

  "So after you blew them away, they offered you a job."

  "Yes, as well as a piece of the backend, as Marty called it."

  "Wow. So if the movie does well, you stand to make quite a bit of money."

  "I suppose there is a chance of that happening."

  "Well, tell me about this movie role," Yvette said, and took a sip of her coffee.

  "As I said. I portray the ruthless Dark Lord Morthisal. He wields power with a tall staff."

  "What is his motivation? What makes him a dark lord?"

  Morthisal sat back thoughtfully. "I suppose it is in his blood. His mother and father died quite young and left him blessed with the powers of necromancy. From those powers, he was able to communicate with them once I." Morthisal cleared his throat. "I mean he resurrected their rotting corpses."

  "Abandonment issues. I get that. Does this Morthisal guy wear a cape and have, like, an evil laugh?"

  "A cape? Alas, no. A robe is greatly preferred in this line of work."

  "You're funny. I can tell you take this role pretty seriously."

  "Indeed, though my portrayal is more nuanced. I draw upon my natural authority," Morthisal said, his lips curved into a slight smile.

  Yvette laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "I'm sorry, but I just can't picture you as a villain. You're so formal and proper."

  "I suppose that is precisely what makes my performance compelling," Morthisal said, pleased by her reaction. "The most effective villains maintain composure and dignity. Do they not?"

  "Politicians are good at that."

  Their conversation flowed easily for another ten minutes as Morthisal described the cheap sets and amateur production values. He enjoyed her company and appreciated her sharp questions and genuine interest.

  Eventually, Yvette glanced at her watch and stood. "I should get back upstairs. This merger won't negotiate itself."

  Morthisal remained seated as she walked to the door, his gaze following her graceful movements with undisguised appreciation.

  At the doorway, Yvette turned back. "Vince. Why don't you come up on Monday or Tuesday and tell me more about the movie? Do you know where my temporary office is located?"

  "I do not."

  "It's three floors up. I'll leave your name at reception so they know to let you in. Who is your manager? I don't want to get you into any trouble."

  "Jack Sweet."

  "Got it. I hope to see you next week."

  "Perhaps I can ask the director to allow you to visit the set."

  "Oh my god. I'd love that," Yvette said and her face brightened. "I've never been on a real movie set."

  "I suggest you temper your expectations."

  Yvette chuckled. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a business card, then walked back to the table and placed it before him.

  "This is my personal number," she said. "Please don't make me regret giving it to you."

  "Why would I regret that? This is an honor," Morthisal said as he carefully picked up the card.

  She stared at him and then lightly shook her head. "Goodbye, Vince," she said, then turned and left the break room.