Bashing Balls and a Flash Drive

            “What am I going to have to pay today?” Brent asks perched in his over-compensating chair.

            “Other than me?” I ask strolling in and taking a seat on his over-compensating desk.

            “I have to pay you?” he asks placing his dirty shoes next to me on his desk. I wouldn’t call Brent a manager or my boss, more like the banker. But if you see him in your neighborhood Chase, I would run. He’s darkly handsome. Stubble lines his hard features; his hair is as dark as midnight and always bed head beauty. Probably the only guy alive that can pull off the bed head look and not be accused of trying to look like Harry Styles or Robert Pattinson. I think it’s because Brent does it better.

            “No, but you have to pay me,” Dan says. He strolls in and leans against his arm placed on the desk behind me. “She got blood on my seats.” Dan wasn’t bad looking either, his dirty blonde hair waving in all different directions. Though, both of them were built.

            “Blame Brute 1 and Brute 2 then,” I say.

            “Why would I do that?” Dan asks and Brent silently wonders.

            “It’s their blood.”

            “Then what are you doing on my desk?” Brent asks kicking me off.

            “Cleaning the blood off of my coat,” I reply pushing off. I round his king-sized chair. I slowly bend my head down onto his laid back shoulders, bring my hands around onto his firm chest, and rub all the dirt, blood, and musk onto his nice white shirt.

            “Well now you’re definitely not getting paid.”

            “What about me?” Dan asks.

            “What did you do, you drove up under the window.”

            “You didn’t give me a chance to park.”

            “It’s not my fault you need to psych yourself up to perform.”

            “Ohhhh,” Brent coos.

            “I’m ready to go whenever you need me babe,” Dan says leaning forward to be square in my face.

            “How can a girl turn that offer down?” I ask leaning onto my arm to put my face into his.

            “They don’t,” Dan winks and smirks.

            “When Dan actually has the confidence to offer,” Brent interjects.

            Now it was my tern to coo “Ohhhhh.”

            “If we’re all done bashing balls, can we see what’s on this flash drive in the first place?” Brent asks moving towards his glass door. 

            “That would make my day,” I say pushing off of the desk. “But so would getting paid.”

            “I say amen to that,” Dan says pushing off of the desk as well.

            We follow Brent out of his office and downstairs to the computer farm. Who do we find in the center, none other than our technology cowboy. TechBoy if you will.

            “T. B. get your butt over here,” Brent shouts as he continues his brisk pace to the main monitor.

            T. B. runs like a lab rat in a race for the cheese. He made it in record time too. This time it is his turn to sit in the over-compensating chair in front of the over-compensating monitor. There must be a pattern with the men in this company. However, that’s the only similarity between T.B. and the other guys. He’s not built the same; he’s tall and lanky. His hair isn’t dark as midnight or beach sandy; it’s a dirty brown. “What do you guys need today?”

            “The information on this flash drive,” Brent says handing him the tiny plastic figurine.

            “May I ask why?” T.B. says taking it from Brent’s menacing hands.

            “I’m hoping you can tell us,” Brent says.

            “So it’s one of those cases.”

            “Yeah, it’s one of those.” Brent says.

            T.B. starts hastily typing away, green numbers and letters fly across the monitor.

            “You know you owe me a new shirt,” Brent says. We’re all still watching the monitor, hands folded across our chests, but we still manage to have the multi-tasking ability to snide towards one another.

            “Put it on my tab,” I retort.

            “Did you hear that Dan?” Brent asks.

            “Loud and clear Brent,” Dan replies.

            “What did you guys here?” I ask.

            “Progress,” they reply in unison.

            “Progress towards what, stupidity?”

            “No, to you in debt,” Brent begins.

            “Enough debt, more leverage,” Dan continues.

            “More leverage, more power in suggestion,” Brent picks up.

            “More power in suggestion, more payment options,” Dan follows.

            “Better chances of getting you to come to work in a bikini,” they finish together.

            “Sorry to crush your dreams, but I’m pretty sure my paycheck is 10x that shirt,” I answer.

            “Who said my new shirt was going to be a replacement of this shirt?” Brent asks.

            “I hate to end your guy’s delightful repartee,” T.B. interjects. “But we might want to get moving,” T.B. rises from his chair. He grabs a laptop nearby and the flash drive.

            “Why is that?” Dan asks.

            “Because they’re about to bomb our hideout.”