Fallen Queen

~ C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - S I X ~

It's in our nature to partake in futile gossip and lend an ear here and there- after all, what harm can it do? Whether it's workplace chatter, the sharing of family news or group texts between friends, it's inevitable that everyone who talks, well, talks about other people. People tend to think of gossip as synonymous with malicious rumors, put-downs or the breathless propagation of a tabloid scoop. It's just random talk-of-the-town going on and on between people that leads to one intensifying a very trifling matter; the cycle just goes on. People just need a topic to turn into scandalmongers, and the volatility of these matters change faster than a human mind can register. As a bartender, if you know how to serve the best assortment of drinks, the tips are yours. As a horde master, if you know how to provide people with newer, exciting stuff to talk about, they move on no matter how conspicuous the previous occurrences were.

I admire how Wolfe uses more brain and less money to do so. Not the typical modern-day billionaire who thinks money can substitute for the knowledge of how many beans make five, yet where's the fun in that? Be flawed and fabulous, because perfect is non-existent and normal is boring. 

Enough praising Wolfe for the day. Back to being arch nemeses.

I rip open a packet of chocolate filled cookies and munch on one while working on the financial plans for our newly acquired media group. Ten minutes through at work and I start using 'Fuck' like a comma. What can I even possibly do? Stupidity comes in all shapes and sizes, some even come dressed like people!

The door swings open. I sigh in disappointment. "Can't you at least knock, for the love of God?"

"It's not like I'll run into you using your darling vibrator, will I?" He grins at me and strides inside without an ounce of seriousness. I make a sardonic expression and get back to my work. He comes over to my side and watches me work for a few seconds before turning back and leaning on my side of the table, facing me. "Aren't you going to ask me to sit?" He asks.

"Should I?" I ask him half-heartedly.

"Ay, Achelois Circe," he almost says in a complaining voice, "I'm your boss. Show me some damn respect, man," he mutters and sits down in the chair in front of my table.

"If you were already going to sit without me asking," I lift my eyes from the screen and throw a scornful expression at him, "Why bother me with weird questions and act like a fucking drama queen?"

"There it is, again," he kicks up a fuss again, "That attitude. Mend it soon."

I scornfully mutter and he clicks his tongue. I keep on typing under his heavy stare, until I finally grow sick of it. "Are you done admiring me?" I catechize sarcastically. He lets out a grim composed of laughter and cursing. I roll my eyes and flick my eyes back to my laptop until I notice him slapping two envelopes on the table for a split second. I eye him warily as I take them in my hand- he nods his chin, asking me to proceed. My eyes flicker in dubiety as I notice one of them in Wolfe's name, the other in mine. Sneaking a curious look at him again, I proceed to open the unopened black envelope bearing my name in golden letters on it. My eyes dance throughout the letter in a matter of a couple of minutes.

"What does this mean?" I ask him in a cynical tone, tossing the envelopes back onto the table and crossing my arms. He shrugs, "Exactly what you think it means," he stretches his arms and yawns, leaning forward, "An alumni meet."

"This hasn't happened before," I murmur hoarsely, "Isn't this a bit too odd?"

"A bit?" He laughs satirically, "This is way too sneaky, okay? An alumni meet organized by Harvard, sent out to all the batches present when we were freshmen," He stands up, pulling the lapels of his custom tailored expensive-as-fuck suit together.