THE small Poplar home was so crowded with family and friends that the only choice left for Zed and Zelda was to sit on the sofa as happy well-wishers found them to give their regards and a steady flow of drinks. The twins had many birthday parties held in their honour, but as their mother had put it ‘What is the point of turning thirty if you can’t live it up?’

So, there they sat, an island of two, surrounded by those that loved them most. Their mother was busy in the kitchen, as always, despite Zed’s insistence that she should relax and enjoy herself. Several nieces and nephews ran wild, while their parents struggled to have even a moment with their siblings. Amongst the chaos, a multitude of friends swapped stories about the good old days of Uni. All in all, a pretty typical party with the Higgins’.

It always made him smile to see the house full like this. The family home had known its share of turmoil over the years, ranging from financial to personal loss, but the house had remained a constant, nonetheless. It was a physical reminder that, no matter the circumstance, they would always have it and each other. Yet another reason Zed worked so hard to defend its existence. To see the four worn but sturdy brick walls so filled to capacity made it all that more important to uphold.

After nearly an hour of trying to tell his sister the story, Zelda finally seemed up to speed enough to respond, though by now she was highly lubricated. Her speech was slightly slurred, and her Welsh accent was growing heavier by the moment. 'So, let me get this straight: your horrible, overbearing, ridiculous, self-centred, overly-critical, narcissistic, micro-managing, self-important, egomaniacal, patronising, ill-willed, self-serving, grasping, snotty, loathsome, snobbish—'

'Zel, as much as I love these descriptors, is there going to be a point somewhere, soon?'

She frowned, starting again. 'This cythraul has been putting you through shite for months, but it's suddenly fine with you because he gave you a crappy birthday card and called you pretty?'

Zed laughed. 'Well, no, it's not “fine”, but it just made me think I might have misjudged him, you know? Been too hasty in looking for a new job, just yet. The pay is pretty good, better than I've found so far. Plus, just one year working for that cythraul will look like ten years’ experience to anyone that knows him. I’m just saying it might not be a bad thing to stick around a bit longer. See if it pays off in the long run.'

'You're thirty, Zed, how much longer do you want to bum around doing nothing?'

'Hey, it's not nothing! I handle so much for that man, I’m basically doing his work for him. And I'm only three minutes and fifteen seconds older than you. Not like you're exactly a spring chicken, either.'

'I have a job in my career, thank you.'

'So do I!'

'No, you work in your career. There's a difference.'

Zed stared blankly at the wall for a moment before blinking slowly. 'Sorry, but I'm way too drunk to follow that logic.'

Zelda laughed loudly, resting her head on his shoulder. 'I'm just saying: you deserve better than working for Stuffy MacSnooty-Pants, sweetie.'

He pressed a kiss to his sister's hair. 'Love you, too, sis. Love you, too.'

'I will say one thing for the grumpy old sod.'

'And what's that then?'

She smiled, looking around at their family and friends fondly. 'He throws one hell of a party, even for “under three hundred pounds”!'

Zed laughed, not able to argue with that.

She relaxed into his shoulder and her drink. ‘So, what’s he look like, anyway? Like, if I had to fight him. Who would win?’

‘He would. Hands down. Maybe six foot two, fit, built like a tree, blonde…’

‘All right, you can stop drooling now, I’ve got the picture.’ With a sleepy yawn, Zel curled against her brother, giving him a delightful whiff of lavender from her hair. 'Ok, out with it. I've been waiting all week to hear! What are the latest tales of “the nightmare boss who’s built like a tree”?'

Zed grinned widely. 'Well, funny you should ask—’

'MR Higgins!'

'Mr HIGGINS!'

'Mr Higgins!'

'MR HIGGINS!!'

For nearly eight months now, Zachary Higgins had jumped out of his skin each time those words were screeched out of his employer's office. If he could admit one thing, it was that he was certainly never bored, though it quite nearly came at the expense of his sanity.

Today had been going well. That was, until MacIntire called for a coffee. After taking a tiny sip from the mug, he seemed to only barely resist the urge to spit the offending substance onto the floor. Much to his apparent distaste, he swallowed. 'God, was that black?'

'I— I’m sorry I—' forgot. The word died on Zed’s lips as he was interrupted.

'I only have black coffee on meeting days, Higgins,' he scoffed. 'Two sugars and cream on any other day. You’d do well to remember that.'

'Yes, Sir. I know that,' he assured him, speaking quickly to ensure he got a word in. 'I just—'

'Mr Higgins, if you could dump this and fix me a proper coffee, I’d be much obliged.' MacIntire held the mug at arm’s length, as if the very sight of it caused him as much displeasure as the taste.

'Y—yes, Sir.' It took all of Zed’s willpower not to scream as he took the mug and exited the office with just as much speed as he had entered it.

ZED was entirely certain that he would be the richest man alive if only he had a quid for every time he’d picked up a foul-smelling lunch from the front desk. He was also sure that he would be just as wealthy if he had another quid for every time he was made to re-order said pungent meal. Today was no exception.

As MacIntire wrinkled his nose at the plastic bowl set in front of him, Zed began counting the pounds.

With a disappointed sigh, he raised his eyes to meet Zed’s. 'I said I wanted cabbage soup, Higgins. Not a waterlogged salad.'

Not much of a difference there, mate. 'A—apologies, Sir. Your usual restaurant was horrendously overwhelmed. I didn't want to make you wait.'

He stirred the soup whilst serving it a disapproving stare. 'It would have been worth the wait not to end up with this filth.' He dropped the spoon and pushed the bowl away with a sigh. 'Take it away.'

If I had a quid for every pound you wasted… 'Yes, Sir.'

'MR Higgins, do you beg passersby for money in your spare time?'

Zed’s eyes shot up from the screen of his laptop, the e-mail he’d been in the process of composing forgotten entirely. He was met with Augustus MacIntire looming over his desk, features marred by lines of distaste. He would have been stunned into silence by the sight itself had he not been so offended by the words that had preceded it. 'I— No, Sir. I don’t, actually.' He tried to keep his tone calm, knowing how dangerous it was to set fires around explosives.

MacIntire snorted a humourless laugh. 'Are you quite sure? Do I not pay you a generous enough sum? Because your clothes might give someone that idea.'

The hairs on his arms stood up with the laugh and he could feel his face begin to burn at the words that followed. Even so, he did not allow a single inkling of it to rise to the surface. 'I’m sorry, Sir. You see—'

'I see that you don’t seem to give a damn about your appearance. While that may be perfectly acceptable where you come from, it most certainly is not in this office,' his employer spat, his sharp tone leaving little room for negotiation. He walked around the desk as he spoke, raking his eyes over the suit that Zed's brother had graciously passed down to him. 'As you are my employee, you are viewed as an extension of myself, and I will not have my reputation tarnished by such off-the-rack mediocrity.' He pinched one of the too-large sleeves between his thumb and forefinger, then released it, wiping his fingers off on the thigh of his trousers. 'Tomorrow, and every day henceforth, you will wear clothes that fit you. Engineering Global has no room for blemishes. Use the company card if you must. Do I make myself clear?'

Zed bit his tongue so hard that he could have sworn he tasted blood. 'Crystal, Sir.'

'Excellent. Now, get back to work.' The predator stalked off to his office, leaving only those words and Zed’s boiling blood in his wake.

AS her brother finished his tales of woe, Zelda stared at him, open-mouthed. 'And you're telling me that the hellhound you just described is worth working for just because he gave you a lousy party and a pat on the head?'

Zed groaned, leaning back. 'For now, anyway, yeah. If working for him can better my position—'

His sister scoffed loudly. 'Don't get your hopes up, love. The only person that man cares about is himself. Besides, he makes you crazy! Talking to you at work is like talking to a stranger. You're stuttering, apologising for things that aren't your fault, just generally acting like— not you!'

He roughed a hand over his face. 'Trust me, I know. And I hate it, too. He just does something to me.'

Zelda suddenly smiled cheekily, raising her eyebrows rapidly in a very cartoonish way.

Zed laughed despite himself. 'Not like that! He's just so intimidating. Between that weird, unblinking stare-down of his and the office furniture that costs more than my flat. He might only be a few years older, but it's like we're on two completely different planes of existence. I live in the real world, and he—'

'—lives in a surreal, rich-boy, fantasyland?'

He chuckled. 'Something like that. I know it looks insane from the outside, but I want to stick with this job. At least for a bit longer.'

She sighed loudly. 'Mark my words, brother mine: you're going to regret ripping up those applications. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but it won't take long.'

As he shook his head, Zed could only hope that, for once, his sister’s near-psychic intuition had failed her.