AS the bartender freshened Mac’s drink she looked as though she were trying to remember the proper way to put her thoughts into English. 'Let me make sure I have this correct: You ran all the way to Paris to get away from this man, but you don't care about him?'

'Exactly,' Mac said, gesturing aimlessly in the air. 'He doesn't mean a damn thing to me.'

'Yet, you called him over and kissed him at midnight?'

He sighed deeply. 'It didn't mean anything, trust me. Besides, I’m in a relationship.'

'So, why did you call this other one, then?'

For a moment Mac was at a loss for words. 'Shut up,' he finally mumbled, taking another swig of his beer.

The bartender smirked, wiping the counter, absentmindedly. 'Would you like to know what I am thinking?'

Mac sighed. 'Go on, then.'

After a moment of opening and closing her mouth, the bartender shook her head. 'It's too hard for me in English. Comprenez-vous le français?'

'Oui, mais je ne le pratique pas.'

‘Bien, je vais parler lentement. Je ne crois pas que vous soyez venu à Paris pour fuir l'homme que vous avez embrassé. Je crois que vous fuyez l'homme avec qui vous sortez. Il est évident pour moi que vous êtes malheureux d'une manière ou d'une autre avec votre petit ami. Alors, la question est, est-ce un problème qui peut être réglé ou non? Do you understand what I am trying to say?'

He nodded, slowly. 'Unfortunately, I think I do. All too well.' He took another long draw of his beer, finishing it, then tapped the empty glass to indicate that he was in need of another.

With a deep sigh, she obliged. 'This is certainly not the answer. You know this, yes?'

'Works just fine for now.' With a small gesture of cheers, he raised the glass to his lips once more, draining it almost entirely.

MAC awoke with a start that brought him to an upright position far more quickly than was to his liking. The sudden motion coupled with the throbbing headache that had disturbed his sleep made for a deadly cocktail. Rubbing his aching temples, he looked around, trying to remember how he had returned home from Paris.

Upon closer inspection, however, it became clear that the townhouse was gravely altered from when he had left. Apart from the patch of ground upon which he'd lain, the floor of the sitting room was all but entirely obscured. In place of the deep cherry wood he had so carefully chosen was every array of liquor-bottle and beer-can imaginable, all open and bone dry. Heavy, dark curtains were drawn tightly over the windows, keeping out all daylight save for that which crept in under the hems. The air around him was stale, stinking of cigar smoke and alcohol. Even just standing in the environment made him nearly dizzy enough to become ill. Where the bloody hell am I?

'Home sweet home, mate.'

The eerily familiar voice sent a violent shiver up his spine as he spun around wildly in search of its source, only to come up empty handed.

'Yooooo-hooooo! I'm right over hee-ereee...'

Suddenly, his eyes caught sight of a scruffy-looking man standing on the cushions of the sofa, waving his hands wildly in the air as he clutched a bottle of wine. As he took in the pattern of the stranger's dressing gown, it hit him that what he had mistaken for a throw pillow had, in fact, been a human being.

'There we are! Good man,' the stranger slurred affirmatively, plopping down onto the seat and taking a long swig from the bottle. 'Now, sit.' He patted the open space on the cushion next to him with his free hand.

Mac merely blinked slowly at him, rooted to the spot.

'Come, now. Don't be shy! You and I are good friends, you know.'

He shook his head until he found words simple enough to wrap his thick tongue around. 'No, we're not. I don't know you.' No matter how familiar your voice sounds…

'Wrongggg. You just haven't met me yet,' he said matter-of-factly, punctuating his point with a slosh of the wine bottle. 'Now, come sit with me. I want to show you something.'

Against his better judgement, Mac fulfilled the request. 'What’s going on here? Did you drug me?'

The other man chuckled. 'Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. Though we both know you're no stranger to self-medication.' He held out the wine bottle, offering him a sip.

'No. I'm all right.' He pushed the bottle away.

'Hmph. Fine, then. Suit yourself.' He took one final swig, tossing the empty bottle onto the floor with the others. 'You think you're better than me, hm?' His voice had taken on a bitter, resentful quality. 'Well, guess what: you're not! After all, how do you think I ended up like this?'

'How could any of this'—he gestured around the room and even to the man himself—'possibly be my fault? Who are you, exactly?'

He burst into great, unapologetic peals of laughter. 'Oh, that's rich!'

Mac frowned, beginning to grow angry in his ignorance. 'What? What's so funny?'

'You haven't even looked at me, have you?'

'What does that have to do with—'

'Look at me. Just really look,' he ordered, rather than requested.

As he took in the man behind the lines of age and the scraggly beard, the face seemed to morph before him. Suddenly, Mac was looking in a distorted mirror. He felt like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. 'You... You're...'

'Come on, you can do it,' he goaded. 'Big boy words.'

'You're... Me.'

'Now, you've got it!' He clapped gleefully. 'More accurately; I'm what becomes of you.'

Mac scoffed. 'Just— how? What happened? Because I certainly don't understand.'

The reflection smiled sadly. 'Of course, you don't understand what happened, because it's still happening.'

'What is that supposed to mean? Come on, you arsehole; talk!'

He opened his mouth to tell all, but seemed to change his mind last minute. 'All you need is love,' he sing-songed.

'No! Tell me what you meant!'

'All you need is love...'

'Stop it! Tell me now—'

'All you need is love, love...'

'I swear to god, I'll—'

'Love is all you need...'

Mac sat bolt upright in his hotel bedroom in France, his favourite Beatles tune blaring from his mobile to notify him of the early morning hour.

With a groan, he silenced the alarm, lying back onto the bed. He looked around as he rubbed his temples, bringing the room around him into focus. The room’s mini fridge stood wide open with tiny bottles of liquor creating a trail to the bed. A small pile of them littered the comforter which made the bed look a bit too much like his dream for comfort.

A resolute huff crossed his lips as he stood, grabbing up the empty bottles and depositing them into the waste bin. In a low voice, he spoke aloud, if only for the benefit of committing the words to memory. 'Enough. Enough, now. It’s time I find myself a new hobby.'

After nearly an hour of doing his best to sight-read the French brochures on the kitchenette, Mac gave up. With a sigh, he took out his mobile, finding the nearest driving range from the hotel.

Chapter 7.5: Zed - Two Point Zero

ZED had spent the better part of two days bewildered and depressed. His thoughts surrounded the morning of the thirty-first of August, and nothing else. He couldn't help but replay the entire interaction over and over again, the encounter a surreal dream that he wasn't completely convinced had actually taken place.

Finally, Zed couldn't take the constant questioning of his own mind any longer. So, against his better judgement, on that Sunday afternoon, he sat across from his closest friend and sibling, his twin sister Zelda. After telling her the entire story, he immediately regretted doing so, if for nothing but the smug expression that it had put on her face.

'So, let me get this straight: he calls you in the middle of the night while piss drunk, snogs you, then leaves the bloody country?'

'Yes! And when I tried to talk to him about it, he said “a gay man and a straight man kissed, that only ends one way”.’ Much to her brother’s increasing annoyance, Zelda laughed loudly. 'It's not funny!'

'Are you kidding! I don't know what's funnier; the fact that it happened or that you're surprised!'

'And why wouldn't I be surprised?'

'Oh, please, you're a personal assistant! A late night drunken make out session might as well be written in your contract!'

'Zel, this is serious!'

'Why? He didn't fire you, you didn't sleep with him, and he doesn't expect anything differently from you, now. Not really sure what the problem is.'

'How do you not see the problem?! My boss kissed me!'

'What, was it bad or something?'

'No... it definitely wasn't bad. Hell, it's the most action I've had in months.'

'Ok, ew, I don't want to know. Do you like this guy? Is that why it's a problem?'

'No, he's a prick! But I just keep thinking: what if he felt something? What if he thinks I don't want this and that's why he dismissed it the way that he did? What if he's gay and thinks I'm straight but does like me? What if he just thinks he's straight but the kiss scared him and he's just coming to grips with his sexuality? What if—'

'Ok, stop, for the love of God, you're making my brain hurt. Look— it doesn't matter either way. If he's straight, gay, or a likes to shag sheep in the countryside—'

'Ok, ew!'

'—because he's clearly not interested in you! He was upset, drunk, and you were there. Besides, you said he was dating someone.'

'Yeah. Ally, whoever that is. We’ve never actually met.'

'So what's the big deal? If he was interested, he would have made a move, and he didn't. Just— when he gets back, act like nothing's happened. Your job hasn't changed, your relationship hasn't changed. Now you just know that he's a very good kisser. So, just let it go, and move on.' Zed sat back into his seat, taking his sister's words into consideration as he watched her scarf down the rest of her sandwich. After swallowing half of her bite, Zelda spoke around the rest of it. 'So, what's really bothering you, then?'

'I told you already.'

'Oh, please. You're not so fragile that your boss kissing you should shake you up this much. What's the real issue?'

'Nothing! I don't have an issue. It's just…' He trailed off, sighing deeply and starting to play absentmindedly with his glasses. 'Even MacIntire— the greatest workaholic the world has ever seen— has someone. It may not be incredibly functional, but he's in a relationship. He makes it work. So, where does that put me? I'm thirty. I'm in a steady career that may or may not be moving up. I have a good flat, decent money, I'm not hideous…'

'Debatable.' The word was hardly understandable around another large bite of food.

Shooting brief daggers at his sister, Zed continued. 'I'm just not sure what I'm waiting for anymore.'

She swallowed, thinking before speaking in a very serious tone. 'Maybe that's just it.'

'What's “it”?’

'You're not waiting on anything. You just… forgot. So tied up in work that you forgot you were lonely.'

'I wasn't lonely.'

'But… now, you are?'

The space between Zed's brows wrinkled with a frown. 'I'm not sure.'

She put a loving hand on top of her brother's. 'Well, you know who you'll always have, don't you?'

'Let me guess; you?'

She scoffed. 'No, you silly sod! Your cat!' Zed made a noise of disgust as the two siblings broke into laughter. After both had sobered, Zelda took her brother's hand. 'Seriously, though. I'm your sister, and I worry. If there's anything I can do for you, just name it, alright? I need to see you happy.'

'I was happy.'

She frowned. 'You're missing the key word in that sentence.'

He sighed loudly, unable to deny his sister's unfailing logic.

THAT week, Zed had spent the majority of his free time mentally preparing for his boss's return. He had been repeating his sister's words in his head. Regardless, he's not interested. Move on. Pretend it didn't happen. Drunk and sad makes bossman a bad boy. That last part always put a small smile on his face. Regardless, he knew that how he handled MacIntire’s absence would determine his future at Engineering Global. He had to prove that MacIntire’s trust had not been placed with him in vain, personally or professionally.

Zed’s duty was clear; to make sure that not one hair would be out of place upon MacIntire’s return. His goal was to keep the entire company the same well-oiled machine that MacIntire had left behind. In fact, He even found himself repeating his boss’ words several times over the course of his absence. No dead weight on this team, Mr Garcia. Pick up the slack, Mrs Hooper. Don't be a nervous nelly, Mr O'Brian.

By the end of the week, Zed hardly felt himself. And he wasn't the only one noticing. On more than one occasion, he had walked into a room only to have the conversation immediately halt and employees disperse. Finally, on one such occasion, he stopped the nearest person to him. 'Ms St Claire, what is going on?'

'N—nothing, Mr Higgins! Why do you think something is going on?'

Zed lowered his voice. 'I'm serious, Amelia. Something is going on. I walk down the hall and people scatter. I walk into a room and people stop speaking. Did I do something wrong?'

'No, Sir, not exactly. It's just— different now. With you getting promoted, and all.'

'What? Is that all? Come on, it was just a promotion. I'm still just a glorified secretary!'

Amelia laughed weakly. 'Um, yeah, you're a bit more than that, though, aren't you?'

Zed's mind short circuited for a moment. Oh god, she knows we kissed?! No, she couldn't! How could she? 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Well, personal assistants don't normally go to board meetings, do they? They don't run the place while the boss is gone, they don't take meetings for him and they certainly don't dress like something out of a GQ magazine. I mean, you went from Gap to Versace overnight! That's why we call you—' She trailed off, fear suddenly paralysing her features.

'Call me, what, Amelia?'

She gulped hard. 'MacIntire two point zero. But you didn't hear that from me! I'm not the one who made it up!'

Zed thought about this for a long moment before he realised he was staring at the poor woman. 'Oh, sorry. I, um.... thank you, Amelia. For speaking candidly. I appreciate candour.' Oh, God I am MacIntire two point zero!

The employee nodded, turning and quickly rushing away.

For the rest of the day, Zed thought about her words more than he would have liked to admit. A few months ago, the comparison would have mortified him or sent him running for the hills and, subsequently, a new job. But now— I'm moving up, and I didn't even know it. Is this what MacIntire feels like, constantly?

He finished out the week walking just a little bit taller, not stuttering once.