WITH a deep, steadying breath, Mac walked off the lift, his usual stoic manner in place. As he strode down the hallway, small waves of panic started to ripple through the ranks of his employees. Each time he rounded a corner, a new group of individuals would recognize him, eyes widen, then flee in an opposite direction. It was highly amusing and somewhat addictive, if he was honest with himself. The power to clear a room simply by walking into it. More than a bit fun, I must say.

But there was one face that didn’t run at the sight of him and, in fact, roused almost as much panic within himself as he had been doing to his other employees.

'Good afternoon, Mr MacIntire,’ Mr Higgins greeted. ‘Good trip across the channel?'

Mac simply nodded, not looking at his assistant for more than a moment before ducking into his office. It's now or never, old chap. 'Come in, Higgins. Shut the door.' It was several seconds after the man complied before Mac found the courage to speak. 'I need to apologise, Mr Higgins. My actions the other evening were uncalled for and unprofessional. Please forgive me.’

Mac couldn’t quite meet Higgins’ eyes, but there was still an unmistakable look of shock written in his other features. 'Forgiven and forgotten, Sir.' Then, it was Mac’s turn to be shocked when Higgins began to speak fluidly for the first time in his presence. 'We all have, shall we say “moments”, where we let our guard down, and such the like. It’s not something I can condemn you for, and I certainly never shall. Just something we all experience, no matter how we may try to avoid it. A simple matter of our natural humanity leaking through, I think. And, if you never wish to speak of it again, I would honour that request. No hard feelings, either way.' As he finished, he looked just the least bit proud of himself for his unbroken speech.

Mac tried not to smile as he looked at the confident, well-dressed and self-assured man before him. Who the hell are you and what did you do with my assistant? If I would have known this version of you was available, I would have kissed you a hell of a lot sooner! 'Yes. Quite. Well said.'

Higgins nodded. 'Of course, Sir. Now, I have the reports from the last three days.' He set a folder on the desk, along with a coffee. 'I’ve already highlighted the lowest numbers, making a note of the areas that require improvement. The Campbell meeting went well. Your absence was noted but not begrudged. The minutes have been catalogued and filed. Your dry cleaning has returned and is hanging in your closet, all hangers facing to the left, just as you prefer. Your mail has been collected and sorted, and I have emailed you with your phone messages, ranked from most to least important. Your fridge has been restocked with wine, arranged by vintage then type. And your liquor decanters have been refilled to three-quarters full. Ally has also emailed you twice in the last hour, inquiring about dinner, back in town from Berlin as of this morning.’

Mac simply blinked repeatedly, trying to force his mind to understand the dizzying laundry list. 'Yes. Very good. Thank you.'

'Of course, Sir. Now, if you send me the notes from your meeting, I can compile them for you and put them in the appropriate folder.'

He sat down, absentmindedly drinking the coffee his assistant had offered him. 'I missed the Campbell meeting, remember, Higgins?'

‘I meant the Paris meeting, Sir. From this past weekend?'

He nearly choked on his coffee at the realisation of his own stupidity and did his best not to appear as foolish as he felt. 'Ah. Yes.' He cleared his throat gruffly. 'That won’t be necessary, Mr Higgins. The meeting… has been filed appropriately. No need for any further action at this time.' Who the hell am I trying to fool? The man isn’t stupid. He’s certainly proved that in the last ten minutes.

'Very good, Sir.' But the look on Higgins’ face only proved that he was, in fact, not stupid and also not buying any of this. Luckily for Mac, his assistant was kind enough not to let on verbally, at least. 'If there's nothing else, Sir...' He turned to leave, but Mac had a thought as he did so.

'Just, one thing, Mr Higgins. Make a reservation at Jacabee's for two, seven sharp. Then send one dozen yellow roses to Ally's address, but make sure they arrive after seven, not before. That is very important. No note will be necessary.'

Zed made his notes, nodded in confirmation, and turned to the door once more. Before he could get much past the threshold, however, Mac spoke again.

'Mr Higgins.'

'Sir?'

He paused, a war brewing in his mind. He won’t judge me, he’s proven that. But he’s my employee! I can’t cross that line. Like I haven’t already crossed a worse line—

‘Sir?’ his assistant repeated.

Frowning, Mac lowered his voice. 'Am I… a good man?'

Without an ounce of criticism on his face, the assistant walked back into his boss's office, lowering his voice and straightening his glasses. 'Candidly, Sir?'

He felt a sharp breath rise in his throat at the word, now fearing the answer that followed. 'Yes. Please. Am I a good man?'

'Almost.'

His frown deepened, but it was concern that leaked into his words, not anger. 'What does that mean, “almost”?'

A small sigh escaped Higgins’ lips. 'To paraphrase a great philosopher: “The first and greatest victory is to conquer yourself; to be conquered by yourself is the more shameful and vile thing”.'

Mac quilted an eyebrow, looking at Higgins through a small smirk. 'Are you really quoting... Plato? From memory?'

'What, I read!’ A broad grin graced his features, causing a small spark to light within Mac’s chest. ‘My point is, you've been through a tremendous loss, one that you haven't fully come to grips with yet, and it's forced you to put your own life into rather harsh perspective. It's caused you to question yourself and your lifestyle, and to do things that are starkly out of character.' A deep flush rose in the man’s cheeks, causing a similar reaction in Mac’s. 'But perhaps the trouble is that, up to this point, you've been focusing on the wrong things— rearranging the superficial when the real issues lie at the core.'

Crossing his arms, he nodded, leaning backwards against his desk. 'So, what are the real issues, then?'

'I don't know, Sir. That's something you'll need to discover for yourself.'

With a heavy sigh, Mac rose, moving to finally take a seat at his desk. 'Well, Mum certainly got one thing right.'

'What's that, Sir?'

He looked up, fixing his assistant with a soft but serious look. 'You are good for me. Sincerely.' Mac could have fried an egg with the heat that rose to his cheeks. 'But don't go around getting a big head. These conversations are still confidential and will be very few and far between.'

'Of course, Sir.'

'Just—' Mac stood once more, his eyes locked onto his desk. 'Wanted to make sure. Are we—' He gestured between the two of them, at a total loss for words. What the hell do you say to a man you snogged, rejected, then hope to continue to employ?

'We're back to one, Sir.' He extended a hand, which Mac took into a grateful handshake.

'Thank you, Mr Higgins. Truly.' He released his hand, trying to ignore the tingling which lingered in his fingers. 'That will be all.'

As he watched his assistant leave, he smiled bemusedly at the new man currently wearing Mr Zachary Higgins. This should be interesting.

THE next morning, the two men stood outside of MacIntire's home, eyes wide in a staring contest with the facade. The smell of fresh paint was still thick enough in the air that it piqued the curiosity of passersby. However, one need only glance upward to catch sight of the large mural that had taken up residence overnight, drawing far more attention than the odour of acrylic.

Higgins tried very hard not to laugh, but it came through in his voice, nonetheless. 'So, your Ally—'

'—is an artist, yes. Quite good, in fact. Showed in Albert Hall, once.'

'Yes, I can see that. Very talented. And last night, you guys—'

'Ended our relationship, yes.'

'How long had it been?'

'A little over four years, I think. Our anniversary was this summer.’

'Was that the day with the two dozen long stemmed red roses?'

'Yes, that would be the one.'

They stood in silence for a moment, simply staring at the huge and colourful mural. Mac debated snapping a photo and sending it to Salma. After all, it wasn't every day that your home was painted with a three story’s tall, colourful, and artistically stylised penis and testicles. With flowers surrounding it, no less. One dozen yellow roses.

‘How exactly did Ally get up there?

‘The studio has a team. I’m sure they weren't difficult to convince.’

Another moment of silence as a little old woman tried desperately to shield her equally aged husband’s eyes.

'Higgins?'

'Yes, Sir?'

'Did you call the house painters?'

'Here in half an hour, Sir. As will be the window cleaners.'

'Good. Take a photo before they come.'

'Already done, Sir.'

'Don't share it with anyone.'

'Too late, Sir.'

His boss sighed. 'Right. Stay here, see that it's done properly. Eggshell, not white. I'm going to work.'

'Very good, Sir.'

As soon as MacIntire had left, he deleted Ally’s contact information from his mobile with a heavy heart.