Mark was in his car reviewing his notes for his upcoming meeting, but that morning's incident kept creeping into his thoughts.

The last thing he’d expected when he walked into that apartment was for someone to be there, it had been empty for months!

He'd screamed and he'd blushed and he'd rambled in front of a stranger.

A perfectly random stranger whose apartment you broke into!

Mark groaned and covered his face with his hands, wishing he could scrub the memory from his brain.

He gave himself a few seconds then took a deep breath and re-focused his attention on his work and checked his briefcase one last time before stepping out of the car and walking into the physical therapy building.

"Hi," he grinned his million-dollar grin at the receptionist, "I’m Mark Ferrero, I have a meeting with the manager, a Mr. Rogers."

He hoped the name was a good omen, and that this Mr. Rogers would be as kind as the one he had grown up watching.

The receptionist directed Mark to one of the back offices and told him to go on in.

"Hi," Mark said as he opened the door.

The rest of his sentence got lost in his throat as he stared at the man whose apartment he had broken into that morning.

Grant Rogers seemed equally shocked, his mouth hanging open a little.

Mark could feel the blush creeping back in.

"Small world huh," he said, forcing himself to step into the office.

“Yeah,” Grant said, though he didn’t sound convinced. 

He stood up from his chair and walked around his desk to face Mark. “You’re not following me, are you? Do you live in the building? How—”

Mark stammered out an apology as Grant leaned back on his desk and crossed his arms.

Grant furrowed his brows, “I would've run after you but,” he knocked on his prosthetic leg, visible under his gym shorts, “didn’t have it on.”

Mark glanced at Grant’s prosthetic then looked back up at Grant.

He apologized once more.

When it seemed obvious that his string of “so sorry about that, I really didn’t mean to break in,” wasn’t going to cut it, Mark tried for his cool and casual tone that usually worked.

“I live in the apartment right across from yours. Your place has been empty for months so sometimes I just like to go in and hang.”

“Hang?”

“Uh, yeah, the landlord knows about it, don’t worry,” Mark said, shrugging it off.

“And why do you hang in my apartment? What’s wrong with yours?”

“Um,” this was so not how Mark saw his business meeting going.

He scratched the back of his neck, a small part of his brain yelling ABORT ABORT, but for some reason, his lips kept moving.

“One night stands,” he said quickly, then forced himself to meet Grant’s wide eyes.

"In my apartment?!"

"What? No! In mine, I just- they know it’s a one night stand, I know it’s a one night stand, but I just like to give them the morning to collect themselves...” He tried his best grin, “I’m very chivalrous that way, you know?”

Grant’s brows stayed furrowed, but to each their own, he reminded himself.

He studied Mark again, he had cleaned up nicely since that morning. He was in a fancy suit and everything, contrasting highly the loose and comfortable clothing everyone else in the facility was wearing.

“So,” Grant said, willing to move on from that morning’s incident, “you work in prosthetics?”

“Yes,” Mark said, sounding a little relieved.

He realized he’d been clutching his briefcase with a death grip and softened it as he sat down in one of the chairs.

Grant sat down in the chair opposite him.

“So, my company, Ferrero Functions,” Mark said, placing the briefcase on his lap, “we work in healthtech, and one of our focuses is building and designing prosthetics. We're partnered with Everhart Industries- along with multiple hospitals, universities, and PT locations across the city- to ensure the best research, quality, design, manufacturing, and implementation possible!”

He opened his briefcase and handed Grant their portfolio.

"Our mission is to provide affordable and accessible technological healthcare to all those who need it." 

Mark walked back to his car with a grin on his face and a signed contract in his briefcase, memories from that embarrassing morning already fading.