Warren sighed deeply and reflexively reached into his shirt pocket for his trusty silver lighter, only to recall that it was missing. He remembered Claire bursting into his office and that he'd dropped it in surprise but hadn’t yet recovered it.
He glanced under his desk and around the floor but found nothing. Warren grumbled as he dropped to his knees and groped around in the darkness under his furniture, grazing something plastic before hitting the edge of the chrome-colored lighter.
“What’s this?” Warren tugged at the plastic device tucked between the credenza and his desk, discovering the missing USB drive. “Of all the… D*mn, it was here the whole time, and I accused Piper for no reason. What a waste of fu—”
“Mr. Maker, sir?” Iris knocked on his door and waited for a response before entering. “Your coffee is ready. May I come in?”
“Gimme a minute!” Warren scrambled to his executive task chair and preened himself to look more presentable. Not that he cared to look nice for his servant, but she could have more important company lingering outside as well. “All right. Enter.”
“Dark roast, sir.” Iris shakily deposited the mug on his awaiting coaster with her non-dominant hand, as she clutched a paper towel to the gash on her other hand. “Do you need me for anything presently?”
“What? No, just make yourself useful.” Warren clenched his fist around the flash drive and urged Iris to leave. “And hold any of my calls that aren’t launch related until further notice.”
Iris nodded and pulled the heavy door closed behind her. The phones in the office pool were ringing off the hook, with all hands busily taking phone calls and directing launch inquiries as quickly as humanly possible. Mr. Maker’s phone was no exception, but Iris’s hand was in desperate need of first aid.
Despite the run-in with Claire’s watch happening some time ago, the wound still bled through her paper towel, and Iris began reeling with dizziness and pain. She had hoped to avoid having Mr. Maker see her dilly-dallying with open wounds at her desk, so she grabbed her phone and first aid kit and fled to the kitchenette. She was three seconds away from dialing her friend Olly for help, when Iris spied on an unwelcome parasite lounging on the kitchenette sofa.
“Good morning, Mr. Dämmerung.” Iris forced through gritted teeth. “I didn’t realize you were here. I’ll leave you to—”
“Hey, where are you going?” Ryan beckoned from his reclined slouch. “You came in here for something. Don’t just leave. It’ll make me feel bad.”
Against her better judgment, Iris lingered in the doorway before treading silently toward the sink to rinse off her wound. Ryan glanced over with a puzzled look until he saw a flicker of red and stood up to investigate.
“What the hell?” Ryan approached from behind to get a better look. “How did you manage to get such a nasty cut? Give it here.”
“What? What are you—” Iris recoiled away from him, but not quickly enough.
“Just give me your d*mned hand. I’m trying to help you.” Ryan insisted, despite Iris’s reluctance. “Hold still and lemme look at it.”
“I ran into something sharp.” Iris covered for Claire, not wanting to make a bigger deal out of this than it was. “And I can’t get the bleeding to stop.”
“Jeez, then why don’t you file an accident report and go to the hospi—”
“I can’t afford it.” Iris was biting back tears from shame and pain in equal measure. “There’s a copay, I’ll have to meet a deductible, and I can’t miss the hours off work.”
“Then have GC&S pay for it.” Ryan cleansed the wound with hydrogen peroxide from Iris’s kit. “You were hurt at work, so they would pay for it. Geez, would you please hold still?”
“It hurts!” Iris pleaded with Ryan to stop, but all she could manage was a wince and a soft cry.
Iris’s whimper in the kitchenette drew Evelyn’s attention as she was delivering another stack of work orders from the Accounts department. She deposited the teetering stack at a nearby cubicle and stormed into the kitchenette like an avenging fury.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Evelyn stomped towards Iris and Ryan at the sink. “Don’t you ever learn?”
“It’s not what it looks like.” Ryan protested. “She’s injured, and I was trying to help clean it out.”
“If you don’t back off this instant, I swear, I’ll scream my head off!” Evelyn commanded.
“He’s right, Evee.” Iris tried her best to find her voice and set the record straight, but she was still shaking and teetering to stay upright. “He didn’t do this. I got hurt earlier. It was an accident.”
“Yeah? Then why do you look like you’re about to pass out?” Evelyn demanded.
That’s when it hit her. The medication. She hadn’t had time to eat or drink anything before work, so Iris never had a chance to take her medication. That, plus the gash…
“Mm-y bag…” Iris’ knees buckled, and she threatened to tumble to the floor. Ryan snatched at Iris before she went slack but looked equally surprised and fearful. “E-Evee… My bag… Pleece.”
Evelyn darted out of the kitchenette to scramble for Iris’s faux leather bag without another word. Ryan took the opportunity to drag Iris over to the sofa and plop her ragdoll carcass on the seat. By the time Evelyn returned, both Ryan and Iris were struggling for breath on the sofa.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ryan mumbled between ragged exhalations. “It was like that day, you know… With the nosebleed and whatever.”
“Nosebleed?” Evelyn handed Iris the bag and waited for Iris to elaborate. “What nosebleed?”
“None of your business, sprout.” Ryan silenced Evelyn as Iris fumbled with a small plastic bottle of medication. She had difficulty removing the cap, so he snatched the bottle from Iris’s quaking fingers, toppling her bag to the floor. “Hi-po-tension? What is that?”
“It means low blood pressure, fool.” Evelyn had lost her sunny cheerfulness, and a grim, severe tone overtook her. “Just give her the dose on the bottle while I get her some water, got it?”
Evelyn turned her back to fetch a large glass for Iris, while Ryan stooped low to retrieve the spilled bag for her. His hand touched something round and plastic, which piqued his curiosity enough to steal a quick look at the bag’s contents. Deep in the recesses, underneath sealed containers of sliced fruits and vegetables, were a dozen or so bottles of prescription medications.
“Why do you have so many drugs at the office?” Ryan blurted out much louder than he ought to have.
“For cryin’ out loud.” Evelyn scolded. “Do you have to shout out her business for the whole world to hear?”
Blood rushed to Iris’s face as panic set in. Ryan Dämmerung was the last person she wanted to know how sick she was. Iris dry swallowed the pill and rose to her feet as stars boggled her vision. She nodded politely at Evee before grabbing her bag and darting back to her workstation alone. Iris dashed as quickly as her shaky legs could carry her, and dodged around several coworkers who were whispering as she passed.
Too embarrassed to contradict Ryan’s gaff, Iris clutched her bag and landed on an idea. If she couldn’t stop the gossip about “drugs in the office,” then Iris would try and get ahead of the rumors and go straight to the source. She spotted Nigel stapling another office-wide announcement to the bulletin board near the photocopiers from his lofty position on a metal stepping stool.
“Mr. Declan, sir?” Iris muttered softly, as not to startle the precariously perched HR specialist. “Do you have a minute to chat privately?”
“Oh, uh, sure.” Nigel pushed up the glasses that drooped from his thin face and strained to reach the top of the bulletin board to add another staple. “I just need one more…”
Iris retrieved a second stapler from a nearby cubicle and mashed a staple into the paper, plastering it flat for Nigel. He gave her a knowing shrug and descended from the high ground to escort Iris back to his office. The pair spoke alone in his office with the door closed for twenty-five minutes, as rumors rolled in like the tide.
“All right then.” Nigel concluded as he opened the door for Iris. “If that’ll be all, then you’re off the hook. Just make sure to inform your supervisors and let me know if it has any impact on your work.”
“Of course, sir.” Iris managed to smile as she departed. “Thank you for your understanding.”
It was lunch time when Iris had finished in Nigel’s office, so the usual gaggle of gossipers had already left the office for their break. No one would notice if Iris stayed back to finish wrapping up her hand, which had finally stopped bleeding through the paper towel Ryan had pressed against it. She was loathe to admit it, but Ryan had skillfully cleaned the wound, even if his bedside manner needed significant improvement.
She was lucky that the gash was shallow and missed any major blood vessels. Iris struggled to bandage her writing hand with medical supplies from her kit, wasting several gauze patches and a length of medical tape before sighing alone in the kitchenette. The sound of the humming refrigerator was all the company she could hope for, and Iris ate her modest packed lunch in solitude, while listening to a familiar voicemail for comfort.
The rest of the workday was a flurry of activity, most of which Iris had coasted through while worrying about office rumors. There was also the problem of informing Mr. Maker of her clinical issues, which Iris had promised to share, per company policy. She finally dredged up the courage to speak with him before the end of the day, after Mr. Maker had finished another exhausting phone call with his wife, Piper.
“Whatever it is, it better be caffeinated.” Mr. Maker called out to Iris after hearing her familiar gentle knock on his closed office door. “I’ve had just about enough BS for one day…”
“Good afternoon, sir.” Iris presented Warren with an iced tea she’d brewed for herself, not realizing that he wanted something to drink. “I was told to inform you of something from HR about my—”
“Iris, can’t you see how tired I am? Hmm?” Warren grabbed the tea from her grasp, and Iris was grateful that she hadn’t presented it with her wounded hand. “Is it an emergency?”
Iris shook her head “no” vigorously enough for her head to ache.
“Look, you’re a big girl and I’m sure that whatever it is, you can take care of it yourself.” Warren pressed the cool glass to his glistening face. “I have literally no bandwidth to deal with anything else today, understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Iris deflated. “I can take care of it. Could you sign off on this slip to acknowledge that we spoke today?”
“Yes, yes. Give it here.” Warren didn’t even glance at the paper he snatched from her before signing his indecipherable scribble on the solid line at the bottom. “There. Now please, just go away and stop bothering me. It’s been a long d*mn day.”
Iris crept out of the office and weakly tugged Warren’s door closed. She dragged her feet back to her desk and noticed the red indicator light on her phone blinking to indicate a “parked” call for Mr. Maker on Line 1. It was still two minutes from the end of the business workday, so Iris took the call, lifting the receiver to greet a deep, engaging voice on the other line.
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