Standard Teatime in the Restroom

"Ten thousand quid?" Imogene whispered.

Jen touched her shoulder affectionately. She, Imogene, and Roy were seated on the couch together, Imogene slouching in shock. The once homey office was now a prison, the walls closing in and suffocating her like a trash compactor.

"I'm so sorry," said Jen. "We thought you knew."

Imogene shook her head as her eyes welled up with tears. "Ten thousand quid!"

"It's a lot of money," Roy confirmed. "Almost thirteen thousand dollars in the United States."

Her voice broke. "Ten thousand quid!"

"Oh, Im," Jen comforted. "It's alright. We really do love having you here, no matter the circumstances."

"My dad paid you off. He paid all of you off, just so he could get rid of me! Just so he could have me out of the way!"

"Maybe that's not so bad," said Roy awkwardly. "I mean, look at all the wonderful things you've accomplished. From traveling halfway across the world and meeting all these new people—"

"I've met four new people. And I've done nothing of any value. Nothing at all! I'm nothing but a burden and everyone knows it."

"You're not a burden," said Jen.

"Oh, yeah?" Imogene wiped her nose and sniffled. "Name one good thing I've done around here."

Jen opened her mouth and closed it again. Roy twisted his head to one side as he thought.

"Well..." said Jen.

"There was that one time," said Roy.

"What one time?" asked Imogene.

"Yes, Roy," Jen scolded softly, her gaze stabbing into his very soul. "What 'one time'?"

"That time...on MarioKart."

Jen threw her hands in the air. "Are you KIDDING me?"

"I need to be alone!" Imogene cried, plugging her ears.

She stood up and hurried to the back kitchen, but just when she made it to the entryway, she almost rammed into something. Something cream-colored and checkered, with a stripe of ugly brown down the middle. She looked up and saw Maurice Moss staring down at her through his black eyeglasses, his brown eyes wide and bulging behind them. He was very close to her, close enough that she could smell his natural musk—a mixture of warm cookies and the inside seam of a comic book. His chest rose, and she felt a sudden wave of electricity course through her veins.

She looked down at her shoes. "Sorry."

"It's alright," he said.

She moved to the right side to sneak past him, but he moved in the same direction. She moved to the left and he followed. They went back and forth for a few seconds until Imogene's eyes welled up again and she spun on her heels and walked straight out of the office, slamming the door behind her. Moss, who was holding two cups of coffee, walked gingerly to the table and set both mugs on Roy's desk. He glanced at the door and flattened his tie.

"I can't help but speculate that something very important occurred while I was gone."

"Some pretty important stuff has been going down. Where on Earth have you been?" Jen asked.

"I was contemplating the complexities of the human condition." He picked up his mug and took a sip, then immediately spit it out. "Coffee's a bit cold."

"You've been in there for at least an hour! There's been a million important developments and you missed it all!"

"What important developments? Did they finally figure out who shot J.R.? I've been wondering about that one. My money was on Kristin. No wonder you're all so upset."

"No!" Roy cried. His voice turned to a whisper. "It's about Imogene."

Moss tensed, and his eyes flitted about the room, plagued with guilt. "What...what about her?"

"Apparently," Jen explained into oblivion. "She had no idea that this whole 'grant' business was going on. She thought we'd begged and pleaded for her to come work here, even though in reality it was Douglas who sprang it on us in the first place."

"She's been kept in the dark the whole time," Roy continued. "We've been blaming the pawn and not the player!"

"Imogene said something about her dad paying us off to get her out of the way," said Jen. "Perhaps you were right all along, Roy. Perhaps there is some sort of scandal going on."

Roy blushed and suppressed a smile. "Told you."

"Why would he want her out of the way?" Jen wondered.

"Beats me," said Moss, gazing down into his cup.

"Well, whatever's going on," Roy said, standing. "We know Douglas is in on it. If anyone knows about this funny business, it's him."

Jen pointed. "You're right. I second that."

"Let's go interrogate him right now!"

Roy and Jen started for the door.

"You know, Roy, at first I thought you were crazy, but this really is quite a good conspiracy."

"Thank you, Jen."

They stopped in the doorway, and Roy's expression suddenly changed. "You know what? I'm not ready to face Douglas. Let's take a break and talk about it all over some of those cinnamon rolls they sell on third."

Jen's expression turned sour. "Yeah. Good idea."

They closed the door and were gone. Moss stood alone in the office. He was caught up in his thoughts again, suddenly very sad and hurt.

Her dad paid us off to get her out of the way. Who on Earth would want Imogene out of the way? Her mere presence was addictive—at least to Moss. He felt an aching need to be near her, even to simply hear the sound of her name.

With calculating, determined movements, Moss set his mug back on his desk and returned to the back kitchen. He emerged minutes later holding yet another mug, this one with the string of a tea bag dangling off one side and some warm smoke spiraling out of the top.

He crossed the office and opened the door, finding himself in the hallway. A gust of smoke blasted from a vent, and there were numerous whirring noises and a strange smell throughout the place. It was Moss's least favorite part of this job—every short, hellish journey through this miserable hallway. It was so crowded and loud and full of unpleasant sensory input.

Moss squeezed past an overstocked janitorial cart, waited for the vents to finish breaking wind before crossing, and came to the unisex toilet. Another gust of air fogged his hearing, but then the noise cleared and, sure enough, he was able to hear Imogene's soft sobs. At least, he thought it was Imogene—it could've easily been the janitor. With his free hand, he knocked a few times on the door.

"Occupied!" she wailed. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Imogene, it's Moss. I've brought you some tea."

There was the sound of sniffling. "Oh."

"Are, uh..." He cleared his throat. "Are your trousers down?"

"What?"

"May I come in?"

"Okay."

She pulled open the door from the inside and he stepped in. The basement bathroom was the most disgusting place in all of Reynholm Industries. Grime covered the walls, and the soap in the dispensers was at least thirty years old. Imogene sat on the toilet, her head in her hands and her knees together but her shoes far apart, making a triangle-shape with her legs and the floor.

"I brought you some tea," Moss said again.

She glanced up at him with red, wet eyes behind her tilted glasses. "Thanks."

He set the mug on the edge of the sink and shut the door behind him. Imogene wiped her nose and cleared her throat.

"I'd hand you a tissue," he announced. "But the toilet paper is not to be trusted."

"Yeah," she whimpered, her eyes welling up again.

Moss clenched his fists at his sides and twisted his body back and forth nervously. "Roy and Jen told me about your father."

She let out a sob.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"I don't..." She tried to gather herself and wipe her eyes. "I knew he didn't want me there. I just knew. Whenever I talk to him about the company, he brushes me off and changes the subject...I told him not to sell out, but I know he wants to."

Moss frowned. "What do you mean, 'sell out'?"

"He...Connect Inc. wants to buy us out for fifty-two billion. If we do it, we lose everything. The Synapse will be theirs, the entire company and everything is lost—Dad worked to build it his whole life, and he just wants to let it go!"

"Why would he sell out, anyway? Especially to Connect. Everyone knows Connect is just a skankier version of Apple!"

"Just...the money. Our company is only worth half as much as they want to give us."

"But he's a billionaire!"

"He is, but he's no Bill Gates. And he's old. He's done working." Her tone grew angry. "He just wants to settle and bask in his wealth and be stingy." She covered her mouth and sobbed again in shame. "I've never said anything cruel about him before in my life! I just can't believe he would do something like this!"

"Why would he want you out of the way?"

She shot upright. "Because I'm the only one who doesn't want him to sell! And you know why?" She pointed to herself as her face twisted in another sob. "Because...because he promised...He promised me I would be CEO someday. And he's going back on his word for the money."

"Now that's what I'd call whack."

"I know! It's like a promise doesn't matter to him at all."

"Would you like your tea now?"

"Please."

She sipped it delicately, with a weak calculating look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry I made a scene again," she said. "It seems all I am is whiney and blubbery."

"You have perfect reason to be."

"Am I being immature? I've been told I'm immature."

"Well, I don't know much about women, especially the younger ones, but you seem alright to me."

"I'm not that young. In the words of Juno, I'm old enough to know when someone's acting like a total a-hole! Excuse my language. God, I've been so bad about swearing lately. How many times have I said 'damn' today? There it is again! Fudgenuggets."

"You know," said Moss, leaning against the sink and crossing his arms with an air of masculine prowess. "Perhaps a bit of swearing could help get some of this anger off your chest. As I've told Roy, I'm not a flippin' women psychiatrist, but a good bit of foul language and parental rebellion might alleviate some of these...enraged feelings."

"What, you mean like 'dammit'?" She covered her mouth.

"That's the spirit."

"But I never swear."

"Then make something up. For instance, 'ploppers'."

"Ploppers?" She frowned and tried it out. "PLOPPERS! You know what, that does help."

Moss smiled and nodded. "See what I mean?"

"Yeah."

They stayed in silence for a moment, and Moss relished in the familiar comfort of her presence. A warmth spread through Imogene's bones, and it wasn't because of the tea.

"Come on," said Moss. "Let's head back to the office."