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Contract Law (Complete Story 5/4/20; Bonus Material Added 5/15/20)


TQuintA

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Chapter 4

            As I walked back to my office, I tried not to draw attention to myself.  I had to walk all the way across the floor, up a flight of stairs, and across another floor, and my clothes were obviously too small for my frame.  The feeling of my clothes clinging to my enlarged muscles was doing nothing to kill my semi, and the fact that my semi felt extra full was threatening to turn my semi into a full-blown hardon.

            Still, I couldn’t exactly cling to the walls like I was in some sort of heist movie, so I walked as briskly as I could, looking at my phone as though I was late for an important meeting. 

            Halfway to the staircase, I realized no one seemed to care.  I saw these people practically every day.  They should be reacting to my transformation, but they didn’t look twice.  A handful of people waved and said hello, but no one mentioned anything about my newfound size.  It’s like no one even noticed.

            I slowed my pace.  I began saying hello to the people I knew.  I even flexed my pecs a little at people, just for the thrill of it.  No one said anything.

            Somehow, the only thing weirder than growing bigger was no one noticing.

            Once back to my office, I felt safer.  My office was small—I only had three pieces of furniture: a desk, my chair, and a guest chair—but I could lock the door and pull down the blind to get some privacy.  True to corporate style, the office was depressingly decorated—the standard default colors and standard default art.  Most of the people with office on the eighth floor put their personal touches on their offices, but I’d never did.  I could have livened it up with a plant or pictures of Oz and me, but the austerity of the room helped me focus on work.

            After locking the door and lowering the blind, I briefly considered calling Oz, maybe even breaking my no-masturbation-at-work-rule, but he’d just finally agreed to take a nap, and I didn’t exactly know what to tell him over the phone.  Instead, I decided to be a responsible adult. 

            But that was going to be tricky, as every basic function of my job reminded me of my sudden change.  I sat in my wheeled, swiveling desk chair, and enjoyed the feeling of my ass filling out my pants and the seat a bit more.  I fired up the computer, admiring the way my arm filled the sleeve and my chest threatened my buttons.  I had to push these thoughts aside if I was going to leave work early.  I had to nail down the final details of the meeting with Vernon.

            The most recent email in my inbox was from Vernon.  “As if on cue,” I said to myself.  The email was marked urgent, and the subject line was “Dodging my calls, sweetness?”  I opened the email, but that’s all it said.

            Years ago, when Vernon first started his endless attempts to worm his way into my bed, I blocked Vernon from my private phone; any call from him would be sent straight to voicemail without ringing.  I made it extremely clear to him that he could never call me on my personal line again.  If he had business to conduct with me, we could do it via email or my work number.  He had no reason to use my private number.  With this in mind, I checked my phone—I had no voicemail, but there was one missed call from Vernon Bailey.  The bastard had broken my rule.

            I picked up the office phone and called Vernon.  I expected to be greeted by his mewling secretary, but instead, Vernon himself answered.

            “Darling, how kind of you to return my call.”

            Damn, he had a sexy voice.  Deep.  Resonant.  Charming.  The vaguest hint of a Southern accent despite him being a Boston native.  Why did this unmitigated creep have to have such a sexy voice?  “Hello, Mr. Bailey.  I assume this is about our meeting on Wednesday.”

            “You neglected to answer when I called you.  Mistreatment like that stings a man’s feelings.  I’ll forgive you this time.  But only because you are gloriously handsome.”

            Corny as hell, yes, but the man knew what buttons to push.  I have always been a sucker for schmaltz.  I had to strengthen my resolve.  “You know better than to call my personal number, Mr. Bailey.  What’s so important that we couldn’t settle it over email?”

            Vernon made an unctuous murmuring noise, then said, “I know your husband is otherwise engaged out of town…”

            “And just how do you know that?” I interrupted.

            “Your husband is a very important man, pussycat.  He made the German newspapers yesterday.”  He paused to allow me room to respond, but I said nothing.  Vernon continued.  “My missus is out of town as well.” 

            I resisted the urge to groan in frustration.  Vernon Bailey was only married to a woman until his grandfather Kelly Bailey kicked the bucket.  Kelly was the patriarch who controlled the purse strings.  Even in his 80s, he ran the family business and oversaw the various investments the company would make.  Dear sweet grandpa, stuck in the 1950s, would cut Vernon out of the will if he came out.  Vernon’s wife was more than happy to turn a blind eye to Vernon’s various indiscretions as long as he kept her in luxury.  Not sleeping with him was just a bonus.  It was an open secret that Vernon was a cad—a gay cad at that—but no one would tell Kelly Bailey for fear he’d shoot the messenger and no longer do business with them.

            I had to stop this before it started.  “Let me guess.  Because our respective spouses are away, you thought you’d move the meeting up to tonight, and we might as well have it at your place since it’s far more comfortable than some cold, informal conference room.”

            “How prescient.  I love a man who can read me like a book.”  Vernon’s voice oozed overconfidence.

            “And I love my husband.  Let’s just keep the meeting date as it is.”

            Vernon was not used to people telling him no.  It’s probably why I appealed to him so much.  “Won’t scooch an inch?  Not even a teensy inch?” he entreated.

            “That sounds more like a date than a business meeting, Mr. Bailey.”

            “Call it what you will, muffin.  I just hate to see a man like you all alone.  Your big arms, your firm chest, your proud buttocks—they should not go a day without being worshipped.  With your husband abroad, I would gladly be your acolyte.”

            I didn’t know if it was my recent changes or desperately missing Oz, but Vernon was making me hard, even if the man was a walking HR violation.  I wish Vernon repulsed me.  I really did.  It would be so much easier if I thought he was a creep, but in some twisted way, I liked how he talked to me.  Years ago, I confessed it to Oz, and he told me to go to my boss if it made me uncomfortable.  I’d complained a thousand times to Mr. Tyler, but the end result was always the same.  If I wanted to make a formal complaint, the company would back me 100%, but we’d likely lose all of the Bailey investment money, and we’d grown to rely on it. 

            I threw my head back in resignation.  I couldn’t lose him as a customer

            “I will see you on Wednesday at the appointed time.”

            “Must we be so formal?”

            I met customers offsite all the time.  There was no logical reason to deny Vernon that.  “I will tentatively agree to moving the meeting to a restaurant.  We could make it a business lunch.”

            “You’d do that for li’l ol’ me?”

            “If it will make you happy,” I said out loud.  Internally, I thought, “If it will end this phone call.”  Any longer on the phone with this man, with his voice whispering in my ear, and I was liable to start whimpering and breathing heavy.  I could never let him know just how much he turned me on.

            “It would make me immeasurably happy, my sweet.  Call my girl when you’ve set up a reservation.”  With that, he hung up the phone.

            Oz couldn’t come home soon enough.

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Chapter 5

            True to my word, I snuck out of work at noon.  Even if Mo hadn’t been home waiting for me, I probably would’ve wanted to hightail it.

            I hesitated opening the front door.  Mo was left to entertain himself this morning, which normally for him meant cruising Grindr.  I half-expected to open the door and find him balls deep in some random stranger in the middle of the living room, rather than his guest room.  So, I slowly swung the door open, and was pleased to find Mo in the living room reading a book.

            “I’m home,” I cried, coming in and closing the door behind me.

            “Perfect timing,” Mo said, not looking up from the page.  “My fuckbuddy just left ten minutes ago.  Charming man.  Lovely hair.  He was sad to go, but I told him I was in town to see my brother.”  When Mo stopped talking, he suddenly scrunched up his nose, a confused look dawning on his face.  “It can’t be,” he said.  Then he looked up at me.  “Holy fuck, Eenie!  Look at you!”

            “Good.  You can see it.”

            “See it?”  He ran over and put his hands on my chest and shoulders, slowly rubbing them.  “I can see it, feel it, smell it.  Austin will flip.”

            “I know what you mean,” I said, lazily flexing my left bicep.  It was then that Mo’s strange word choice hit me.  “Smell it?”

            “Yeah.  The spell.  I didn’t know you knew about magic, but, hey, one less thing I have to lie to you about.”

            “What spell?”

            “The one you did to get bigger for Austin’s birthday.  How much did it cost?”

            “I didn’t do a spell.”

            Mo waved away my refusal.  “I know, I know.  You paid someone to do a spell.”

            “No, I didn’t.”

            “I don’t understand,” Mo said, shaking his head.

            “There was no spell.”

            Mo sniffed again.  “Someone cast a spell on you.”

            I pushed Mo away, took off my tie, undid my top collar buttons, and kicked off my shoes.  “Very funny, brother.  I may not be as smart as you, but I know magic’s not real.”  I turned my back on him and headed to the bedroom.

            “Look at yourself,” Mo said.  “Your ass is a whole handful bigger than it was this morning.”

            I closed my bedroom door and locked it.  Mo would follow me in if I didn’t stop him.  Through the door, I called, “I’ve been working out for half a year.”

            “I know,” Mo responded, trying to pull my door open.  “I saw you this morning.  I don’t care if you got a pump on your way home.  This is magic.”

            As I changed into my weekend clothes (a pair of jeans I’d had since college and an old, beat-up flannel), I could feel just how tight my comfy clothes were.  My comfy clothes had never been tight.  I was objectively, observably bigger.  But that didn’t mean magic was real, did it?

            Mo knocked on the bedroom door.  “If you’re embarrassed that you spent a lot of money on something so vain and self-centered, trust me, I do not care.  I’m just glad I get to talk about this stuff with you.”

            I opened the door to let him in.  “This stuff?”

            “Damn, Eenie.  You are squeezed into those pants.”

            Clearing my throat, I repeated, “This stuff?”

            “Magic.  I’ve been studying magic contract law for the last ten years.”

            My face betrayed that he was just confusing me further.

            “Magic is real.  I’ve been studying it for a decade.  I can smell the spell all over you.  Why hide it?”

            “I didn’t do any spell.”

            Mo gestured to my clearly enlarged body.  “Someone did.  And I can prove it.  How much did you weigh this morning?”

            “170.  Ish.”

            “Great.  And now?”

            I went into the bathroom and stood on the bathroom scale.  “180,” I answered defeatedly.

            Mo followed me into the bathroom and put his hand on my shoulder.  “Can anything other than magic explain a ten-pound increase in one day?”

            “I guess not.”

            “So, just own up to it.”  Mo slapped my ass, then turned around and began preening in the mirror.  “You know you’re as buff as me now, right?”

            “I knew I’d gotten bigger.  Hell, my cock got bigger.”

            “Nice,” Mo interrupted.  He turned around from the mirror and smiled maniacally.  “Can I see?”

            “No, you cannot!”  I covered my crotch with both my hands and backed away a little bit. 

            “Spoilsport,” Mo said.  “Let’s go back to the living room where it’s comfortable, and we can talk about this rationally.”  With that, Mo left the bathroom.

            “Talk about magic rationally?” I said, mostly to myself.

            “I’m in the living room now,” Mo sang across the apartment.

            I followed him into the living room.  Mo was sitting on the couch, patting a spot next to him.  I willfully sat in my armchair across the room.  “Okay.  Explain.”

            “You really aren’t the contractor, are you?”

            That didn’t answer anything, so I said nothing.

            Mo continued.  “A spell as complicated as this usually will require four parties: recipient, contractor, caster, drafter.”  He counted each on a different finger.  “The recipient is the person or thing the spell is cast on.  That’s you.”  He pointed at me.  “The contractor is the person who hires someone to get a spell cast.  I thought that was you too, but clearly it isn’t.  The caster is the person who actually performs the spell.”  Mo looked around the room before adding, almost as an aside, “A really talented caster is not cheap, but you and Austin are swimming in cash.”  His aside over, he finished explaining.  “The drafter is the person who writes up the contract.  Like me.  Only I didn’t draft this contract.”

            “Spells require contracts?”

            “Legally, yes.  Casters who perform spells without contracts get punished by the larger magic-using community.  Even people performing death curses—which are, by the way, extremely illegal—use contracts to avoid their wrath.  The last time someone legally cast a spell without a drafter… well… the Borgias happened.”

            “Someone cast a spell on me?”

            “You couldn’t smell it?”

            “Smell what?”

            “When a spell has run its course, the air is filled with an unmistakable smell.  Even people without the slightest magical ability can smell it.  It’s hard to describe.  It’s like… pennies and wintergreen.”

            “I didn’t smell that at all.”

            “Hmm.” Mo drew closer to me to smell me.  “The spell’s not done.  I can smell the spell all over you, but it smells more like clay.  It’s still running its course.”

            “Please stop smelling me,” I said, pushing Mo away.

            “Right, sorry.”  He took his seat on the couch again.

            There was a lot of information coming at me all at once.  “Wait.  Back up.  You’re a drafter.  Does that mean you can do magic?”

            Mo laughed.  “Technically.  But that is such a technicality.  When the magic using community finds you, they assign you a numerical level to describe your abilities.  They found me when I just graduated law school.  I’m a 0.5.  I barely register.  I’m a rounding error.  I’m magical enough to know a spell’s been cast, so I can check up on the contract.  That’s why the company I work for picked me to study as a drafter.  But apart from that…  To do something like this, you’re probably going to want a 3.5 or higher.  The really pricy ones are 4.2 or 4.3.”

            “Put it in muggle terms,” I said.

            “Okay.  If you went to Germany with Austin, you could say hello, and ask where the bathroom was, and say just enough to find someone who spoke English.  Austin is opening a branch of a company and talking to locals, construction workers, and government officials in their native language.  You’re a 0.5; Austin is a 4.2.”

            “Got it.”  With that clear, I could back up a little bit.  “You said my spell is not done.  Does that mean I’m going to keep changing?”

            Mo made a non-committal noise.  “Depends on what’s in the contract.”

            “That’s less than helpful.”

            “It’s honest.  It took me ten years to learn everything, and I already had a law degree.  There’s a lot of arcane language, legal argot, hyper-specific context, and assorted rigamarole.”

            “So, you have no idea what I should expect before the spell finishes.”

            “Not without reading the contract, no.”

            I wanted to kick him.  “Not even the broad strokes?”

            “Well, the first thing I would want to know what type of contract it is.  Most contracts fall into one of two categories: a 3-B or an HCM.”

            “You weren’t kidding about the legal terms.”

            “I’d hope it’d be a 3-B.  A 3-B stands for Blessing, Boon, or Benediction.  There are, of course, exceptions, but a 3-B is generally a gift given to the recipient.”

            “I’ll take that one please.”

            “Well, you can be happied to death, so I’d still want to read the contract.”

            “And the other one?”

            “An HCM is a Hex, Curse, or Malediction.  Basically, these contracts are used as a form of punishment and, with a handful of exceptions, mean bad things for the recipient.”

            I nodded, then gestured.  “I think some extra muscle counts as a gift.”

            Mo looked uncomfortable.  “Spell’s not done, Eenie.”

            I really didn’t want to ask what the negative consequences might be, so, I decided to divert the conversation.  “Why couldn’t anyone at work see that I’m bigger?”

            “They couldn’t?”

            I shook my head.

            “That is unusual.  They should’ve noticed right away.  If people are blind to the spell, that suggests it was worked into the contract.”

            “Is that good or bad?”

            “I need more information.  If the wider world can’t see the spell, that suggests one set of variables.  But if it’s just the people at work who can’t see the spell, that suggests a different set of variables.”

            I nodded, pretending I completely followed.

            “Is there someone you see every day who cannot be interpreted as a coworker?  A neighbor, a friend, a gym buddy?  Someone who would’ve seen you ten pounds ago but hasn’t seen you today?  Ideally, someone who saw you this morning.”

            “Well, my barista.  He likes to flirt with me, and compliment me on my physique, and sometimes gives me free scones.   I didn’t see him this morning, but I saw him last night, right after the gym.”

            Mo’s face lit up.  “Care for a cup of joe?”

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Chapter 7

            All the way back to my apartment, I was in a panicky froth, so Mo took the reins.  He got me home, he calmed me down, he made lunch.  While we were sitting at the dining room just finishing up the meal, Mo asked me to replay the entire scene from my point of view.

            I told him in as explicit details as I felt comfortable sharing with my little brother.  I ended by saying, “And that’s when the fantasy ended.”

            “It wasn’t a fantasy,” Mo said flatly, putting his fork down.  “It was a vision.  Of a possible future.”

            “So, I’m psychic now?”

            Mo shook his head.  “No,” he said bluntly.  “But any time you touch someone who would be willing to have sex with you, the spell will show you exactly what that sex would look like if you gave in.”

            “That’s psychic.”

            Mo rolled his eyes at me.  “No, it’s not.  It’s a possible future.  It’s a seduction malediction.”  Mo cleared our plates and went into the kitchen.  Clearly, he thought this explained everything.

            “Try that again,” I said, “remembering I don’t have your fancy magic law degree.”

            Mo came back into the dining room with a bottle of white wine and two glasses.  He put one glass in front of me and sat down.  “It’s a temptation.”  He poured himself a tall glass of wine.  “First, the spell makes you more sexually attractive to increase the number of people willing to have sex with you.  Then, it ramps up your sex drive.  Expect to be hornier than usual for a while.  After that, it puts temptations in your path.  Any time you make even casual contact with a person who finds you sexually attractive, the spell shows you just how they will fuck your brains out.  In full, HD, pornographic surround sound.  You still get to choose whether you make it reality.  But the visions will make it almost impossible for you to choose anything else.  You will feel like you’ve already given in to temptation so you’re more likely to choose infidelity.  The visions won’t go away until you cave and cheat on your husband.  The spell is trying to get you to have sex.  With someone.  Anyone.  As long as it’s not Austin.”

            “Who would cast that sort of spell?”

            Mo poured me a glass of wine.  His mouth was flat, not even the smallest uptick of a smile.  His brow darkened.  His teeth were slightly clenched, his jaw set.  After a pause that felt eternal, Mo said, “This spell is really popular among jealous wives.  It’s the sort of spell she pays to have cast on her husband if she thinks he’s cheating.”

            “A mystical honeytrap?”

            “If you like.”

            That’s when it hit me.  “You think Oz cast this spell?”

            “I think Austin had this spell cast,” Mo corrected.

            “Why would you say such an awful thing?”

            “Goodness knows he can afford it.  And how old are you?”

            “35.  You know that.”

            “And how old was Austin when he married you?”

            “35.  You better be getting to a point soon.”

            “Wasn’t Austin in a long-term relationship when he met you?  Someone he’d been with for ten years?”  In a harsher tone, Mo added, “Someone his own age?”

            I got up from the table and stormed out into the living room, saying, “I didn’t steal him, if that’s what you’re implying.”

            Mo followed me with the wine.  He put my glass on the side table next to me.  Quietly, calmly, soothingly, he said, “I was implying something worse.  I think Austin had this spell put on you so he could catch you cheating, keep everything in the divorce, and shack up with another 20-year-old.  Maybe even one he’s already dating.”

            I threw my wine in Mo’s face.  “Oz would never cheat on me!”  Leaving Mo wet and silent, I ran to my room and locked the door.

            Inside my room, I darted around, scattered.  I hadn’t thought about Oz’s ex in years.  Years.  But Oz wouldn’t have done this!  I was sure of it.  But Mo had definitely spooked me.

            From the other side of my door, Mo continued talking.  “Hate me if you must, but we’re family.  I have to protect you.”

            “You’ve never liked Oz.”

            “I’ve never trusted him.  He was practically old enough to be our dad, and he broke up with his boyfriend of 10 years to be with you.  You have to admit that that is super shady.”

            “But we’ve been married for 15 years.”

            “And now it’s time for him to trade you in for a younger model.  He’s been in Germany for six months.  Doesn’t that seem excessively long?”

            I collapsed onto my bed.  Mo was making too much sense.  My chest hurt.

            Mo kept up the assault.  “I’d wager money that seconds before you changed, he sent you a text message.  Am I right?”

            Fuck.

            I got up and unlocked the door.  Mo came in and jumped on the bed.  “Hate to say I told you so.”

            I leaned against the doorframe.  “So, okay, I still have one question.”

            “Ask.”

            “Why did he make it so no one at work would notice?”

            A puzzled look fell on Mo’s face, and he said nothing.

            “Wouldn’t he want as many people pawing at me as possible?” I ventured.  “Wouldn’t he want everyone to notice?”

            Mo shrugged.  “You’re right.  That is weird.”

            “It’s gotta be someone I work with.”

            “Okay, yes.  That’s what I thought too before we went to the coffee shop,” Mo confessed.  “But it’s a seduction malediction.  Who at work would care if you cheated on your husband?”

            “Vernon Bailey,” I suggested, scurrying to join Mo on the bed.  “He’s richer than Oz.  And, he called me while I was texting with Oz.”

            “Okay, fair point.  That makes some sense.  He thinks you’re hot, het gets you even hotter…”

            I interrupted.  “But Vernon’s a coworker; he’d be blind to the changes.”

            “Not if he’s the contractor.  A good drafter would allow the contractor to know the spell was cast successfully.”

            “That makes sense,” I said.

            “Back to Vernon.  He gets you even hotter, but no one at work notices so it doesn’t hurt his business arrangements.  He ruins your marriage and then steals you for himself.”

            “And if this thing really is a curse…”

            “Malediction,” Mo interrupted.

            “Whatever.  If it’s supposed to punish me, I have enemies at work.”

            Mo laughed. “Who at work would want to punish you?”

            “Off the top of my head?  Garrett.”

            “And who is this Garrett?”

            “He works under me in the art department.  He would love to ruin my career, my marriage, my life.  Whatever he could get his hands on.  He hates me.”  I was hit by a sudden thought.  “And I was talking to him when I changed.”

            Mo raised an eyebrow in doubt.  “I know how much money you make.  If he works under you, could he really afford it?”

            “Unlikely.  But maybe he’s the actual caster.  Can casters be their own contractors?”

            “Of course, they can.  But there’s a bigger problem.  More people are over seven feet tall than can use magic.  That’s why me with my law degree was such a find.  And why we’re all so expensive.  If he was a caster, why would he work for a pittance at your company?”

            “You didn’t know you were magic until you were 23.  Maybe he just found out.  Maybe I’m his first spell.”

            “That’s complete speculation.”

            “But it’s not impossible.”

            “No.  I guess not.  But did he notice when you changed?  If he can use magic, he wouldn’t be blind to the spell.”

            “I don’t think he did.  But if he’s trying to ruin my life, he wouldn’t exactly tip his hand.”

            Mo remained unconvinced.  “It’s far more likely someone just paid to have the spell done.”

            “There’s probably a dozen other people who hate me that I don’t know about.  I’m in middle management.  We’re notoriously despised.  Hell, maybe they crowdfunded.  I don’t know.  Let’s not blow up my marriage until we have proof.”

            Mo’s face lit up.  “I’ve got a few weeks until my new job starts.  Could you wrangle me a gig in the legal department?  I’m bar certified.”

            “What are you suggesting?”

            “I come work with you for a bit.”

            I scoffed loudly.

            “I can do some sniffing around.  Even though I’m 99% certain your husband did this, I am at a complete loss why he wouldn’t want your coworkers to know.  And I have to find out.”

            I nodded, accepting his proposal.

            Mo stuck out his hand to shake and make it official.

            “Is it safe for me to touch that?” I asked.  The vision of railing Oliver in the lounge of the coffee shop was never going to leave my mind, and I did not want to be scarred by my brother’s perversions.

            For a moment, Mo looked confused.  Then he added, “Come on, Eenie!  You’re my brother!” 

            “Really?” I said, arching an eyebrow.

            “Not kink shaming.  I’ve done some stuff that would make you blush.”

            “Well aware of that,” I reminded him.

            “But you’re my big brother.  I don’t want to fuck you!”  He tackled me while tickling.  I had no vision of us fucking.  Thankfully.

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Chapter 8

            I didn’t leave the apartment that weekend for fear of touching a stranger.  I was especially worried that my gym, a local gay cathedral, would be crawling with people begging to take me to the steam room.  On top of that, I barely texted with Oz, afraid he’d say something innocent that I’d take completely out of context.  It seems like I spent my weekend alternating between masturbating and worrying.  All the masturbating didn’t even take the edge off.  Some part of my mind knew that if I could just sink my cock balls deep into someone, the need would go away.  Mo reassured me that was the spell talking.

            Suffice it to say, by the time Monday morning came, my balls were full and heavy, even heavier than I’d ever experienced.  I woke up that morning with the stiffest of morning wood—it made getting ready for work all the more cumbersome.  And, of course, because I had all of this new facial hair to contend with, shaving took more time than I was used to allotting it.  And then, when I finished shaving, my beard shadow was still noticeable.  If it was on someone else, I’d probably think it was hot.  But it was one me, so it was just a mild frustration.

            Getting dressed was fun, though.  I was initially drawn to my favorite blue button-down.  I always looked hot in that.  But, when I put it on, it showed off every muscle on my body, and if I flexed too hard, I’d break the shirt.  So, I put my favorite shirt aside.

            Because I’d been working out like a fiend for months, I’d already ordered some bigger work clothes weeks ago, but they hadn’t come in the mail yet.  I could’ve also borrowed some of Mo’s clothes—we were the same size now—but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.  So, I chose a non-descript white button-down and slate gray slacks.  When you have ten extra pounds of muscle, a paper bag would look hot.  The shirt was just a little too small, but it would get me through the day.  I got a real thrill out of using one notch lower on my belt.  I wasn’t quite hairy enough to have my chest hair visible through my dress shirt, but in the confines of the shirt, I could feel it pressed down against my skin, and it felt like I had this dirty little secret I was hiding from everyone.  This was a larger shirt and pants, so I wasn’t squeezed into my outfit as I’d been on Friday.  At the same time, I’d never filled out an outfit better in my life.  There were some upsides to this craziness after all.

            I made coffee at home.  The vision of Oliver was too real to risk going back to the coffee shop.  Of course, I’d gotten so reliant on buying my coffee it took me a good five minutes to even find the coffee maker.  Going straight to work was going to skim off some time, though, so at least I wasn’t going to be late.  Not I—we.  Mo was coming to work with me.

            Mo was dressed far too nicely for our office: double breasted navy suit, light blue tie, highly polished shoes.  I tried to tell him we weren’t that fancy of an office building, but he didn’t care.

            “Before I take you to see Mr. Carr,” I explained to Mo, “I have to stop by Alexander and Garrett’s cubicle.  Garrett covered for me on Friday afternoon, so I need to check in to make sure nothing major happened.”

            “Goody.  I get to meet Alexander, a vicious office gossip, and Garrett, the one you think is a sinister spellcaster,” Mo said with a gothic melody in his voice.

            I pushed Mo to the side and kept walking.  Alexander was in his cubicle drinking a cup of coffee and scrolling mindlessly through his phone, but Garrett was not there.

            “Where’s Garrett?” I asked.

            Alexander dropped his phone and looked up.  “I’m not on the clock yet.  I can be on my phone if I want to.”

            “Relax, Alexander.  It’s me.”

            Relieved, Alexander put his phone in his top desk drawer and smiled.  “Sorry.  Right.  Good morning.”

            “Good morning,” I replied.

            “How was your weekend?”

            “Fine.  Yours?”

            “Uneventful,” he said.  “Although those witches in research and development did get me to come to their potluck.  You should hear what they had to say about the janitor.  Whoo-boy!  I am so glad I use the men’s restrooms.”  When I didn’t ask for more details, he added, “Did you want something?”

            “Garrett,” I reminded him.  “Where is he?”

            Alexander shrugged as Mo slid up behind me.

            “Hello, there,” Mo said.  “Are you Garrett?”

            “I’m Alexander.  Alexander Walker.”

            “Eenie’s friend!”  Mo extended his hand over the cubicle wall to shake Alexander’s hand.  “He’s talked about you.  Nice to meet you, I’m Cayden Todd.”

            “My brother,” I added.

            Shaking Mo’s hand, Alexander turned to me and said, “I thought your brother’s name was Mo.”

            “It’s a nickname,” I admitted.

            Taking his hand back, Alexander asked Mo, “How do you get from Cayden to Mo?”

            “You don’t,” Mo said.  “Ever since Ian and I were kids, I’ve called him Eenie.”

            “And I hated it when I was a kid,” I added, “so I’d call him Meanie.”

            Mo continued, “But he’s my Eenie, so I’d say ‘my Eenie,’ which I slurred into ‘Miney.’”

            “So, I had to say ‘Mo.’”

            “Eventually, he just started calling me Mo.  It stuck.”  Whispering, Mo added, “And when I came out of the closet in high school, it took on a delicious second meaning.”

            “You’re both gay?” Alexander asked.

            “Our parents raised us right,” Mo said.

            Not sure whether to laugh, Alexander replied, “So, should I call you Cayden or Mo?”

            “Only Eenie calls me Mo.  Cayden will do nicely.”  After a slight pause, Mo rested his elbow on the top of the cubicle wall and his head on his fist, then asked, “Would you like to have lunch with me today?  You are adorable.”

            Alexander blushed.  “How’d you know I’m gay?”

            Without a jot of irony or cruelty, Mo stood up tall and responded, “Because you introduced yourself as Alexander and not Alex.”

            Alexander laughed.

            “In all honesty,” Mo said, “Eenie’s told me about you.  That’s how I know you’re gay.  However, he never told me you were the cutest little cherub.”

            “Lunch sounds lovely,” Alexander said.

            As Mo and Alexander finished making lunch plans, Garrett showed up.  “Who’s this overdressed peacock?”  As Garrett was used to being the best dressed person in the office, I guess he saw Mo’s suit as a threat.

            “My brother,” I said.

            “Cayden Todd,” Mo said, giving Garrett a half-salute.

            “Charmed,” Garrett said, biting with sarcasm.

            “Any news from Friday?” I asked.

            “It was smooth sailing,” Garrett said.  “I doubt Mr. Carr even noticed.”  With that, Garrett sat down and started working.

            I pulled Mo away from the cubicle and dragged him to the stairwell.  Once the door closed behind us, I turned around and asked, “Well?”

            “Well what?”

            “Is Garrett a caster?”

            “How on Earth would I know that?  I saw him for three seconds.”

            “You could smell the spell all over me.”

            “I can detect spells, not casters.  I’m not a bloodhound.”

            “I don’t know the rules,” I reminded him.

            “Clearly,” Mo said.  “Besides, I was more interested in Alexander.”

            I laid into Mo, shout-whispering, “What’s with hitting on him?  You’re here to find evidence, not have leisurely lunches.”

            Mo smiled wanly.  “How do you suppose I do that?  Get a magnifying glass?  Call up CSI?”

            “I don’t follow,” I admitted.

            “Alexander loves gossip.  He’ll know all the office dirt, especially the stuff people say behind your back that he’s too kind to say to your face.”

            “Oh.  That actually makes sense.”

            Mo continued, “The fact that he’s an absolute snack I wouldn’t mind having after lunch is a bonus.”

            I narrowed my eyes.  “Tread lightly there.”

            “Sir, yes sir,” Mo said.

            Like the ham he is, Mo marched behind me the rest of the way to Mr. Carr’s office.

            Mr. Carr’s door was open, so I peeked in.  He was using Mr. Tyler’s office on the tenth floor, but Mr. Carr had completely marked it as his territory.  Most noticeably, his large, imposing desk was littered with pictures.  One was of two small children I could only assume were his children or grandchildren.  One was the wedding photo of a skinny, red-headed man and beaming brunette woman.  I assumed it was his son or little brother.  There was a rather large photograph of Mr. Carr and his wife, the standard-issue trophy wife who looked like Barbie.  There was even a photo of his dogs: a black Labrador and a German shepherd.  But there were other touches too, such as a small red coffee maker.  Mr. Tyler would get his assistant to fetch his coffee.  I guess Mr. Carr preferred making his own.  Mr. Carr had also swapped out the standard executive chair with one wide enough to seat him comfortably.  I assume it was custom-made.  Even sitting down, he was a wide, intimidating man.

            Steeling myself, I knocked while stepping in.  “Am I disturbing you?”

            Without looking up, he growled, “Depends.  If it’s important, y’ain’t disturbing nothing.  If it’s something stupid, tell it to the coffee maker.”

            “I’m Ian Myers, Marketing Liaison Manager.  Do we have any work in the legal department?  Even just temp work?”

            Mr. Carr looked me square in the eyes.  His eyes were frighteningly blue.  It was odd to see something so beautiful in the middle of something so gruff.  “So, Mr. Ian Myers.  You heard?”

            I nodded, pretending I had.

            “Hugo’s been keeping this dog and pony show criminally understaffed with a revolving door of temps and unpaid interns.  It’s mostly in the low-level, low-responsibility places like the mailroom.  Sure as hell not the legal department.  I don’t know if you two had some sort of arrangement, but I find the whole practice a shitshow.  It’s a half-assed, shortcut way to not offer people full-time employment and benefits.  If I find out you were in on this…”

            Mo stepped into the room and interrupted Mr. Carr.  “Nice to meet you, sir.  I’m Cayden Todd.  Here’s my resume.”

            Mr. Carr took the resume, but didn’t look at it.

            “I’m actually too qualified to work here.  I’m certified to practice law on six continents.  And if they come up with an accreditation plan, I will practice law in Antarctica too.  Ian here is my dear brother.  He heard about this temp scam and asked me to put a stop to it without inflicting legal consequences on the company.”  I hate how quickly Mo can lie.

            Mr. Carr looked dubious, but a quick glance at Mo’s resume impressed him.  “Mr. Todd, you’d be willing to look into this matter for the peanuts we’d be able to pay you?”

             “What can I say?  I’m on vacation, and this sounded like a blast.”

            That was less than convincing.  “You’d spend your vacation at the Boston branch of a multinational conglomerate?”

            Mo shrugged.  “Some people golf.”

            Mr. Carr laughed.  “Very well.  Have Mr. Myers take you down to HR and get you access to the employee files and anything else you need.”

            Mo bowed obsequiously and left the office.  Before I could follow him out, Mr. Carr cleared his throat.

            I turned to look at Mr. Carr, and he said, “Good instinct, Mr. Myers.”

            “Thank you, Mr. Carr.”

            “I’ll be keeping my eye on you.”

            I left the office as quickly as I could.

            In the elevator on our way to the HR office on the ground floor, Mo blurted, “He was butch.  Deliciously so.  Enough to make you forgive his taste in office furniture and picture frames.”

            “He’s the CEO.”

            “What’s the CEO doing slumming it in the Boston branch?  Shouldn’t he be in New York or LA?”

            “He showed up on Friday.  He’s in town on business, covering for Mr. Tyler, the sick branch manager.”

            “Curiouser and curiouser.”

            “What?” I asked.

            Mo stopped the elevator.  “The day someone cast a spell on you, a spell none of your coworkers can see, your boss goes missing.”

            “You think Mr. Carr has something to do with this?”

            “No,” Mo said, restarting the elevator.  “I think Mr. Tyler does.”

            I stood flabbergasted.

            Mo continued.  “It’s a good thing I have access to employee hiring records and a lunch date with an office gossip.”

            The elevator doors opened, and Mo stepped off.

            “Bye bye, Eenie.  Have fun liaising the marketing department, or whatever it is you do.”

            The doors closed, and I was alone in the elevator.

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