Playing Dirty

Eight

"Good morning Ryan!"

The beefy security guard looked up from the array of screens in front of him to give Ryan a perplexed grin and a raised eyebrow. "Trying to set a new record?"

Ryan let the revolving door bearing the company logo swing shut behind him, adjusted the strap of the laptop bag that hung from his shoulder and leaned on the security desk, the corners of his mouth lifted in a smile.

"Morning Trevor! What? Can't a man be in his office by..." he stole a quick glance at his watch and let out a surprised whistle. "...a quarter to six?"

No wonder the poor man was surprised. In the seven years Ryan had worked at Silvercorp, he couldn't remember a time he'd been in this early. His usual hours began at seven or seven thirty, and since the BFD, much later, or sometimes never.

Still, after spending most of the night tossing around on his bed, his thoughts alternating between work and a certain brown eyed witch, he'd finally admitted defeat at three a.m and had gone for a quick run to clear his head, and when that had proved a failure, he'd decided he might as well put all his pent up frustrations to good use by coming in to work.

He glanced around, noting that save for Trevor and a cleaning lady busily wiping down the already gleaming massive reception counter, the lobby was deserted and looked completely different without the usual teeming mass of humanity hurrying to and fro punctuated by the sounds of heels striking white marble floors, electronic beeps and a hundred conversations.

"Nah, just never seen you here this early before," Trevor replied with a chuckle. "Now, there's some I won't be surprised to see at this hour, but not you."

"Is that an indirect way of calling me a lazy ass slacker?" Ryan demanded in mock outrage, unable to keep his face serious enough to carry the pretence.

"You said it dude, not me." Trevor shot back, hands held up in a gesture of innocence, eyes twinkling merrily. Then he assumed a serious look. "By the way, the wife and I are really grateful for that vacation you gifted us last year. I never really got a chance to thank you properly..."

"Like I said before, there's no need to thank me," Ryan cut in, uncomfortable with the gratitude and the memories it dredged up. "It was already paid for and would have been a wasted expense in any case."

He'd planned a three month trip to several of the most romantic tourist destinations in the world, as a wedding surprise for the bride that never was. Bitter, hurt and devastated, Ryan had gifted the trip to Trevor and his new wife instead, along with a two month pay package while the guard was on vacation.

He pushed the memory of his failed relationship back into the dark room he'd imagined, noting oddly enough, that the pain hadn't brought him to his knees or sent him into a downward spiral of despair.

"Still," Trevor continued, giving him a sheepish smile, "we enjoyed it and even got a permanent memento of the trip."

It took a minute for the meaning to sink in, then Ryan got it and burst out laughing.

"You sly dog, you!" He gave the man a hearty thump on a shoulder. "Congrats man."

"Thanks man, we're due sometime next month."

The door swung open, admitting the chilly morning air and two front desk receptionists, who called out greetings to both men, while wearing mildly curious expressions at Ryan's presence.

Feeling less eager to sit in an empty office all alone with his wayward thoughts than he'd been earlier, Ryan lingered in the lobby, chatting with all three.