"Ahem."
"Bonjour, Monsieur Carlton."
"Bonjour, what's so interesting on the screen?"
"Oh, the night watchers left us a note, Mrs. N'Diayé left at 2 AM."
Um, she didn't even finish at midnight, thought Gregory.
"And now we're watching the N'Diayé show."
Gregory leaned over, intrigued; the video showed Xenia dancing like someone possessed by the devil.
"Is there no sound?" Gregory asked.
"Nope, but I can tell from the choreography it's Tina Turner Proud Mary."
"Eh, is there a copy of this?"
"No, sir, it has a 24-hour run, and if there's nothing to report, the video gets erased," Mr. Sheck answered.
"Why don't you report this?"
"Because there's no policy behind working late or dancing the office," Patrick replied.
"Poor girl, I thought she wouldn't need to do all this over time like at the beginning."
Gregory turned to face Mr. Sheck, "what do you mean?"
Keita scratched his head, "well, when Xenia arrived, there was stiff competition, and since she isn't a tender girl, she decided to prove her worth with work alone. Mrs. N' diayé has given serious hours to this company, only to have the position she desired given to someone else."
XY XX
"Gregory."
Gregory turned to find Cassie standing behind him with a curious stare.
"Good morning, Mrs. Jensen."
"Oh, please call me Cassie."
"Just a moment, please, Cassie," Gregory said. He smiled at her and turned back to the security guards.
"Eh, Mr. Sheck, please transfer the video to Mr. Wendon's office, and," Gregory lowered his voice bending to the security guard's lobe, "please, don't show anyone else."
"Oui, Monsieur."
"A problem?" Cassie asked when Gregory turned his attention back to her.
"Nothing, I can't fix."
They both swiped their badges and walked to the elevators.
"How's this first week going?"
"Good."
"Oh, because of I--."
Cassie talked, but Gregory's focus was elsewhere.
Xenia stayed late at work; of course, the woman refused to do overtime since she lived in Astoria; this explained her results.
What intrigued Gregory was Xenia could work from home if she wanted. Then he hit him; she probably didn't desire the company to be aware of her relationship with Anya Fernster by connecting her home IP address.
What was left was her lateness, but even that Gregory accused the all-nighters, she pulled off.
On the 18th floor, Cassie was surprised not to see Gregory step out.
"Where are you going?" The redhead yelled as the doors closed.
"To see Director Everett."
A wave of panic struck Cassie. Did Gregory find out something suspicious in Astoria?
The manager banged on the 2nd lift's console, pressing down for the lobby. She had to know what the security men told Gregory to make him hurry to see Director Everett.
XY XX
"Wendon."
"Gregory, good God, you scared the shit out of me," Wendon said. He wiped his wet hair and chose a shirt from his office's dressing.
"This is the life, there's an inbuilt shower, and I can completely change here."
"Why didn't you shower at your place?"
"I partied all night on the Champs Elysee; I knew if my body touched a bed, it would be the death of me. So directly came here in a cab."
"Wendon, I beg you try to--, nevermind, can I have your password?"
"AsthonIII."
"Oh, please change that. Anyone can log in and spy on you with a password that easy."
"It's all I could come up within a limited period. You know what a fan I am of Monsieur Ashton," Wendon said, giving Gregory a wink as he did his tie. "By the way, why are you here, anyway?"
"I wanted to watch a video; your terminal is the most secured."
"Gregory, don't tell me you want to watch at a little Pornhub before work, cheeky fella," Wendon said as he tapped on Gregory's shoulder.
"Wendon."
Gregory lifted his head and squinted his eyes before glaring at Wendon with a WTF expression. He then resumed what he was doing. He logged into Artiss; the video was in Wendon's mailbox. Gregory ran it from the beginning.
"Who is it? Wow, the girl can move. Wait a minute, don't tell me it's your tiger."
Gregory turned to glare at Wendon, who backed away, "Xenia is not my tiger."
Wendon decided to deviate Gregory's focus, "what on earth is she doing?"
"She stayed late to finish a report."
"So, this is your doing again?" Wendon said in an accusative tone.
"She called me a prick, remember."
"You know what other nicknames Xenia has apart from Jolie Bubbly, in reference to her lower back balance?" Wendon asked.
"I'm not sure I want to know."
"They call her DJ."
"What, she's a Disc Jockey?"
"Nope, Diss Jockey is the definition. That's why some people like Xenia so much. She knows how to scratch the ego," Wendon said, bringing a hand to his ear and pretending to scratch vinyl with the other, only stopping to comment on the video, "wait, who are they?"
Xenia was joined in the office by two women.
"Probably the night cleaning team, there's a group at night, and another around 6 AM," Gregory replied.
"Xenia is dancing with them," without the music, the video looked like a Harlem Shake video.
"What is she doing now?"
"Hoovering, the old woman is sitting down; she must be tired."
"Damn, you have good eyes," Wendon said. He shifted his head to stare at his friend, whose eyes focused on the screen.
Gregory's eyesight wasn't better; the man was just too keen to understand what was going on. The two men watched the video till the end, where a very exhausted Xenia put a large file on Gregory's seat, closed the light, and left.
Wendon turned to look at him, "I bet you feel like--."
"A prick."
"I didn't say it, don't be too hard on yourself, and it's not like she does that every day," Wendon said as he patted Gregory on the shoulder once more.
Gregory thought of Mr. Keita Sheck's words; it was a routine. He was wrong about Xenia. She wasn't a slacker or a thief; she was the result of demotivation that comes when what you deserve is taken from you.
A feeling of relief overwhelmed him.
"Well, at least now you have the answers concerning her profile. Apart from that, she is a pretty woman with one heck of a sexy arse; it's a shame Xenia, one of Jaila's sisters Orange, is the new Black style."
Gregory turned and threw Wendon a cold stare and sighed. He picked up his case and made his way to the door.
"Gregory, wait, what do you want me to do?" Wendon yelled as he passed his door.
"Nothing, I'll take care of it," Gregory returned from afar.
Wendon's secretary had arrived since, "good morning," she said from her desk.
"Good morning, Gregory replied; turning down the hall, he glanced back at the secretary who typed quietly.
Did she overhear the conversation?
Gregory shrugged off the idea and walked to the lift, and he descended to the 18th floor, where he found a clean file spot where he saw Xenia leave it.
XY XX
"Eh, has anyone seen Xenia around?"
"She'at the coffee machine,"François replied.
Gregory deposited his jacket and case and went to the small pause lounge. Xenia was drinking coffee like a smoker trying to stop who found a substitute in the dark matter.
"Xenia."
The woman slowly turned, as usual, she was primed to the brim with another wig, flawless make-up, an electric blue pencil skirt with a white shirt. Her all-nighter was ni vu ni connu [incognito]. Gregory noted how the skirt screamed tightness so loud it seemed as though her buttocks were trying to escape.
"Good morning Gregory, the files on the desk. Are you going to fire me?"
"No," Gregory said, taken aback by the flash verbal attack. He quickly regained his composure. "I saw, thank you. You did a good job."
Gregory was sincere; he hoped it came across, even if he didn't manage a smile.
Why didn't he smile at her when he gave many to Cassie without much thought?
Xenia just strutted past him with the plainest of expressions. It was only when she passed the corner she did three little Tina Turner moves before looking back and sneering at the closed door of the pause lounge.
Gregory looked at the trash bin where Xenia had stood; she had stacked three cups of coffee. A hint of guilt invaded him as he poured his own.