North and Shaw Out of Office - Gregory Ashe Page 0,8

nine hours, ten if I can, but—”

“You’re caffeinated to the gills,” North said, giving Shaw a little shake as he steered him across the dance floor. “And you’re annoying as fuck like this, so let’s play a game where you try not to talk until we get home.”

“To your home? Or to my home? Oops.” Shaw covered his mouth with one hand. Then, speaking through his fingers, he said, “Sorry. I just don’t understand why you won’t—”

North froze at the same time that Shaw stopped talking.

Ahead of them, directly in their path, Pari was dancing up on someone and making out. Hard.

And it was a boy.

A very pretty, very skinny, very blond boy with shaggy curls like he’d wandered straight out of the 70s.

And his tongue was probably halfway to Pari’s dinner.

“Um,” Shaw said.

“Uh,” North said.

“Chuck’s going to be . . .” Shaw said.

“No,” North said, pointing. “No, she’s not.”

Chuck was sitting at one of the high tables, drink in one hand, watching. And smiling.

“Ok,” Shaw said.

“Ok,” North said

Pari saw them, extricated herself from the blond guy’s hands and tongue, and made her way over to them. Tonight, the bindi looked black, but it might have been a dark red or a dark green or a dark blue. Whatever color, it wasn’t as dark as the waterfall of onyx hair. It wasn’t as dark as her eyes.

Pulling a paper out of her pocket, she passed it to North. “I type fifty words per minute, I have excellent people skills, I score a 9.7 on lateral thinking, and I’ve got a mind of my own.”

“A 9.7?” Shaw said.

“I made that up.”

“You’ve got a mind of your own?” North was grinning. “Like a headstrong governess in a Bronte novel?”

“I should have expected a typically Eurocentrist, male chauvinist response.” She whirled away, her dark hair cutting the air like a midnight fan.

“You can start Monday,” Shaw said.

“I think maybe we should look at several candidates before we—” North tried to say.

“I’m going to be late,” Pari announced as she strode toward the blond boy. “Have somebody clock in for me at eight, and I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“That’s not exactly how it works . . .” Shaw started, but Pari wrapped herself around the blond boy, staring at Shaw until North could almost see the words dry up.

“I’m spending the rest of the weekend with my boyfriend. And my girlfriend. Is that a problem?”

“The problem is asking us to clock you in when you’re not—”

Pari and the boyfriend had danced away before North could finish.

“That,” North said, “is why we should have looked at multiple candidates. Done some interviews. Asked for references.”

“She’s going to be great,” Shaw said. “Plus she’s bi. And poly.”

“Jesus, let’s get you home. And we’re setting up an OkCupid profile for you tonight. Tonight, Shaw. No arguments. I don’t need you making any more business decisions because your dried-up bits got excited at the thought of Pari playing both sides of the field.”

“I don’t really need a dating profile. I actually think single people can be happier than people in relationships. I was reading this Mother Jones article, and it said—”

“Shaw?”

“Huh?”

“Buddy?”

“What?”

“Let’s get you laid.”

GONE GOAT

This story takes place before Triangulation.

1

SHAW CIRCLED BEHIND his desk, keeping the heavy hunk of furniture between him and North.

“I don’t need a vacation.”

North came around the desk, and Shaw circled. Again.

“I’m sleeping fine.”

North kept coming.

Panic scrabbled inside Shaw; he kicked at the chair and sent it rolling on its casters. “I bought some ashwagandha root. I’ll take some tonight. The guy at the apothecary swears by it.”

North kicked the chair out of his way. “Great.”

“Yeah, it is. It’s really great. I’m going to sleep like a baby.”

But North was still coming, and all Shaw could think of was the Terminator. Shaw hot-footed it backward again, stumbling out of the office and into the waiting area.

“You’ll sleep like a baby tonight,” North said.

“Definitely. Definitely.”

“In the hotel.”

“No, I don’t think—”

Shaw stumbled sideways, and then something hit him at the knees, and he fell, hard. Only instead of landing on the floor, he collapsed into a chair that had been pushed under him.

He glanced up at Pari. She smiled.

“Et tu?”

She was still smiling as she shoved the chair, and it wobbled on its casters toward North, who had been waiting for this.

“This is a conspiracy. This isn’t fair. You had this rigged.”

“Bag?” North said.

Pari pointed.

North grabbed the carry-on and dropped it in Shaw’s lap. “Hold that.”

“Don’t. No. Please.” The chair lurched as North dragged