The office looked different than he remembered. He hadn't been around in nearly six months, and it looked like Zachary had done some work to the place. Tyler stepped out of his car, hit the lock button on his key ring, and walked up to the front door. He winced at the sound of the electronic bell over the door and fought not to just yank the door closed to stop the noise. He walked to the lone desk that was situated against the far left wall and looked around for the receptionist. When he didn't see anyone, he went to the old 'notice that I'm here' standby trick of clearing his throat. When a head popped out from under the desk, he had to force himself not to jump.

"May I help you?" The girl from under the desk straightened up and waved a pen in front of Tyler's eyes as if to say 'this is why I was down there, why do you look so shocked?'. She gave him a once-over when he didn't say anything. "May I help you, Sir?"

The 'sir' snapped Tyler out of his sudden bout of paralysis. He hated being called sir. It made him feel old. Well, older than forty-three, at least. "I'm here to see Zachary Marks, Ms.-" He searched for a nameplate on the desk.

"I don't have one." The girl smiled at him and suddenly looked slightly older than seventeen. She held out a hand to Tyler. "Precocious Grant."

Tyler cocked his head at her in disbelief. "You're kidding me."

"Why do you think I don't have a nameplate? Either people *know* the word and get way too curious, or people don't know the word and butcher it completely." She was still holding out her hand. She waved it at him a little to get his attention. "And your name?"

"My-oh! Tyler Carey." He shook her hand, noting that the grip was firm but still somehow feminine. "Nice to meet you." When he let go of her hand, he felt a bit more professional again, and it felt good. She'd thrown him off with popping up from behind the desk and having such an odd name. "I have a ten o'clock appointment with Zachary Marks."

Precocious hit a few keys on her computer and studied her screen for a few seconds. "Tyler Carey, ten o'clock, discussion of a new contract and the latest upheavals that he's brought on himself."

"Excuse me?"

"Zachary writes the meeting descriptions, I don't." Precocious smiled at him as she reached an arm across her desk and picked up the phone. She hit the 'intercom' button and scratched her nails on the desktop while she waited for Zachary to pick up the extension. When he didn't, she sighed, put down the phone, and rolled her eyes. She waved Tyler to a chair. "If you'll have a seat, I'll be back in just a moment." She stood up from behind the desk and walked over to a large, closed door that stood caddy-corner to her desk.

Tyler watched her go and took a quick physical inventory while she was up. She was short, but not overly so. He would guess her at around five feet, four inches out of the heels she was wearing. Her hair was dark brown, and her eyes were gray. When she had first come out from under the desk, he had thought she was some part-time high school temp that Zachary had hired in a fit of desperation, but as he watched her move over to the door, he could tell by the way her hips curved and the confidence that she carried on herself that she was a full woman who was used to the way she moved and reacted. He put the body he was seeing with the personality he had just been introduced to and couldn't help but wonder if there was some poor slob of a bastard with a garage band who didn't know just how good he had it with a woman like her.

"Mr. Carey, Zachary will see you now." Precocious had a look of annoyance on her face that was obviously not aimed at Tyler. She stepped away from the door to let Tyler enter Zachary's office, then closed the door behind her.

Zachary was standing behind his desk staring at his phone like a genie was going to spring from it and grant him three wishes. "Hey, Tyler."

"Hey." Tyler put his briefcase on the floor by the chair in front of Zachary's desk and accepted the other man's handshake. "You look confused."

"I don't understand my phone." Zachary's index finger hovered over an orange button, but didn't press down. "I have no idea how to work the damned thing. Precocious has been trying to show me since she started here, but I don't get it."

Tyler shook his head at Zachary's lack of techno-skill and sat down in the chair. "What happened to Mrs. Slate?" Mrs. Slate had been Zachary's assistant since, as far as Tyler could tell, the beginning of all time. She had been a severe woman who ran the office as if it were the last post for professionalism in the known world. Tyler had always been half-convinced that she starched the carpet.

"She retired and decided to move to a warmer climate." Zachary made a disgusted face to show what he thought of the concept. "She's living in Oklahoma, now."

"Oklahoma? How is that a different climate than *Kansas*?"

"She swears that the wind is warmer."

Tyler laughed. "I think you drove her out of her mind."

Zachary held up his hands in an act of defense. "Trust me, she needed no help. She was a great assistant, but I always worried about the day when I would come in and find my paperclips organized by size, color, and shape." He shook his head at the memories and changed the subject. "What brings you back into Kansas? I distinctly recall you swearing the place off when you moved to San Francisco with Julia two years ago."

"She divorced me." Tyler decided it was best to just have that bit of information thrown to the wind as opposed to being smooth about its introduction. "I walked into the house eight months ago after working twelve hours at the office that day to finish up some loose ends on an account, and she handed me divorce papers. I had tickets for a romantic week in Berlin tucked in my briefcase. She'd never been to Berlin." Tyler saw Zachary wince in sympathy and waved him off. "Don't bother. You never liked her."

"I'd deny it, but it's true. She was a shrew."

"A shrew is someone who scolds or nags or rides your ass. She just tended to get very icy and quiet when she was pissed." Tyler shrugged. "Not that that was much different than her usual attitude." He squinted at Zachary. "Tell me why I married her, again?"

"I never could figure it out." Zachary grinned a little. "I do recall you extolling on her virtues in bed."

"Oh, yeah, the sex. It's been so long since I've had it, I've nearly forgotten it." Tyler pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and squeezed his eyes shut for a minute. "Let's change the subject."

"All right." Zachary looked Tyler over. "You look pretty good for a man who probably just got reamed in his divorce." Zachary was speaking the truth. Tyler looked a little worn-out around his eyes, the blue looked a little dim, but the he looked to be at his peak otherwise. His khakis and button-down looked impeccable, and his red hair was slicked back from his forehead in a way that could make him look either imposing or professional, depending on the attitude that came with it. His shoulders were wide, and his body was solid. He wasn't even close to the scary physical perfection that Zachary remembered from the first time they'd met, but he looked like a man who took care of himself.

"Thanks." Tyler nodded once at Zachary. "You look like you've been busy." Zachary was thinner than Tyler remembered, reminding him briefly of the greyhound he'd once had as a kid. His hair was completely gray, and his eyes were a dull brown that would have been remarkable at all if not for the spark of intelligence and business owner madness in them. His suit was tailored to its last resort, and Zachary wore it well. "Where'd you find the new assistant?"

"Mrs. Slate recommended her. She came in one day and dropped off a resume, and Mrs. Slate walked in the next day and insisted that I hire her."

"What'd her resume look like?"

Zachary shrugged. "I have no idea. Mrs. Slate said I could take her at her word or find my own damned assistant. Precocious's resume had a quick and painful meeting with the shredder."

"How convenient." Tyler shared a grin with Zachary. Shredded resumes was a classic move by the retired Mrs. Slate. Zachary had always wondered on the sheer number of people he hired based on Mrs. Slate's word. "Can't say I miss the old broad. She was about as pleasant as swallowing razors."

"So was your ex." Zachary stood up from his desk and walked over to the mini-fridge that stood on top of a short filing cabinet. He opened it up and grabbed two bottles of water. He tossed one to Tyler. "And she didn't send me running back to Kansas."

"I am not here because of *her*." Tyler sounded peeved. "I'm here because I'm moving back because San Francisco sucks."

"You liked it well enough when you first moved out there." Zachary tapped his finger against a postcard that was stuck under a magnet on the fridge. It showed a classic, bird's-eye view of the Bay, complete with perfectly blue sky and a fishing boat. "Want me to read the back of this?"

"No." Tyler was well aware of what it said.

Zachary-

Weather's colder than I expected, but the bed's nice and warm. Hope the Kansas winter doesn't cause some needed parts to fall off. Take care.

-Tyler

"Don't forget, I was still having sex on a regular basis when I wrote that."

"Likely excuse." Zachary sat back at his desk and pointed his water bottle at Tyler. "Do you need a job?"

If anyone else had asked straight out like Zachary, Tyler would have been offended and insisted that he didn't make appointments to see old friends to beg for a job. They'd been friends for so long that the question was actually more comforting to hear than anything else. People in California talked like a politically correct sitcom. It was nice to hear someone be blunt for a change. "I'm fine. I made a killing in San Francisco, and I can live on it for the rest of time if I really want to. I'm taking some time off. I've moved back to the farm."

"You're kidding." Zachary looked positively gleeful at the news. "When did you lose a bet?"

Tyler shrugged. "I needed a place to stay, and it's been sitting there. Thanks for keeping it decent."

"Don't thank me yet. I rent it out as a whorehouse on the weekends. The football players love it." Zachary grinned when Tyler laughed.

"Can't wait for Friday night, then."

"I'm sure-" Zachary cut off when there was a sharp rap on his office door. "Come in." Precocious stepped in looking a bit pained. "What is it?"

"The reps from Carrington are here. They're fidgeting in the foyer like they've never been in an office before." Precocious looked a bit peeved. "I'm about ready to drug test them."

Tyler stood up from his chair and grabbed his briefcase. "I know a cue when I hear one. I'll see you in a few days, Zachary."

"Sure." Zachary looked from Tyler to Precocious. "See when I have a free lunch next and schedule Tyler in."

"Can do." Precocious held the door open for Tyler, then followed him back to her desk. She pointedly ignored the small cluster of men in power suits and ties as she sat down. "When's the best time for you?"

"I'm open for the next couple of weeks."

"Well, that makes it easy." She gave Tyler a quick smile that he couldn't quite interpret as professional. "He's open on Thursday at one."

"That'll be fine." Tyler turned to leave, then changed his mind and pivoted back towards her. "I have to know, where'd the name come from?"

Precocious looked up from scrawling Tyler's lunch with Zachary onto her desk calendar. "I didn't cry when I was born. My mother thought it showed a great level of maturity."

Tyler wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. "Okay?"

"She was a hippie." Precocious flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Or I should say 'is'."

"Is?"

"She lives in one of the last communes in the country."

Of all the explanations he had expected, a hippie parent hadn't come up in his mind. "And how does she feel about you working for the evil corporation of Mr. Marks?"

"She doesn't say much, but she can't really, since Zachary is very environmentally friendly and believes in paying a living wage to the people who earn it." Precocious grinned at Tyler, this one, he was certain, wasn't professional. "Plus the fact that he has the same last name as her dear literary friend Karl doesn't hurt."

Tyler couldn't help but smile back at her. "He spells it differently."

"Minor detail."

Curiosity satisfied, Tyler nodded at Precocious and left the office. It wasn't until after he got settled back into his car that he realized that his last few minutes of discussion with her could have been taken as flirting. He hoped that she took it as an old salesman remembering one of the standards of business: suck up to the receptionists and janitors. They're the ones who can get you places. He was sure that was how he had meant it. She was way too young to be flirting with.

*

"How was work?"

Precocious tossed her keys onto the kitchen counter and kicked off her heels. "Not overly different from yesterday." She opened the door to the fridge and pulled out the milk carton. "How about you?"

Linda wrinkled her nose in distaste. "I had an utterly unproductive day." She scratched her cheek where a bit of dried paint was starting to flake. "It sucked."

"Can I see what you managed to get done?" Precocious didn't wait for Linda to answer before she headed towards the spare room of the apartment that she and Linda had turned into a studio and study. She stopped at the door and dropped her head to the left to get a good look at the half-finished painting on the easel. "It's you, isn't it?"

"How can you tell?" Linda stepped around Precocious and walked up to the canvas so that she almost touched it with her nose. "What shows it's me? I can't tell."

"That purple streak there." Precocious trailed her finger in the air near a large, wavy purple slash that cut the canvas into a tiny triangle at the top left and an oddly shaped pentagon. "It's the same color as your hair."

"You think?" Linda pulled her ponytail over her shoulder and compared its coloring to the canvas. "Yeah, I guess it's close."

"And that's your eye, there."

Linda nodded and ran her finger on the nearly dry greenish-brown paint that was situated just to the left of an orange hexagon. "Yeah."

Precocious laughed and pointed at a red line that was about two inches long. "And that's your height because you think you're freakishly short."

"I am freakishly short. Who's four foot ten in this day and age?"

"You, and you wear it well." Precocious nudged Linda's shoulder with her own and gave her ponytail a tug. "It looks really good. I don't know what you're freaking out about."

"I'm on deadline."

"You've never missed a deadline."

Linda shrugged. "But I've never felt this queasy going into one."

"So what? You've never done a completely personal show before, either. You'll be fine. And I'll even wash out your brushes if you need some help."

"Thanks." Linda turned from the canvas in time to see Precocious take a drink straight from the milk carton. "I did dishes today. We're not out of clean glasses."

Precocious rolled her eyes. "You know, I *have* a mother."

"Yeah, well, she's not here, and I'm bitchy." Linda cracked her fingers, then suddenly remembered that the phone had rung sometime in the mid-afternoon. "Someone called earlier. I haven't checked the machine, yet."

"I've got it. I've got to get a glass, anyway." Precocious walked back to the kitchen and tapped the button for the machine to play back the one message it was flashing.

"Hey, Pre, it's Chad. Just calling to say hi. Call me sometime."

"Oh, you've *got* to be fucking kidding me." Precocious forgot all about getting a glass for her milk when she threw the carton against the wall.

"I'm not cleaning that up." Linda sounded non-plussed as she hopped up on the counter opposite the milk massacre and leaned against the microwave. "Now I'm sorry I didn't check the machine."

"It's not your fault. He's not supposed to be calling. The fucktwit." Precocious made a noise that was somewhere between a snarl and a growl. She looked at the mess of milk on the counter and floor and grabbed the dish towel that was hanging over the faucet. "I can't believe I ever dated him."

"Ah, but you did." Linda hopped down from the counter, grabbed Precocious by the arm and steered her over to her shoes. "Put those on. We're going for comfort food."
"I don't do that ice cream and sappy movie shit."

"I was thinking huge burger with bacon and onions and extra mustard." Linda shrugged. "And then, maybe ice cream."

"Do we still have that copy of "Evil Dead"?"

"If you didn't put it in the 'burn because it belonged to Chad' box."

"I didn't. I couldn't do that to Bruce." Precocious rubbed her eyes and seemed to try to shake off the bad feelings she was having. "Burgers?"

"With extra mustard. Let's go." Linda slipped on the flip flops she always kept by the door and grabbed the keys to her car. "Do you want to go to the good, expensive place or the shitty, cheap place?"

"Cheap place. I want something that can kill me if I eat too much." Precocious let herself be led out the front door the apartment, down the flight of stairs to the ground, and into Linda's car. She stared moodily out of the window all the way across town.

*

Tyler sat idling at a stop light and eyed the fast food place that sat caddy corner to the light. He knew that he shouldn't go in and get something greasy and disgusting. He had a full fridge back at the house and the ability to cook, but the light on the sign looked so inviting. Tyler would have sworn, at that moment, that he was being hypnotized by the glowing orange-yellow light of the burger joint. He glanced in the rearview, slid into the left turning lane, and swung easily into the parking lot. He made himself get out of the car and go inside to order. He wasn't going to let the total allure of the place overtake him and go through the drive-thru.

"Hi, Welcome to Heart Attack Burger, what can I get for you?" The guy behind the counter looked bored out of his mind and possibly a little stoned.

"I don't know, yet." Tyler stepped away from the counter to better see the menu board and almost fell against someone. He stutter-stepped to one side and opened his mouth to apologize. He was cut off when the woman behind him smiled at him.

"Mr. Carey, how are you?" Precocious grabbed his arm before he could go sliding across the floor and helped him steady himself. She was still in her work clothes, but she looked equal parts more relaxed and stressed.

"Precocious, hi." For reasons he couldn't explain, Tyler felt suddenly nervous about her seeing him in a burger joint. "I just-"

"Came in to stop your heart? It's a good place for that." Precocious's smile was open but still somehow false. She jerked when the woman standing next to her poked her in the ribs and grimaced mildly. "Sorry, Linda. Tyler Carey, this is my roommate, Linda Sexton. Linda, this is Tyler Carey. He came into the office to talk to Zachary today."

Tyler looked at the paint-streaked hand that Linda held out and went ahead and shook it. "Nice to meet you." He was mildly surprised that his hand wasn't multi-colored after the handshake.

"You, too." Linda looked at her hand and scratched at some paint on her thumb. "I think it's all dry."

"Good to hear." Tyler glanced between them, then back up at the menu board. "Do you eat here enough to recommend something?"

"Probably." Precocious stepped up next to Tyler, and didn't notice when her arm brushed his. "You want to avoid the hot dogs at all costs. We're not sure how long they've been around, but we're betting it's longer than strictly healthy."

"This place has almost been closed down by the health department a couple of times." Linda sounded like she was completely unimpressed by the idea. "I think the chance of food poisoning makes the whole place a little cooler."

Precocious caught the look of disbelief on Tyler's face and grinned at him. "You'll have to excuse her, she's one of those crazy artist types."

"I live on the edge." Linda said it like she was announcing she liked mayonnaise on her sandwiches.

Tyler couldn't help but smile. "I can tell." He looked at the menu board again. "So, no hot dogs?"

"Not ever." Precocious glanced over at Linda. "You ready?"

"Sure." Linda stepped up to the counter and smiled at the stoned boy. "I'll have a double-decker burger with all the heat attack fixings and extra pickle."

"Double-decker with everything and extra pickles," the boy pushed the keypad methodically. "Would you like chili fries or a soda with that?"

"Extra large soda, please." Linda watched him punch that in and slide a cup the size of a small ocean liner over the counter to her. "All yours, Precocious."

Precocious took a deep breath, as if she were steeling herself, and stepped up the counter. "Double-decker, extra onion, extra bacon, extra mustard, no tomato, lots of ketchup, and a large drink." She waited for the boy to ring it up, then turned and raised her eyebrows at Tyler. "What about you?"

Tyler was taken aback for a minute. "I've got mine."

"No, you don't. It's your first time here. It's only polite that I buy you your first killer burger." Precocious looked at him expectantly. "You wouldn't be so rude as to refuse, would you?"

In truth, Tyler was half-tempted to insist on buying his own dinner, but he could never say no when a woman asked him to stop being a perfect gentleman for a few minutes. "I suppose not." He stepped up beside her at the counter and made a wide-open gesture with his arm. "I'll even let you order for me." He couldn't help but smile at the smile she gave him.

"Brave man." Precocious grinned at the kid behind the counter. "Give me a double-decker with swiss, tomato, mushrooms, bacon, lettuce, ranch, and pickle." She glanced at Tyler. "Fries?"

"No, thanks."

"And a large soda."

The stoner behind the counter got the order punched in and read everything back in a monotone. When Precocious nodded at his callback and paid him, he handed her a plastic pyramid with a number on it and let her know, in a very dull voice, that he would be happy to bring the food out to their table when it was ready.

Tyler stood beside Precocious as they filled their cups at the soda fountain and had to laugh. "I worked fast food once. I never thought to come in stoned."

"It doesn't work on quiet nights. It just makes the time go by that much more slowly." Precocious raised her eyebrows at the surprised look Tyler gave her. "My mother is the prototype for every hippie for or since. You don't think I didn't get stoned?"

"I didn't think about it, honestly." Tyler felt a mischievous smile go across his face. "Although, that could explain how you can handle a double decker burger."

"You'd be surprised what you learn you can eat when you're stoned."

He shrugged and followed Precocious to the table that Linda appeared to be doodling on. "Not really." He sat to the left of Linda while Precocious sat to the right. He looked down at the table top and saw it covered in overlapping pictures, some barely better than chicken scratch, others much more elaborate with shading and depth. "Is this your usual table?"

Linda didn't look up from a sketch that looked vaguely like an old Doosenberg car. "More or less. I think I have some work on the booth in the corner."

"Linda is one of the few and proud that make a living painting," Precocious explained as she sipped her soda and ran her fingers over a very basic picture of a bunny. "I have the real job that pays much less than I'm worth, and she's getting paid for canvases that have doubled as our coffee table."

Tyler couldn't tell if Precocious was joking about her job or not. "What all do you do for Zachary? It looked like you did a lot more than answer the phone and put up with sales reps." He remembered the clutter that had been on her desk, and how it has seemed to have its own organizational system.

"I handle all the basic front office work, and I fend off customers calling about their accounts occasionally. We just had two sales reps quit because they were lazy bastards, so I've been taking care of some of their work as well." Precocious shrugged. "It's good work, and I like it, but I'm still trying for my passion." She jerked her head in Linda's direction. "We can't all get it right on the first try."

Linda looked up from a new picture she was working on. It looked like a starfish. "Hey, it's not my fault my parents handed me finger paints when I was three."

"Well, no, but did you have to *sell* the results to the neighbors for ten cents each?"

"They were willing." Linda shrugged and went back to her picture.

Precocious just rolled her eyes in a way that said, 'of course they were, you crazy artist', and gave a questioning look to Tyler. "Do you have a passion?"

He seriously considered the question for a few seconds. He couldn't remember ever being asked it before. "I don't think so." He thought about Julia. "I passionately hate my ex-wife, if that counts for anything."

"Sure. I passionately hate my ex-boyfriend." Precocious looked over as the kid from behind the counter came over with their tray of food. "Thanks."

"Yeah, whatever." The kid wandered back to the counter.

Linda grabbed her basket from the tray and watched the kid move. "Is he stoned?"

Precocious gave her a look. "Where is your head? He's *always* stoned."

"It's that painting on the easel. It's not done."

"It looks done."

Linda shook her head. "Self portraits are never done."

Tyler perked up a little at that. "Self portrait? I have a weakness for self portraits."

Linda gave him a look that radiated vaguely pissed. "You've never tried to do one of yourself, have you?"

"You know those little stick figures kids always draw when they're little?"

Linda shrugged. "Sure."

"Mine were always wavy." Tyler bit into his burger and had to act fast to keep condiments from leaking down his chin. He held up a finger to ask for a moment and struggled to swallow the mouthful he had. "I have-" he paused to take a drink of soda and clear a piece of bacon from his throat, "no artistic ability to speak of. While I recognize it as hard work, I can't actually *do* it."

"Well, at least you recognize it." Linda bit into her own burger, but was a bit more adept at keeping it all in her mouth. "Some people think I can just throw colors on a canvas and call it art."

Precocious was eating her burger with a knife and fork, knowing from earlier attempts that she didn't have the coordination to actually eat a double-decker slathered with extras like other people could. "It's really your own fault for painting abstracts. If you painted like a regular person, people would think it takes effort."

Tyler waited for Linda to get offended, but realized, just as Linda gave him a small smile, that this conversation was an old joke between she and Precocious. "You only paint abstracts?"

"It's how I made my first ten cents. It seemed like a good idea to go with the trend." Linda gave Tyler a once-over that made his skin prickle. "And what do you do?"

Tyler caught a slice of tomato between his fingers just before it slid out of the back of his burger. "Well, I started 'Ransack' with Zachary when we were both young and stupid enough to not be afraid of banks or loan payments. We ran it together until I met my ex, and then I ran off to San Francisco to be with her while he ran the company. I joined up with a textile company in San Francisco, and I became obscenely rich from the combination of my huge paycheck from them and the stock from 'Ransack'. I moved back a week ago, and I plan to be unemployed and live off my ill-gotten riches for as long as possible."

"And how long with that be?"

"I could do it for the rest of my life." Tyler wiped ketchup from his chin. "And still have enough money to start and operate a small liberal arts college for a few years."

"Would you care to make a donation to the 'get Precocious's ass out of student loan debt' fund?"

"Is it tax deductible?"

Precocious shook her head and gave Tyler a severely disappointed face. "No, but it's still a fund worth looking into."

Tyler chuckled. "I'll talk to my accountant."