“So,” the man said, leaning one elbow against his desk. “You’re Hart, Dryver’s secretary?”

Hart paused in the middle of typing to look up. He was writing an email for one of Dryver’s meetings, which needed to be rescheduled on Monday. It was a semi-urgent matter, and even if it wasn’t, he didn’t like being interrupted.

The man looming above him could’ve have been slicker if he tried, with his gelled hair, sleazy smile, and nice clothes. He even had a watch on his right hand: a Rolex that must’ve involved a waitlist and a four figure price. Even though the firm didn’t do Casual Fridays, he was missing a blazer and tie, but that only added to his rakishly disrespectful appearance.

He was also smiling at Hart like he wanted to eat him.

Hart closed the email he was working on and turned his attention to him. The name badge on his lanyard said “Eveline Batlet,” along with his job position which was in Finance. Of course he was in Finance, that was the job Hart wanted.

“Can I help you with something, Eveline?” he gritted out.

“Well, first of all, don’t call me that. Call me Evil,” _Evil_ said with a laugh. After a pause, he added in a strained voice, “Please.”

“Okay… Evil.”

“Thanks. Don’t you hate it when your parents give you an awful name?” Instead of waiting for a response, Evil sat himself on Hart’s desk, swiping his things to the side to make space. Hart cringed when a pen fell to the ground and rolled under the desk.

He leaned down to get it and cringed even harder when he looked up and caught Evil staring intently at his rear.

Ugh.

So this was what it was about. Someone, an absolute _bastard_, had spread rumours about his… sexual proclivities and willingness to engage in certain deeds with his coworkers. Hart had caught people gossiping about him near the water cooler and couldn’t look them in the eye for days. The rumour would also explain the stares he was getting recently, which lingered on areas indecent enough to file an HR complaint.

Apparently, Evil, who lived up to his name, was seeing for himself whether Hart would spread his legs or not.

“Just say it, Evil,” he snapped.

“Oh. Well. I guess so.” Evil scratched his cheek innocently, almost looking abashed. “How do I say this diplomatically… Do you want to come up to my office?”

“No, not really,” Hart said coldly, shutting him down in an instant.

Except Evil didn’t let up. “Are you sure? I’ve heard a lot about you, so I thought you...” He leaned forward even more, his expression turning intense. “You’re really my type, is what I’m trying to say.”

Yes, he was obviously Evil’s type. Evil found their bodies compatible if the black stud on his ear was anything to go by, and Hart’s appearance must’ve sealed the deal. He had that kind of metrosexual flair, a touch too well-groomed with his hair dyed blond down to his shoulders. No one ever wondered if he was gay or European when it was clear he was both. Sometimes Hart even got told he smelled nice from people who leaned far too close to his neck.

He was disgusted. Disgusted in his coworkers for gossiping about him, disgusted in himself for inviting those eyes, and disgusted in Evil for his intentions. For taking the elevator three floors down to General Affairs just to find him, and leaning into his personal space, and looking at him like he wanted to spread his legs. For waltzing in and treating Hart like some sort of cheap office slut.

“Please? We can have a good time, I’ll show you my tricks if you show me yours.”

Hart glared up at Evil and the growing smirk on his face that looked like he was trying not to laugh. “I don’t have any tricks,” he said.

“That’s not what they say.” Now Evil was getting frustrated, shuffling forward so he could slam his hands against Hart’s chair and cage him in. Up close, his eyes looked burgundy-red more than brown, but maybe that was a trick of the light. “They say you’ll sleep with anything that moves and you make it _good_.”

The words were like a slap in the face, and Hart couldn’t believe the accusation. He didn’t deserve to be told he lacked standards, he was a good little secretary!

He came into work early and left late, even though there was no benefit from doing so. Sometimes he covered up for his coworkers, also at no benefit to himself, and kept the ever-burning hope that one day he’d be promoted into corporate. Hart knew he was smart, but he also knew his intelligence would never reach the heights he wanted. Smart but not promotable.

Someday, Evil might become his boss. Hart could read people well, watching the revolving door that was interns and fresh hires, partners and associates, seniors and executives, the whole lineup of Bay Street employees. He could tell who wouldn’t last long, who’d be the first to go after a budget cut, and who was blind to the storm coming. The ones he hated the most were disgustingly incompetent, complacent and therefore useless.

What he liked was ambition. Ambition was very attractive to him, representing an ideal he desperately craved. Or, maybe it wasn’t ambition he liked but the fruits of ambition - of living well.

Hart looked him up and down, took in his Tom Ford shirt and pressed slacks, polished loafers, silver watch, black stud that was as much as he could get away with in a conservative business environment. Evil was easy on the eyes and looked like he could succeed. He was hungry for it too.

In his own mind, Hart quietly ruthless in his own mind, but Evil was ruthless in every way he could get. He took what he wanted and walked, and people like that got far.

Would that be so bad, sleeping with your future boss?

“What’s in it for me?” Hart asked.

Evil’s smile widened. “Advancement opportunities.”

_Advancement opportunities_. Hart never got advancement opportunities at this company.