Chapter Text
Secretaries are not a want but a need for any self-respecting man in the workplace. Someone just within reach with any information or object that needed to be acquired by the ever-working businessman. With the invention of the typewriter, more and more (mostly women) entered the field, and since World War I less and less men sought those positions.
With such domination in one field came expectations to uphold. The secretary is the symbol of the man behind them, the first impression before the first impression. A secretary is a hair out of place from losing an entire client. Would you want someone with a secretary that cares so little for their appearance to take your accounts? If you said yes, you’re playing devil’s advocate or have some strange kink no doubt. Yes, the secretary is vital to the life-force of a company and investment banker, and that’s why it’s imperative one is stern and demanding that they keep up with appearance.
Patrick had recently lost his secretary, Jean. Not by some brutal accident or by his own hand after snapping upon being given one too many room temperature coffees, but by promotion. It would seem that Pierce & Pierce saw an opportunity for a diversity win and gave her a small step up the corporate ladder. Made a couple headlines, stocks looked fantastic, not that he actually gave a shit.
Now she was around in her pantsuits and big-shouldered blazers, barely seeing him. He knew she had a crush on him, and of course not much came of it. Apparently though, that wasn’t enough to bring her around to even say hello as he struggled to find decent help. Beyond help, a decent hardbody to look the part and uphold his standards of perfection. Going through secretaries like it was nothing, firing them for either lack of attention or being flat out ugly. That was until the next Monday morning.
Patrick made his usual way in, staring blankly ahead with his headphones on blasting whatever new song he was into. That day was “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves. Upon arriving to his office, he expected a new face at the secretary desk.
Recently, he fired the fifth new one in a row for chewing gum and playing with her hair. He wasn’t running a fucking elementary school after all. Though, he could feel that he was starting to push it with the amount of secretaries he was going through. On that last one, he was informed that there was concern by higher ups that he was wasting company resources with his behavior, and that it would be best to actually wait before firing next time. At least let them leave of their own accord. So Patrick readied himself to see whoever he would be getting that day, praying to a god that wasn’t listening for her to finally be half as good as Jean. Lucky number six.
He was taken back for a moment as the person greeting him was a man. He had dirty-blond hair styled back, round reading glasses that clashed with the shape of his face. This was wrong.
The man looked up from whatever he was reading at his desk and grinned. His face was slightly rounder than his own, eyes piercing blue and slightly plumper lips than half the men around there. Shame, because if his features were on a woman this would be the opposite of a problem.
“Hey, Bateman right?” Patrick didn’t respond as he slipped his headphones off to rest at his neck. Not waiting for an answer he said, “I’m your new secretary, Paul Allen.”
Inwardly, Patrick retched at the name. It not only reeked of masculinity, but also was just flat out idiotic. Come on, two first names for a full name was just ridiculous. The man’s days were already numbered.
Still, Patrick reached out to shake his hand, squeezing harder than usual to establish a semblance of dominance over Paul.The man didn’t seem to really react though, holding eye contact.
“Yeah, alright,” Patrick said, pulling his hand back. “Can you come in my office for a minute to go over what I expect?” He wasn’t asking, he was telling but it always looked better to frame it as such. Wear him down and all.
Paul nodded, standing up to follow him, giving Patrick a look at his full body. Paul was a couple inches shorter than him, wearing slimming black pants that Patrick couldn’t place a label on (meaning: cheap trash), a light blue button-up, and a hideous striped yellow tie. His days were numbered, losing more and more with each second.
In the office, Patrick looked Paul up and down, scanning his form and body language. Hands in his pocket, a cool and confident demeanor with a thin smile Patrick found insulting and defiant. He had the energy of one of his colleagues which had to be crushed.
‘You are to be at your desk at 8:30 sharp, you will not take a lunch until after I do so, and you are to hold up a pristine image. Got it?” He saw Paul look to the corner of his eye, masquerading a judgmental look.
“Yeah, got it. Anything else?”
“Never wear that tie again.”
“What?” Paul asked, unable to hide his laugh.
“I said, do not wear that tie again. It’s fucking horrible, you look like shit.”
“Noted, Bateman,” Paul said turning on his heel to go. Bateman? Jean used to call him Patrick sure, but that was…different. Just his last name, no title, it was how he’d talk to Bryce or McDermott, not how he would be addressed by his goddam secretary. Gripping the sharpened pencil, Patrick imagined shoving the point directly into Paul’s jugular, staining that revolting tie.
An entire week had gone by and Paul did his work to a moderate degree of satisfaction. It wasn’t bad to a point Patrick would be able to justify firing him and dealing with the verbal lashing, but just enough to piss him off. One or two papers left behind, Paul socializing at his desk with people who were supposed to be meeting with Patrick and him still wearing the most clashing ties on Earth. For god’s sake he’s almost as bad as Carruthers when it came to terrible fashion choices.
Speaking of, he decided to try dropping by Patrick’s office today and instead chose to spend ten minutes eye-fucking Paul who couldn’t be more oblivious. His secretary just leaned forward on his elbow, pretending to listen and offer responses. At least, that’s what Patrick thought he was doing, he wasn’t watching Paul’s every move, he had a job to be doing obviously.
Another week passed of the same exact thing, he even saw Paul laughing with McDermott of all fucking people. He guessed those two were best friends now, maybe McDermott will bang him next like he does half of the other secretaries. Did he just lend McDermott a pen?
Once he left, Paul came in and spent five minutes trying to recall exactly what McDermott had told him. Patrick sat there listening to Paul stumble through his sentence, index finger curling at the corner of his mouth (a sign of having an oral fixation). He did that until coming to the conclusion that he wanted to meet with Patrick and the other men at Pastels for lunch. Was that really so difficult?
Halfway through the week, Paul came into Patrick’s office in the morning with a coffee, an irritating smile, and another god awful tie. He’s definitely doing it on purpose, this one had Bugs fucking Bunny on the bottom. Patrick thought he was about to throw up, but swallowed it down as the trash was too far.
“Hey, thought I’d stop by that coffeeshop down the street this morning,” Paul said, sliding the cup to him. Patrick didn’t make a move to drink it, just stared at it. “It’s just a black coffee, nothing extra, figured that was your thing.” Did he wink?
Patrick took a small sip of the coffee, it didn’t taste cheap. This must have been Paul’s big treat for himself with that paycheck of his that was only a fraction of what Patrick made.
“Great, but you shouldn’t drink coffee. It stains your teeth.”
Paul chuckled. “So does smoking, but you do that, don’t you?”
Patrick’s fingernails pressed into the palm of his hand. This cunt has a response for everything, doesn’t he?
“I’m talking about you,” he stated as cooly as possible, motioning to his mouth. “You should invest in whitening strips instead of coffee that’s too expensive for you.” He noticed Paul’s hand twitch, fighting the urge to cover his mouth as his smile faltered. Taking a step back and scratching the side of his face, Paul’s face went through at minimum three different expressions before he would respond. It was insane since Paul, surprisingly, had perfectly white teeth even though he most definitely drank too much coffee and smoked too many cheap cigarettes.
Had Patrick been staring at his mouth long enough to notice that?
“Fine, Bateman sorry for considering it.” There it was again that fucking use of ‘Bateman.’
“Hm, be a doll and bring me in a seltzer.”
“Sure…”
Paul would return a few minutes later with a small bottle and glass. When Patrick went to open the water, he was instantly met with a splash of foam on his leg before quickly wrestling the top back on. Fucking great, a huge wet stain on his leg, fantastic. He could hear Paul hiding a simper behind his tight lips that Patrick could instantly picture ripping off.
“You, uh, you really gotta be careful with carbonated stuff,” said Paul, miming a tapping motion with his finger. “You ever try tapping the top to keep it from doing that?”
Paul was lucky Patrick didn’t want to break on of his glasses from smashing it into his face, and instead just dismissed him. Outside his office, he could spot Paul smiling to himself about what just unfolded as though he were a criminal mastermind.
And like that, another week passed and Paul had been his secretary for nearly a month with very little improvement to show for it. He still dressed like shit, acted like a smart dickhead, and worst of all seemed to believe he and Patrick were equals. They were nothing alike, they didn’t even come from the same background. Just who the hell did he think he was?
But Patrick wasn’t interested in letting a secretary get to him, and instead had an idea to remind him of his place. One that may just have him searching for a new one, but any bimbo off the streets would be more tolerable at this point if it came to that.
***
Patrick left for lunch, much to the bitter amusement of Paul who he shot a glare to upon receiving some smart ass remark about trying to cut work. That was fine though, that day he was going to do a little shopping for lunch.
In the elevator, Patrick closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. How had it only been a month? The elevator stopped, he listened to the doors slide open and a pair of heels walked in, followed by a familiar voice.
“Patrick?”
Jean. A foreign emotion filled Patrick, one that made his stomach dropped as he came face to face with his former secretary.
He hummed. “Jean…you look…well.”
“Thanks,” she smiled, “you too. How’s everything been?”
“Fine, fine, just trying and failing to replace you.”
“Ah, well I’m sure it’s not that hard.”
He wondered if he could somehow convince her to go back to working for him. Maybe a hopeful chance with him would convince her or perhaps if he made it sound like the current secretary was a real piece of work. That wouldn’t be much of an exaggeration. What if he just dropped to his knees and begged until she gave in? But before he could act on any idea, the elevator stopped again, three floors before the bottom.
Jean stepped out and smiled, waving.
“It was good to see you, Patrick. Have a good lunch.”
Fuck, there goes any chance seeing her again. She practically ran out of the elevator, probably scared she would give into her feelings for him while stuck in such a confined space. He was hollow as he waved back to Jean through the closing doors.
Upon his return, he found Paul occasionally picking at some small, pathetic lunch at his desk while reading with headphones on and his walkman on his desk, not noticing him. The way he was looking down to read accentuated how long Paul’s eyelashes were which only added to the list of things that angered Patrick about him. Patrick said nothing, bag discreetly at his side.
At the end of the day, Patrick poked his head out, seeing Paul was still listening to music. He had his index finger resting between his lips, confirming Patrick’s oral fixation theory. Come on, Patrick thought, he couldn’t even try to make it less obvious. Sure he had been working, but what if Patrick was calling for him? Was whatever garbage he surely listened to more important than the job he’s paid to do? Not that there was much to do and he could clearly see Paul was just scribbling his own notes and doodling. The point still remained. It took his hand knocking on the desk to pull Paul out of his trance, eyes lazily looking up from his “work” as he removed the headphones.
“I need you in my office again before you go,” said Patrick in the most deadpan way he could muster. Paul shrugged and followed.
“What? Need me to take something?”
“Something like that.” Patrick dropped an unmarked bag on the desk, pointing to it. Paul furrowed his brow, stepping closer to peek inside. “Go ahead, it’s a welcome gift.”
“One month later?”
“Well, I had to make sure you would actually still be here,” said Patrick with a smile. “Go ahead, open it.”
Tilting his head, Paul nodded and looked inside the bag. The once puzzled, but ultimately flattered expression faded to one of pure confusion at what he was looking at. Patrick wished he had his camera right now.
“Uh, okay, hey, Bateman.” Patrick bit the inside of his cheek.
“Yes?”
“I think you got something mixed up,” Paul said, revealing what was inside. In his hands were a white blouse, black skirt, high heels and stockings.
“I didn’t. I want you to look the part and that means wearing clothes that are more presentable, and you’re to wear this until you do.”
“You’re joking,” Paul scoffed.
“Now why would I joke about that, Paul?” Patrick pressed his lips together into a smile while Paul stood frozen in front of him. “Take these home and wear them tomorrow if you still want this job.” Paul’s calm face twisted into hot embarrassment, a pink undertone spreading across his skin.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Do you want me to help you pack up?”
The man froze, blue eyes wide and staring at Patrick. He really wished he had his camera to record the way that stupid smirk was wiped off of Paul’s face.
Without another word, Paul stomped out of the office, collecting his coat and “gift.” Normally, Patrick would have been out the door, but instead he decided to stay at his desk until Paul was fully out of sight. A power move if he’d ever seen one. Lounging at his desk, feet up and watching the other man squirm and avoid eye contact. He was relieved to either completely push the man into submission, or be totally rid of him.
The next morning, Patrick was fully prepared to meet the new secretary that would replace yesterday’s. Someone that wasn’t him, respectful and most importantly good eye candy. And hey, this time the secretary chose to leave so he was completely off the hook.
Instead he was met with the same man as yesterday, scribbling on a notepad…and wearing the outfit. His eyes fell over the short-sleeved blouse topped with a black ribbon tie at the collar. The passing thought (of which he could not control and was not of his own free will) of how good he looked pissed him off.
Silently, Patrick motioned for Paul to follow him, hand outstretched for him to take his coat. The man stood and obliged in taking it, showing the bottom half of the outfit off. The pencil skirt shaped him disgustingly well, and what made it worse was Paul had little to no shame in it. Patrick forced his eyes to stare at literally anything else as they went into his office.
Patrick shut the door behind them, carefully watching Paul hang up the coat with an air of nonchalance.
“You wore that in?” Patrick asked, feeling a headache start.
“Changed in the bathroom,” Paul said with a tap to the temple and an impish grin. “Never said I couldn’t do that, just had to wear it here.”
Sure, maybe that was true, but it didn’t stop the pounding in Patrick’s head from worsening. A vein in his head was threatening to pop once he looked down and saw no shoes, just stockings.
“You seriously think this was enough to make me quit? This is nothing, it’s actually pretty comfortable,” he bragged, leaning on the desk confidently.
“Where are your shoes?”
“Oh, behind my desk. You ever try wearing those things?” Paul said with a good-hearted laugh, but Patrick failed to see any reason to humor him.
“I don’t care, put them on then come back in.”
“Seriously?”
“Do it.” Paul rolled his eyes, backing out only to return, awkwardly walking in the heels. They were clearly a size too small, but what the hell was he supposed to do about that? It wasn’t like it was necessarily that easy to find shoes like that in men’s sizes. Though, he still carried a petulant energy around him.
“Alright, so need anything else? You have a lunch appointment with Tim Bryce, and Luis Carruthers asked me to relay a message about dinner,” said Paul, shifting in discomfort. Patrick caught himself staring at Paul’s hips and cleared his throat.
“Yeah?”
“Do you have like…work-related things you need me to do?” He might have to kill Paul.
“Tell Carruthers no, and send these out.” Patrick had no idea what half of the papers he gave Paul even said, but he thought he remembered hearing the need to send them.
“Will do, Bateman,” Paul said in a half sing-song tone.
“And do not call me that.”
“Your name?”
“Do not call me Bateman, either say Mr. Bateman, sir, or Patrick if fucking anything, understand?”
“Is there a reason you waited this long to tell me? Or were you too scared to until I was wearing a skirt?”
“I did,” he lied, “you just never listen when I tell you things, clearly.”
“Sure whatever, Mr. Bateman,” said Paul. He could tell Paul was emphasizing the ‘Mr.’ as a joke.
Dropping in his chair to keep himself from leaping towards the man, Patrick stopped Paul from leaving and waved for him to come closer. Paul did so, hiding the little stumble he did when the heel was caught in the carpet as he walked behind the desk.
“Need something else?”
Patrick looks at him up and down. “Are those stockings already ripped?”
Paul paused, mouth opening and closing silently. “I don’t know?”
“It looks like it form here. Are you sure you only wore them here today?” There was a spark of sadistic joy at Paul’s silent embarrassment.
“Why the hell would would I already—“ Paul’s sentence was interrupted by Patrick’s hand on his leg, slivering down his calf. Toned, slim muscles tensed and tightened under his fingertips. He roughly grabbed the back of his leg, making the other man jump. He could clearly heard a noise caught in Paul’s throat.
“I guess I was mistaken” Patrick said, with a faux friendly smile. “You can go now.” He anticipated some sort of response, but Paul seemed to have trouble formulating even a basic response for once. “You can go.” Paul took a few steps back before turning to the door, face red. Satisfied, Patrick reclined in his chair, flicking on his T.V. to whatever daytime show was on.
***
“Cannot believe the wait time at this place,” McDermott muttered.
“You picked the place,” said Patrick, tracing the rim of his J&B.
“Yeah, but fuck I didn’t think they’d make us wait 20 minutes. We had a reservation for fuck’s sake.”
“That’s because your secretary barely knows how to tell time, let alone put in a reservation,” Bryce snorted, leaning back. “She’s lucky she knows how to give head I bet.”
“The point is they should have known we were coming. It’s basic skill in running a good restaurant. Right, Bateman?”
Patrick paused. “I’m sure there was a good reason for the wait.” He truly could not give a shit about this conversation, hoping that would just put an end to it.
“Oh Bateman, what’s up with that new secretary anyways?” asked Bryce, throwing back his drink.
“What’s up?”
“Well I mean, I’m sure P&P’s hired male secretaries before, but this one’s…”
“Incredibly, obviously, undeniably gay?” Patrick finished, receiving a snap and nod from his friend. “Doesn’t matter, he’ll be gone soon enough.”
“It’s weird too, he kinda looks like someone I knew at Yale.”
“Of course,” McDermott piped up.
“Hey, fuck you I’m serious,” Bryce said back, waving down the waitress for another drink.
“Okay, so he looks familiar and…?” Patrick impatiently said, only half-listening.
“No listen, he looks a lot like this guy from my year. I didn’t talk to him much, but people always surrounded him.”
“Maybe he was a dealer,” McDermott mumbled, eyes rolling.
“No he was definitely a student. Totally vanished though.” Bryce took the new drink, not even giving a silent thank you. “I think the guy had a breakdown or something and had to drop out.” Patrick tilted his head, lips pursed, a little more attentive than before. “But I could just be remembering wrong.”
“Lucky him now he gets to listen to whatever shit Bateman says,” McDermott laughed, playfully slapping his shoulder. Patrick cringed, biting back some remark about sawing his hand off with one of the knives at the table.
“Where’s the bill? I have a meeting to make,” Bryce said absent-mindedly, turning to find the waitress.
McDermott ignored him. “And what the hell was that shirt he was wearing anyways when I passed by today?”
“Beats me,” Patrick lied, finding himself suddenly nervous.
“I mean come on, that stupid ribbon, I bet he wears women’s underwear too.”
Patrick pretended to find that humorous, taking another drink until he realized he had already finished said drink.
“Bateman probably told him to wear that, guy’s a real weirdo underneath that boy-next-door exterior I bet,” Bryce said not in an accusing way but as a normal person would just joke.
Patrick laughed a little too loud at that, trying to offset it by playfully throwing a toothpick at the man which seemed to work. It didn’t help that his mind started to immediately race with images of Paul in that outfit early, flustered and shuffling around. Please, he could not get like this around the guys, in a restaurant, about a fucking man. Besides it was fine, Paul was basically a woman what his his face and job and…and…he failed to find much else. But that didn’t mean anything.
“Anyway, hey maybe you guys can settle something about white socks…” McDermott said, completely shifting the conversation. Relief swept Patrick, glad to get his mind off Paul.
***
He was back late from lunch, a usual occurrence, and looked to ignore his secretary upon entering his office. Paul said something inaudible to Patrick who was too busy thinking about how uncaring he must have appeared to the other man who had to actively follow him to get whatever answer he needed. He decided to wait until fully situated to acknowledge Paul, taking his time to set everything down.
“Yeah?” Patrick finally said.
“You know,” Paul said, “I could report what you did earlier.”
“Good luck with that,” was all he could muster. Every single employee there knew that a response from HR regarding things like that were nonexistent. He knew Paul was bluffing, the threat was the equivalent to a fly’s buzzing.
“Why don’t you just admit this is some fetish thing, so I can at least openly get off too, huh?” Patrick fought against sitting up straight, gripping the arms of the chair.
“What did you say to me?”
“Come on, dude, don’t play dumb. Your were fucking feeling me up, are you kidding?” Paul made his way around the desk, walking surprisingly better than earlier until Patrick realized it was because he ditched the heels yet again. “Just admit it,” he added while in one easy movement, hopped up to sit on Patrick’s desk.
“I’m not a fag, and if you try spreading that you’ll never work again.” Paul held up his hands as a placating gesture as his foot rested on Patrick’s knee, pushing it. He considered breaking the man’s ankle and using the edge of the bone to slit his own wrists.
“No need for that kind of talk, just making observations that’s all.” Patrick still had yet to push Paul off his desk or do anything about the stocking covered foot now on his thigh. He hadn’t even stopped the man from pushing the skirt up just a tiny bit that could easily be excused as simply riding up. Paul leaned forward, and only then did Patrick realize he was leaning forward with sweat sticking to his forehead.
“Paul.”
“So is this how you get off? Hire a guy to dress like a chick so you can feel him up like a pervert? Wanna pretend to be a real ladies man?”
“I’m serious.”
Paul’s hand found its way to Patrick’s neck, then the hair on the back of his head and yanked his head backwards so he was looking up at the ceiling. Patrick could only bring himself to hold onto the arms of his chair, desperately trying not to shake in front of his smug cunt of a secretary.
“So am I,” said Paul, forcing eye contact as he hovered over Patrick. His foot was now pressing into the half-hard dick trying to get out of Patrick’s slacks. “Do you want to suck my dick while I wear this? Be honest.” He said the last part in this obnoxious, pseudo baby talk voice that made Patrick’s blood boil.
“Get off me,” Patrick growled, trying to push Paul off to no success.
“This is what you want, isn’t it? I mean, what you really want.” Paul’s eyes, first meeting with Patrick’s, then flickering down to the tenting bulge in his pants. The heel of his foot pushed harder, until Patrick couldn’t help but let a whimper sneak out of his lips.
“Paul.”
“Want me to get on my knees and take care of that, Mr. Bateman?”
“Fuck—I,” he grunted, once again trying and failing to gain the upper-hand.
“Ah ah, hold on,” said Paul, “first you need to take care of me. After all, I’m the one putting in the hard work here.”
“The fuck you are.”
“Then I’ll go.”
“Then you’re fired.”
“Then you’re getting a nice little lawsuit and some publicity around your little kink. Sound good?” Paul rhetorically asked, voice pitching up in that babyish voice again.
Patrick laughed nervously. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me. HR might be useless, but maybe I’ll just go take this to a local news station. Can’t you see it? A nice sex scandal, a gay one at that, at Pierce & Pierce. Exciting!”
Patrick swallowed, fighting the water welling up in his eyes all while Paul came closer to his face, lips just hovering over Patrick’s. He was instantly assaulted by the strong smell of minty cologne and tobacco, he never realized Paul had such a strong scent.
Before he knew what was happening, Paul dragged Patrick’s hand under the skirt to his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. Patrick felt light-headed, close to vomiting or fainting. Embarrassingly so, he allowed Paul to keep his hand under the skirt, not immediately taking it away and instead squeezing his eyes shut.
Paul’s lips came closer, hot breath hitting Patrick’s face as he felt soft lips graze against his then briefly meeting before pulling away. Opening his eyes at last, Patrick was face to face with that goddamn smirk again, and even worse Paul was laughing. Patrick took his hand out from under the skirt, holding it like he’d been burned as Paul kept laughing.
“Man, you should’ve seen your face,” he said in between deep breaths. “Did you seriously think I was gonna do something? Get real, man, I’m not that sick.”
Patrick rubbed circles on the back of his hand, body temperature skyrocketing. He could actually feel the sweat on his face. Was he seriously about to let Paul do that? He needed to check the coke he’s been snorting for anything cut in it.
“Get out,” Patrick spat. Paul slid off the desk, fixing his skirt in triumph. His eyes flickered down to Patrick’s pants one last time.
“I’m wearing my old clothes tomorrow, unless you really want me back in this.”
“…I don’t care.”
“Great, and don’t worry I especially won’t wear any of the ties you hate,” said Paul with a smirk. Patrick thought he should fire Paul right there, have him beg to keep his job. Another part of him though saw interest in keeping him around, like how an animal plays with its prey. There was a semblance of entertainment to be had if he could just stay two steps ahead.
“Why…the hell did you do that?” Patrick breathed in, fists clenching to keep himself grounded.
Paul shrugged. “I told you, I wanted to have a little fun with this too. Plus, now we both have something to hide now. Mutually assured destruction, right?”
Wrong, no one would ever believe Paul over Patrick. The people there knew him, they knew he would never stoop so low. Right? Right, yeah.
“Come in tomorrow with something actually nice. Your clothes aren’t even recognizable brands, it’s humiliating.”
“Maybe you should have gotten me something useful then,” Paul said, exhaling. Rolling his eyes, Patrick took out his wallet and ripped out a few bills, shoving them towards the other man.
“There, go get something nice tonight,” Patrick said with a shrug. “And don’t try to skimp out and buy something cheap to keep the money, I’ll know.” Paul stayed in his spot, arms now crossed with one fist crumpling the money in its grip. He looked to be contemplating another smart response, but for once realized it wouldn’t do him any good. “Anyway, file this away for me.”
Paul snatched the file away without a word, Patrick foresaw it being shredded instead of properly filed.
That evening he watched Paul leave the men’s room in a casual button up and slacks that he must have come in with. Rather than avoid eye contact, Paul held it and in fact walked up to him. Paul having to slightly lift his head to keep eye contact soothed Patrick’s bruised ego.
“You don’t scare me, Bateman,” Paul said. “It’s really not hard to see what a sad and honestly pretty horny guy you are, but I’ll be honest…I’m kinda into it.” Patrick didn’t know what to say, his guts tight and wrapping knots around each other.
“Be in on time, dressed properly, or you’re fired.”
“See you then,” Paul laughed, briskly walking past him before shouting at an obnoxiously high volume, “sir!”