Bonnie leans her head and arms against the copier. Her eyes flutter shut. She's so tired she could fall asleep like that, embracing the machine like the last raft on Titanic. At least it's warm and doesn't judge her.

The mean little laugh cuts through her sleepy fog.

"Wakey, wakey."

"Mmgo away…" she mumbles, scraping her heel against the floor in his direction.

"You know, this is a lawsuit waiting to happen."

Bonnie stubbornly keeps her eyes shut.

"I mean the recently promoted executive with her ass sticking out in the air? What kind of message does that send, Bon?"

She wants to pick up something sharp and bash his skull in. The thought just comes to her. She registers it like thirst. She needs a drink.

"I didn't get promoted. You did," she mumbles angrily, popping one eye open.

Kai Parker is leaning against the wall, shirt sleeves rolled back, corporate tie askew, shit-eating grin plastered for her benefit. He looks a little unkempt, a little like he woke up in a frat house pool - he always does - but that just adds to his boyish charm, gives you the impression that he's ready to get his hands dirty. Which, yeah. The company loves a willing executioner. What did she once write in her diary? Fuckable body, unfuckable personality. That's about right. Oh, and he stole her dream job, that could be it too.

"Huh, was it really me?" he drawls like a brat. "Must be my impeccable track record of not exposing my ass to people."

Bonnie lifts her head. "You're a complete ass, one hundred percent. So you're…always…exposing yourself….you get it." She groans. "I'm tired."

Kai gives her a sympathetic "aww", but his eyes coolly examine the two undone buttons of her blouse.

Bonnie subconsciously sinks her hand inside her cleavage, massaging the side of her neck. "I hate you."

"Yeah?"

"You're corporate cancer. Plus, that job should've been mine."

He cocks his head to the side. "You mean you wish you'd gotten cancer? If I follow your analogy."

She shrugs. "If I got to stick it to you, sure. I'd get cancer."

Kai puts his hand to his chest. "You'd do that for me? Shit, Bon, that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"I believe it."

"What kind of cancer, though?" he says, leaning closer until she can smell his Ace Ventura cologne. He's so fucking cheap and corny and stupid. But his wrist watch could probably balance her mortgage.

"Terminal lung cancer," she says without missing a beat. She wants to add because he's like a used ashtray, but she kind of gets distracted when he reaches out with one finger and drags it down the open space of her shirt, between her breasts.

Just like that.

Warm, prickly warm.

"Lungs, that's pretty hot. I'd go with colon. You know, since you said I'm all ass."

"Interesting choice."

"Yeah, I get a real hard on for that kind of pain where you can't even sit or shit."

She should slap his finger away. She should really not have any other response other than "you're fucking gross".

But.

But.

"My father actually had that," she says, looking away, biting her lip.

She's satisfied to see his eyes widen a little. His mouth goes slack. "Oh…fuck, I'm…sorry?"

She's pretty sure the word has never graced his lips before.

His finger now traces the hem of her shirt in an apologetic question mark. "I'm really sorry, Bon. Should we maybe fuck to make you feel better?"

Bonnie gasps, but it comes off like a laugh. "Jesus, you're unbelievable."

"Me? You're the one lying about her dad."

She lifts her chin. "How do you know I'm lying?"

"I regularly stalk your social media, duh."

Bonnie makes a face. "So what? I have separate work profiles."

He wriggles his eyebrows. "Oh, I know."

She hits him in the chest. "You better not be screwing with my computer, Parker."

"Oh, come off it, little Miss High Horse. You were just now lying about your dad having terrible anus cancer. I don't think you've got the moral high ground."

"Anal cancer is different from colon -" She stops, realizing what exactly they're arguing about. She pinches the bridge of her nose. She remembers a time in high school where she thought she'd become a teacher, a healer, a savior of all things that need saving. Yeah, what the fuck happened to that?

What she hates the most is how twisted she gets around him, how easy it is to speak his language. Half the time she doesn't know what she's saying. She just knows she can't let him win.

"Anyway," she mumbles, self-conscious and spiteful, "I wouldn't be working here if I had any moral high ground."

Kai tips her chin up. "Hey, I'm not judging. You taking your dad's life in vain? Kinda hot."

"Is everything hot to you?"

Kai ponders. "If it breathes and hates my guts, yeah."

Bonnie hopes she's not actually blushing. "Shut the fuck up."

Kai grins. "Sure. But my silence has a price. So why don't you hop on that copy machine."

Bonnie blinks. "And what?"

"And I fuck your brains out. Sorry, lungs. It was lungs, right?"

Bonnie laughs. "So it wasn't enough you fucked me over the promotion. Now you want to get literal about it."

"I mean, have I really fucked you over unless it's over this copier?"

Bonnie folds her arms. "Air-tight logic."

Kai makes no pretense of staring anywhere but at the way her breasts stick out above her arms.

"Uh-huh. Aerosmith. Whatever you said."

And there's a shitty, oddly sweet part about his lothario act, because it's both absolutely genuine and a blatant power play. He's both the kid going to Disneyland and the yuppie cardboard cut-out who hasn't felt a single emotion since 1994. He's cute and pitiful and revolting. And she's about to blame hormones, exhaustion, and late-stage capitalism for what she's about to do.

"If you make any noise or even think about messing up my skirt–"

Kai wastes only one moment to savor her capitulation. Before she's really thought about it, he's dragging her underwear down her knees with the kind of eager precision he injects only in food chain buy-outs. He has a disgusting soft spot for Wendy's.

She yelps as he throws her down on the copier with the fumbling impatience of a kid dropping off his schoolbag to go out and play. He kisses the side of her jaw clumsily, kisses her with teeth, and it's weirdly adorable and terrible and his hands are locking her legs around his waist, drawing her forward, making the machine rattle, and he's selfish and callous, but also really, really, really needy, wants her approval, needs her to go weak at the knees even if she's sitting down, so he puts a breast in his mouth like it's a snow cone and eats and laps happily, fingers brushing up against her clit like he's practicing on his first guitar, and not the one signed by Bon Jovi. Oh, he bought that to be ironic. He hates Bon Jovi. But he likes owning shit he hates.

Case in point.

He's positively purring when Bonnie tilts her head back with a throaty moan.

He hits one of the buttons on the copier and the machine starts whirring, eating paper. The vibrations make Bonnie want to scream.

Five seconds later they hear steps down the hallway.

They both freeze.

"Shit -" she mumbles against his mouth. It's supposed to be late enough that they're the only two workaholics on the floor.

She's about to tell him to get his fingers out of her cunt, when he unzips himself and rubs his cock against her entrance.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she mouths, panicky, as the footsteps approach.

It's too late. He's inside her.

Kai groans against her shoulder and Bonnie sinks her nails in his hair.

They both try to stand very still, but it's torture because the goddamn copier is still turned on and every tiny vibration sends a shock through them.

The footsteps have stopped.

Bonnie curses every part of her body that is still tangled up with him.

And then - the steady, monotonous whirring of a vacuum cleaner.

They both exhale at the same time.

Kai shifts inside her. "Should we -"

"Finish this," she grits, annoyed, and turned on.

He kisses her mouth then, which is a first, because up until this point they have sort of kissed everywhere except there. And it's weirdly nice, he doesn't taste like human garbage, but he also doesn't really let her enjoy it, as he sets a punishing rhythm, making the copy machine rattle, and she's pretty sure she'll have those annoying kind of purple bruises that don't go away for months, and the noise would be enough to make the custodian check it out, but they won't, because Kai Parker and Bonnie Bennett have to fuck this through, and no one is going to interrupt them.

And no one does.

(she comes first, he follows after her, eager to catch up, and they stare at each other, silent and determined and fucking ecstatic, but not ready to give each other any feedback. after all, if they're silent it means it never happened. it means it can happen again.

i still hate your guts, is the unspoken assumption.

i'll still try to get you fired.

i'm gonna eat your yearly paycheck for dinner. and then you.

and yeah, he smiles, knowing himself and knowing her, that's love, babe. like a cancer.)