Rigel Vought, known as "Riley" to her friends, typically took lunch in her office. As personal assistant to the CEO, Preston Tucci, her office joined into his. Usually she ate upstairs in case he needed anything from her. She didn't have to, it wasn't expected of her. It was a personal preference for the young woman.

On occasion though, she felt it better to eat down in the cafeteria. Today was one of those days.

She'd found herself a quiet spot away from most of the staff, her back to a corner, affording her a view of the entire room. There, she skimmed through news articles on her tablet as she ate. It was her way of relaxing, her downtime.

Rigel heard a slight commotion and looked up. Antoine and his little gang from maintenance, or "Infrastructure" as it was technically called had arrived and were chatting loudly about some video game. Or maybe it was a movie. Rigel wasn't interested in either. Antoine laughed as he looked around the room, then his eyes fell on her. He grinned and waved. Rigel wished she could make herself invisible.

Detaching himself from the rest of his fellows, Antoine sauntered over to her, tray balanced easily in one hand. He gave his blue hair a flip and plopped his tray down across from her. "Hey, Riley! Long time no see, eh?"

It hadn't been that long, Riley thought as she put on what she hoped was a sincere looking smile.

While she didn't dislike Antoine per se, but he wasn't exactly a friend either. She'd politely explained it once that she preferred to keep her at-work relationships professional. Antoine's gregarious personality and rather casual attitudes were at odds with her agenda. That, and their entire relationship had started off rather precariously. Antoine hadn't been particularly welcoming. She understood now that he'd just been looking out for Preston – and she had to admit he'd been trying to make up for it – but not everyone will be destined to become close friends.

Especially, in Rigel's mind, because Antoine was a close friend of her boss. She never wanted to find herself inadvertently between them, having to choose sides between a friend and her boss. There was no way she'd win in that.

There was also nothing she and Antoine had in common aside from working at the same nuclear plant. It wouldn't have been an easy friendship anyhow. He was her coworker, and that was how it would stay.

So thinking, Rigel found it easiest to keep her rapport with Antoine as detached as possible. Thankfully, he picked up on that, and respected it. He'd stopped actively inviting her to join him, Preston, and some of the other managers for drinks after work. The offer was still there, and Rigel was always welcome, but mercifully he wasn't hunting her down every Friday night and trying to convince her to go out anymore.

Rigel turned the tablet off and slid it out of the way. She gestured to her mostly finished lunch. "Hi Antoine. I don't mean to seem rude, but I'll be leaving shortly."

"No worries, no worries," Antoine replied, pulling a rolled magazine out from his back pocket before sitting down. "I don't see you down here much," he remarked.

"Some days it's nice to get a chance of pace," she replied.

"Bossman's in a bad mood, huh? " Antoine peered at her, keen eyes twinkling. "Trying to lay low?"

Rigel sighed. Perhaps that was another thing that frustrated her about Antoine: his keen intuition when it came to people. More often than not, he saw through what she was saying and read what she actually meant. He'd been mostly wrong about her when she started working at the plant, mostly; but it was true she had been observing Preston's performance under orders from the Board. Antoine had picked up on that, and took a defensive stance. Rigel had to admire his loyalty, but she didn't like how he'd treated her like a spy.

She nodded.

It was useless trying to lie to Antoine.

"He was listening to Italian Opera before nine AM."

Antoine winced like he'd just eaten a lemon. "Oooh! That is not good."

Rigel couldn't help but smile in spite of herself.

"No, not especially. So I figured I would eat down here today."

"I don't blame you! I'd be doing the same."

Rigel glanced at the clock and gripped her tray. "Well, I would stay and chat, but my break's just about over."

"Yeah, no worries," Antoine said, repeating himself once again. "But hey, Riley? Little piece of advice." He patted the table and motioned her to lean close.

Rigel set the tray down and slid over towards Antoine.

He cupped a hand to his mouth, glanced around furtively, then whispered: "The Italian Opera's bad, but it's not the worst. If you ever hear him playing his viola, run! I mean it, head for the hills and hunker down. Do not under any circumstance bother him. I don't care if it's the president, alien invasion, a meltdown... It can wait!"

"He has a viola here?"

"In a case, bottom of the wardrobe by the coat-rack, yes. When he's completely steamed, he plays it to relax. And it works! It's meditative for him I guess. But for the love of god, let him finish. Whatever hell you think is going on around you will be nothing compared to the wrath you incur if you interrupt him."

Rigel closed her eyes, tried to picture Preston playing a viola. She saw him standing, head bowed, eyes closed, lanky frame swaying to the music as he played. The narrow-faced CEO immersed in his own private world for a moment. The image came easily, as too the frustration at an intrusion.

"I can see that," she said, nodding as she stood up, gathering her tray. "Thanks for the warning, Antoine."

"Just trying to look out for you, y'know." Antoine gave her a half-salute, then turned his attention to his food and magazine.

Rigel couldn't shake the image of Preston playing a viola as she made her way back upstairs. It was something she never knew about him, but it wasn't surprising either. Of course he plays an instrument, she thought as she sat down at her desk and started going over the afternoon itinerary. Rigel filed that knowledge away, wondered if indeed he actually had brought his viola to work, and wondered quietly if it would ever be something she could ask him about. She saw his long fingers deftly holding the bow, artfully dancing over the bridged strings.

"I'll bet he plays beautifully," she mused as she returned to work.