A tap on his shoulder makes Arthur suddenly jerk out of his thoughts.

"Mr. Kirkland, are you alright?" one of his subordinates asks, her expression marred with concern.

With a guilty start, he glances at the clock, only then realizing he'd spaced out for nearly an hour. And is five minutes late to a meeting in his own office. His face heating, he gestures to the chair in front of him. "My apologies, I was brainstorming our Bonnefoy problem."

Which is a complete lie.

Even now, it's difficult to hold his attention, his mind constantly drawn back to the ugly squirming mass that Alfred Jones has infected him with. The young vice president hasn't attempted to make contact with him in the three weeks since his little stunt in LA.

Which is fine. Just fine. He doesn't want to be anywhere near Alfred.

...

Honestly, the boy should at least apologize for what he'd done! Or at least explain what on earth he was thinking in the first place! One doesn't just kidnap people across interstate lines. If Arthur were anyone else, Alfred would likely be locked up with the FBI or the CIA or whatever applied best.

But he's not anyone else...

"Should I go ahead and type this all up in an email?" Ms. Chelles asks, tugging Arthur back to the present again.

Arthur has the grace to give her a sheepish smile. "Apologies, my mind's in the clouds. Yes, please send me an email. If you have any questions we can reschedule the meeting." With a nod, his subordinate nods and give him a small smile before taking off back to her office. No sooner than she leaves, than his secretary swoops in.

"Mr. Kirkland, were you able to review that consulting contract?" she titters, dropping off his mail into his inbox.

The very word 'contract' sets his temper off again and he says tightly, "No. I will have it done by eight tonight." The woman gives him a skeptical look, but nods and heads back to her desk. Bristling now, Arthur glances over to his mailbox. Only to stop short.

A small innocuous envelope with his name scrawled over it. No return address. But he knows that handwriting anywhere.

Breaking his own rule, Arthur swiftly opens it up and pours out the contents. A thumb drive and a small handwritten post-it note. 'I'm sorry I sang the wrong song.' Arthur frowns at it and wonders how the younger man could have possibly missed the entire point of his ire.

Staring at it for a long second, his attention turns to the thumb drive, wondering what it could be. A virus possibly. That's certainly one way to get revenge. Make him infect the whole system from his computer and get him fired. Somehow, he knows that Alfred wouldn't do that to him.

Taking a long breath, he plugs the flash drive in and opens up the file. He's heartened to see that his screen isn't instantly going haywire as he opens it up, as his eyes fall on the single file. An mp3. Frowning, he puts in some earbuds from his drawer and opens it up.

Suddenly, he grows still, petrified by a wave of nostalgia. His own nineteen year old voice singing back at him, a song from ancient memory. How... How did Alfred get his hands on this? His throat tightens, sucking a soft shuddering breath. "Alfred..." he whispers, the name drawn from him as his chest aches.

The song winds down and he plays it again, an unwilling smile tugging at the corners of his lips. On his third time around, he almost doesn't notice the company-wide email pop up in the corner of his screen. He idly clicks it as it's come from the CEO himself. Then he goes pale.

From: Alfred Jones, CEO
To:
Subject: Farewell Reception

Dear Staff,

You are cordially invited to the farewell reception for Alfred Jones Junior taking place on the third Thursday of August at 7:00 PM. Please join us in sending him off to his new position of President of our Tokyo division.

Please see attached invitation for more details.

Sincerely,

Alfred Jones
Chief Executive Officer & President
Jones International Holdings Inc.