There's an old saying that there are two guarantees in life: death, and taxes. If it were up to Dean, he'd make one addition. There were three guarantees in life: death, taxes, and traffic.

He knew what to expect, driving at rush hour. And yet, the traffic still seemed to take him by surprise. He understood the logic. More cars meant increased hazards and decreased speed, but surely they didn't need to be going this slowly. Every time he caught that train of thought, he'd take a deep breath and a long sip of his latte. Traffic was a guarantee. His safe driving bonus was not.

Today, he'd decided to leave a little earlier than usual. He seemed to be leaving earlier and earlier every day. When he started at Sandover, he'd kept it casually early—around 8:30 AM. He wanted to be prepared, without looking overeager. Now three weeks into the job, he was on the road at 6:30 and in the parking lot by 7:00. No point holding himself back to meet everyone else's expectations.

He parked his Prius in the first company lot, space 24. Stepping out, he did his routine pat down—bag, coffee, wallet, car keys—then headed into the building.

"Hey, Darryl," he greeted the security guard jovially. "How ya doin' this morning?"

"Having so much fun I can't stand it." The man chuckled as Dean flashed his security badge. "How about you, Mr. Smith?"

"Come on—Dean, please." He flashed Darryl a smile as he slid through the gate, and hoisted his bag up on his shoulder. "And you know? I think it's a good day. Happy Monday, buddy."

With that he spun on his heel, and hurried to the elevator.

It was a long way up to the twenty-second floor. But that gave Dean the time he needed to prepare himself. He smiled courteously at the other riders and stowed his wallet and keys away in the proper places. He waited until he was alone in the elevator to check his reflection. He smoothed down his hair, flattened his bright red tie. Then he took another deep breath, cracked his neck, and waited for the elevator doors to open.

There were already a few people milling around the common area. Dean made his obligatory greetings somewhat distractedly, then headed past the reception desk. He tried not to stare at the young woman behind it. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a sleek bun, her makeup so sharp it might've been able to cut him if she tried. She was already screening calls, flitting back and forth between two monitors. Dean checked his bag again, deliberately slowing his pace until she was off the phone. The moment she hung up, he straightened.

"Morning, Katherine."

She glanced toward him briefly, and offered him a sultry smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Smith."

Her eyes were back on her work a moment later. Dean brushed past her desk, resisting the urge to pump his fist. Nailed it.

His office felt positively homey after the adrenaline-filled morning. To think, the top floor and wide windows had been so intimidating a few weeks ago. Now he thought nothing of them as he settled behind his desk. He pulled out the briefs he'd been going over at home, logged into his computer, and got to work typing up the changes that needed to be made.

A lot of people complained about the redundancy of office life, but Dean liked the routine. He sent out his morning memos, had two conference calls, then virtual meetings with three different clients. He stretched his legs and practiced his putting on his fourth call. Approved some more forms, sent out a couple invoices, and then chatted with Kevin, his AD from two doors down.

"You should come to happy hour," he said earnestly, clapping a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Nah, I can't," said Dean. "I'm doing that master cleanse—the one Brian Huckabee was going on about?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, I'm telling you—works like magic."

"No, I mean you?" Kevin shook his head in admiration. "What do you need to go on a cleanse for? You're in the best shape of any guy in the office."

"Hey—don't let your wife hear you saying that."

They laughed together at the joke.

"I'm serious," said Kevin. "You should come. What's one beer gonna hurt? Besides, Mr. Adler's coming. I'm sure he'd love to see you mingling with the commoners."

Dean hissed a sigh between his teeth, considering the offer. It would be good to make some connections with the rest of the company. Network a bit, even if it was just for show. If the big boss was gonna be there, he should at least consider it. He could always ask for water instead of beer.

"Come on!" Kevin aimed a few faux punches at Dean's stomach, laughing. "It'll be fun. Get out of the office, loosen your suspenders. Whole floor's going."

"The whole floor?"

Dean couldn't help the way his face lit up. He hoped it was subtle enough to keep under wraps. He couldn't tell if Kevin had noticed, but the guy rolled his eyes either way.

"Well, the whole floor minus Kathy," he said, with a certain degree of amusement. "I asked her this morning and she kind of brushed me off."

"Hey, don't take it personal," Dean assured him. "Some people just aren't into the happy hour scene."

"Who knows what that chick's into? I don't think I've seen her say more than a few words to anyone in the building. I mean, she's great at her job, don't get me wrong. I haven't missed a call or a meeting all month. But it wouldn't kill her to be a little more social, would it?"

Dean kept his response to a minimal shrug.

"Oh!" Kevin glanced at his oversized watch, and patted Dean on the arm. "Speaking of, I better head back. Don't wanna miss lunch delivery!"

He hurried out of the office, and Dean let him go without complaint. Kevin was a good guy, and a good worker. But he ran his mouth more than he should've.

Dean settled back at his desk, finishing up the investor memo he'd started earlier in the morning. Lunch round started at noon, but his usually didn't get in until ten after. It was another thing that was always on schedule. He'd just put his work aside when, right on time…

"Knock, knock."

Katherine was standing in his doorway, paper bag in one hand and a large blue folder in the other. Dean had to actively stop himself from scanning her figure. Her smooth, cream dress was all too inviting. He didn't want to be rude.

"You're a God-send," he said, waving her into the room.

He eagerly cleared a spot on his desk for the food. He didn't need a lot of space. The only thing Katherine unearthed from the bag was one plastic container, a napkin, and a fork.

"One sesame chicken salad, no dressing," she offered, placing it on the desk in front of him.

"Fantastic." He popped the lid, nodding to her other hand. "What's that?"

"Grainger finally sent over their estimated demand for the upcoming fiscal year. I thought you might want to see the projections."

Dean took the folder from her, flipping through the first couple pages. The numbers jumped out at him from the page, each one more confusing than the next. He checked them twice, then his calendar, then leapt for his keyboard.

"No, no, no. I don't think so. They signed a contract. I mean, budgeting is one thing, but they can't expect a rollback like this without any rescinding fees. And I know their projected profits aren't that low, because I just had lunch with their VP last week and he said…"

He trailed off, glancing at Katherine again. She was waiting patiently at the end of his desk.

"Uh…sorry," he offered, clearing his throat. "I'm sure you don't really care about that."

"Business is business," she said smoothly. "Why do you think I wanted to show you the numbers?"

She handed him a second copy of the file. Dean beamed, grabbing a pen so he could tear it apart one clause at a time.

"Katherine, have I mentioned lately that you are the best office manager in creation?"

"Hardly," she said with a smirk. "I'm a glorified secretary at best."

"And you deserve every bit of the glory."

He started circling the figures on the form, only to have the pen snatched out of his hand.

"Eat," Katherine ordered, dropping the pen back into his desk organizer. "Grainger will still be our client after lunch."

Dean frowned, but set the files aside as instructed. He grumpily flicked his tie over his shoulder, then instantly wished he hadn't. Did that make him look like an idiot? Was he flouting his expensive tie? Did that make him a douche?

But Katherine only smiled.

"Anything else today, Mr. Smith?"

"Actually, yes." He clasped his hands in front of him mocking deep thought. "Could you tell me, what is…your favorite TV show?"

Katherine pursed her perfectly painted lips thoughtfully. "I have been watching a lot of Vampire Diaries…"

"Really?" Dean asked, cracking a smile.

"I'm not proud of it. But I go a little soft for all those CW dramas. A girl's gotta have her guilty pleasures."

"Hey," he said, raising his hands. "No judgement."

"What about you?" she asked.

Dean thought fleetingly of his conversation with Kevin, picking apart the latest episode of Project Runway. That one, he decided to keep to himself for the moment.

"I'm pretty much always watching HGTV," he said with a calculated shrug. "House Hunters, Buy Me, Dream House. I like my apartment, but I'd love to flip a house someday, you know? Capitalize on the market value."

"Hm. Handy."

She smirked again, and Dean flushed.

"Will that be all, Mr. Smith?" she asked again, and he cleared his throat.

"Ahem. Yes. Yes, that'll be all Miss Marlin."

Katherine's mask of professionalism snapped firmly back in place. She nodded curtly, and headed out of his office once more. Dean only caught a glimpse of a smile as she shut the door behind her.

He sagged back in his seat, blowing out a long breath.

"Handy," he repeated to himself.

Then with a smile, he dug into his salad.

Crisp spinach and carrots weren't the only perks to lunch time. Kevin was right—no one in the office knew much about Katherine Marlin. She'd started the same day as Dean, just three weeks ago. She'd been quiet and professional on their tour of the building, only speaking when addressed and laughing politely at Mr. Adler's jokes. Maybe it was the way she chose her words, or the light behind her eyes—and sure, it probably had something to do with her stunning figure and perfectly tamed curls—but Dean had felt unsure of himself every time he saw her. He was itching for a look behind the curtain, with no clue what to say.

Their second week on the job, Katherine had brought him his lunch right on schedule. And Dean, idiot that he was, had stumblingly asked her for her favorite color. Her look of amusement had made him feel all the more stupid. But she'd simply told him it was red, and left him to his greens.

Ever since, he'd taken to asking her one personal question a day. Favorite color, alma mater, go-to film. He didn't know what to do with any of the information, but it was nice to have. It was like his own secret, calorie-free dessert.

It was enough to carry him through the rest of the day. He laid out a fresh spreadsheet detailing all the corrections that needed to be negotiated on the Grainger contract, and had a few more client calls. Most of them were more pleasure than business, be he liked to add a personal touch to all his business relations. It made it easier to swing things his way when contract renewal came around.

He even got a visit from Mr. Adler around three, just a brief drive by to say he was doing a good job. Needless to say, when five o'clock rolled around, Dean was feeling pretty good about himself.

There was another knock at his door, and Kevin poked his head into the room.

"Five fifteen, D," he said with a grin. "Whatdya say? Beer on my tab?"

"No can do, Kev," said Dean. He lifted his reusable bottle in answer. "Cleanse."

Kevin scoffed, shaking his head. "Alright. Your loss, buddy."

"And don't I know it. Catch ya tomorrow, pal."

"Don't stay holed up in here too long!"

He shut the door behind him, and Dean grinned at his monitor.

"Not too long," he mused, finishing up another contact email. "Just long enough."

It was dark outside by the time he packed up his things. Most of the offices in the hall were vacant, and there was hardly anyone in the building. Except for the rare few.

"I gotta ask," Dean offered, ambling up to the front desk. "Do you sleep here or something?"

Katherine looked up from her computer. She glanced around the office, verifying that no one else was around before she smiled. Her arms folded over the desk and she relaxed in her chair.

"I do not," she promised. "But some days I think it'd be easier."

"Long commute?"

"Hm, long-shot question?"

"W-What?" She smirked at him, and Dean spluttered in his haste to answer. "Oh! No—N-No, no, I was just—I figured because you said…"

"It's fine," she chuckled. "I stay late to cut down on the amount of driving I do. My car's kind of a gas guzzler."

Dean sighed, letting himself relax.

"You gotta switch to the Prius," he told her. "The gas mileage on my car? God, you would not believe. I promise, you'll never look back."

"Practical. But, I don't know. My Baby's a thing of beauty. I don't think I could ever give her up."

He let it go, smiling at his feet. He kept his head ducked low while he deliberated his next move.

"Well, uh…ahem…another long-shot, but uh…some of the guys were going out to happy hour, if…I mean, I wasn't gonna go…not that I was waiting for…but if you were interested in that, I'd…you know, I could drive, if you wanted to…save gas?"

It was painful to look up at her. She wasn't even smiling anymore. Just watching him with her carefully penciled eyebrows raised high. He couldn't tell if she was revolted or just holding a poker face to make him squirm. He drummed absently on the counter, waiting for her to put him out of his misery.

"I can't tonight," she said, and there was a hopeful ghost of a smile. "I have plans."

"Oh. Yeah, no, that's fine. Makes sense. You know, that you…uh…what kind of plans?"

Now she smirked, leaning forward to whisper to him. "The secret kind."

Dean gulped.

"Right. Sorry. You're—totally your business. Anyway! I'm gonna…Sorry, that I…"

"Goodnight, Mr. Smith," she said pointedly.

"Yeah. That. Goodnight, Miss Marlin."

He gave her a small wave, and hurried into the elevator.

Katherine watched him go, waiting until the doors were closed and the elevator was two floors away before she laughed. She knew she was being mean. It was rude to make him run circles around himself trying to catch her attention without offending her. But he was so quick to back himself into a corner. He kept walking right into traps before she even had time to set them.

But Mr. Smith was the least of her problems. Even if he had managed to ask her to the team happy hour, she probably wouldn't have done it. Being one of two women on a floor of corporate men was not an easy job, especially when her work amounted to answering phones, scheduling appointments, and handing out food. It was thankless work. Mr. Smith was one of the only tolerable people she'd found in the building.

At the same time, she'd never consider quitting. It felt good to a have a routine. She liked the building, liked her apartment, her car. If she was going to keep them, she'd need the money to maintain them. And Sandover certainly paid well. Even if Mr. Adler was a misogynistic jerk.

She finished up the bulk of her necessary work fairly quickly. She sent emails and scribbled down messages, typed up memos and reminders that would be handed out the following day. She printed what needed to be printed, stapled and paperclipped and filed what needed to be filed. Then it was onto the non-immediate work. Combing over the calendar, making sure everyone's schedule was clear, making sure no one had overbooked the conference room. Anything she could do to make the clock tick faster.

After a light dinner at her desk, and two episodes of Vampire Diaries, she finally packed it in. She collected her paperwork into her handbag, and slipped her heels in right after. Now the work day was over, she could slip back into sneakers. There was no one to see her but security, anyway.

Spinning her keys around her finger, she popped into the elevator and took the ride down.

"Everything alright?" the guard asked her as she approached the front gate. "Seven thirty's late, even for you, Katherine."

"I'm good, Jason," she assured him, flashing her badge. "You know me. Work best a quiet office."

She wiggled her fingers goodbye and rushed out to her car. Over in lot two, space sixteen, Baby took up nearly two spaces all on her own. Katherine let her hand slide along the pristine, black exterior, and threw her purse into the backseat. She settled into the front seat and started up the engine. Immediately, she was assaulted by drums blasting from the radio. The sounds of Bikini Kill surged through the car, and Katherine allowed herself a moment to sink back and take it in. No more paperwork. Just her, her wheels, and some punk rock music. Life was good.

She kicked the Impala into gear, revved the engine just because she could, and peeled out of the parking lot.

It wasn't far to her next stop. She pulled into a shopping center a few miles down the road, driving around to the back where most of the cars were. She made sure to park her car a little ways off, just in case anyone was an idiot backing out of their space. Then she grabbed a duffle bag from her back seat, and headed into the gym.

"You always get dressed up to work out?" asked the burly man at the front desk.

Katherine gave him a tight smile, and scanned her membership card. She walked away without acknowledging him, heading straight into the locker room to change.

The locker room was pretty underused, as far as she was concerned. Most people came to the gym straight from home, so they didn't have anything to lock up. But there were a few regulars who came either right after or right before work. Katherine had only been at the gym for a week or two, but she was starting to recognize a few of the women. She smiled politely as she changed out of her dress and stockings, and wash all the makeup off her face. Then she grabbed her iPod, and headed back into the gym.

Katherine didn't know much about working out, but the gym had caught her eye on her first week of work. It seemed like a good idea, a way to start a new move on the right foot. So she'd pulled a few beginner workout routines off Google and did her best to follow along inside.

For the most part, she stuck to the elliptical. At least there she could watch TV and not think about working out. She ran for two whole episodes of Charmed, then forced herself to move onto some machines. There it was mostly guesswork. If she couldn't figure out how a machine worked within the first thirty seconds, she moved onto the something else. The last thing she wanted was for some dudebro to stop and ask her if she wanted any help.

All of it was just killing time until it was time for Zumba class. One of the benefits of the gym was the group sessions they held. There at least, Katherine could follow along and not guess about what she had to do. She wasn't the best at picking up the rhythms, but she liked the music, and liked the rush. And when she was one of the few still standing at the end of class, it gave her something to be proud of.

"You've done this before, haven't you?" asked the instructor as all the women collected their things.

"Oh, not really," Katherine answered, waving a hand. "I'm just having fun."

"Seriously?" The woman looked at her, doubtful but impressed. "You seem less out of breath than I am! Do you work out a lot? Run?"

"Not at all," she said with a shrug. "I'm stuck behind a desk from five to seven, so I'm just happy to get out."

"Right. Well, whatever it is, keep it up. You've got a lot of energy."

Katherine tried not to glow with pride as she packed up her belongings.

She stopped by the store to get some ice cream as a reward for herself, then headed back to her tiny apartment. Sure, it wasn't a penthouse with wide windows and loft, but it was all she needed. It was comfortable. Just her living room and tiny kitchenette, one bedroom and one bathroom. It was just enough room for her.

Something dark and furry wrapped around her legs the moment she stepped through the door, nearly tripping her on her face.

Well. It was enough room for her. Maybe not enough room for her and her cat.

"Casper," she scolded, scooping him up into her arms. "Stop! You could've made me drop my ice cream!"

The black cat yowled, and writhed out of her arms.

"Fine, you ungrateful gremlin. I know. Mommy stinks. But so does your litter box."

Katherine dropped her bags in the corner and ducked into the kitchen. Casper was her first priority. So she cleaned his litter box, poured him fresh water and mixed up his dinner. He weaseled his way between her legs again, trying to eat out of the bowl before it even hit the floor. She rolled her eyes at him, and left to take a shower.

Clean and changed into her pajamas, any reasonable person would have gone to bed. She had to be in work in less than eight hours. But Katherine grabbed her ice cream and a spoon, then flopped onto her couch. Casper hopped up next to her, and curled up in her lap.

"What do you think, Cas?" she asked, grabbing the remote. "Something new, or something we've already seen?"

The cat blinked up at her with wide blue eyes, and Katherine smiled.

"Well, I know what you wanna watch, but we just watched that yesterday. Don't you have anything else in mind?"

Again, the cat blinked at her.

"Ugh, fine," she sighed, flicking the TV to life. "You know, you only like this movie because you have a crush on Jones. And I fully support you. But I'd like to be able to choose my own movies, seeing as you don't pay rent."

Casper didn't answer her, because he was a cat. But he did purr a little louder as the first scenes of Alien played on the screen. Katherine pulled him close, breaking into her strawberry ice cream.

Mondays were not always her cup of tea. Still. Today hadn't been all that bad.