"I gotta piss," Veruca announced as she strode into the break room.

Ten-year-old me had opinions once again, but Wonka didn't seem bothered by her language. He was back in host-mode.

"Second door to your left," he said. "Don't forget to wash your hands—with soap. The water is precisely thirty-eight degrees Celsius. You can't change it. Don't try. Oh! And feminine products go in the medical waste containers, not the trash!"

"Ew. Whatever, old man." She pulled a face and stormed for the restrooms.

"It's just that we make—" The door slammed behind her before he could get the whole sentence out. "—food."

He sighed, made his way to one of many steel-topped cafeteria tables, and collapsed into a chair. Its legs screeched against the tile floor as he leaned forward on his elbows and massaged his temples. The rest of us remained in the entrance, awkwardly awaiting instruction.

I was personally surprised that the full-timers' break room had the same utilitarian equipment as the contractors' version. As difficult as it was to get promoted, I expected those who passed the test would have leather couches and a television on every wall. Maybe a ping-pong table and a classic arcade machine in the corner. Instead, the break room was a mirror image of the one I sat in every day—with a glaring exception.

"Where's the fridge?" I asked.

Wonka lifted his head from the table. "Right. I wasn't expecting the tour to come this way, so no food was prepared. Vending machines are to the right, free of charge. Help yourselves."

That was different. If the snacks were free in the contractors' room, I'd have had them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Maybe stuffed a few in my pockets on my way out each day. Everyone would have. How much were these people getting paid?

"Aw yeah! Snacks!" Mike shouted. "C'mon Vi!"

I shook my head. How could Mike possibly be hungry after eating his way through half the inventory of an antiques shop? He grabbed Violet's arm—a gesture she again didn't refuse—and dragged her to the machines. I approached Wonka's table and sat across from him.

"Where do the full-timers store their lunches?" I asked, unsure if he'd understood my original question.

He blinked. "We have meals brought in for them."

Of course. The chosen ones had catering, while the rest of us ate ham sandwiches from home and washed them down with budget coffee. No wonder he wasn't losing a fortune in snacks.

"Sounds nice," I said.

He smirked. "Don't say that until you've tried it."

I forced a smile, mostly because he said until, but my initial reaction was to balk at how disconnected he was from his own employees' everyday reality. Did he really think I'd turn up my nose at free catered food?

"I'm sorry about Mr. Gloop," he said, interrupting my thoughts. "You two were hitting it off before he..."

Wonka grew silent, and his eyes glazed over. I wanted to believe that he was as traumatized as the rest of us by what happened to Augustus, but he was probably more concerned about his bungled PR event. He'd seemed angry with Augustus rather than empathetic when everything happened. Which reminded me...

"I'm sorry I touched you," I said with sincerity. "It was inappropriate. I was panicking and didn't think—"

"No! Nono. Please don't apologize for that. I was tightly wound at the time, but you did the right thing."

At the time? That wasn't his default state?

Mike's grating voice cut through our conversation. "This one's vegan! Says original flavor, which means it is, right? Told you I pay attention to your show."

I turned my head just in time to see Mike slip his hand onto Violet's bum and squeeze, which confirmed a growing theory that the two were closer than they let on. She squeaked and batted the hand away, then gave him a glare that by all rights should have exploded his head.

"Not now," she hissed.

"Oh, come on. Who's gonna tell on us? Bucket?"

I hadn't planned to, but Mike was doing a decent job of changing my mind. I turned my back on the couple and shared a look with Wonka to verify he'd heard the conversation as well.

"Could you...maybe...use my first name today? It would make things a little easier." I tilted my head toward the vending machines to emphasize my point.

Wonka appeared almost as flustered as he had been when arguing with Violet about geese, but thankfully replied, "If that's what you prefer."

I sighed with relief. "Most people call me Charlie. Makes it easier for my bosses since there's always another Charles."

His eyes widened. "Your employers call you Charlie?"

I chuckled, unsure if he was joking. "Yeah. You're the only person I've worked for who uses last names."

"What!?"

Okay, he wasn't joking.

He leaned against the table, brow furrowed as if I'd just revealed the secret to eternal life. "This, right here, is why I need young blood in my inner circle. I had no idea things had changed so much! Do you preface the first name with honorifics?"

It was my turn to be confused. "Honorifics? You mean like Mister Charlie? Heh. No. Just first names. Not everyone is a mister or miss, you know?"

He nodded slowly. "I see. That's wonderful. Well, then, you can call me Willy."

Had I been drinking at that moment, I'd have ruined his cartoon coat. "I really can't."

Wonka waved a hand in the air. "You're right, of course. That name is more for the kids. How about William?"

"No, I mean, you're Mr. Wonka to all your employees. I can't just—wait—is your name William Wonka?"

He laughed, and there was real joy in the crinkle of his eyes. I hated myself for liking it. The person he became when he relaxed in the SPD was warmer and more human than the one who praised me with artificial enthusiasm for productivity improvements.

"I'm not your boss anymore," he said. "William will do just fine."

"But, didn't you bring me along to convince me to come back?"

The laugh lines vanished, replaced by a tight-lipped expression of deep thought. Finally, he said, "I'm not looking for an employee, Charlie. I'm looking for a partner."

My brain bluescreened, all thoughts replaced with the high-pitched squeal of a single un-cancelable note. Did I fall asleep mid-conversation without realizing it, or did Wonka…William…recite a line, word for word, from my recurring daydreams? If he had, and I hadn't, it was an unbelievable coincidence. Those were the literal words he always spoke in my imagination before he leaned forward, brushed the curls from my eyes, cupped my cheek in his hand, and said—

"Someone who can speak the language of the everyman. Who can revolutionize this old, rusty business. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a little out of touch."

No. That wasn't what he said. That was all wrong.

"I, uh..." I scratched at my ear, suddenly aware that both had heated to approximately the temperature of the sun. "What? You want me to be your business partner?"

Business partner. Like the one I'd just abandoned in a fake interview so I could tour a candy laboratory with a potential monster. What qualifications did I have? I fixed a couple of old machines and had a spotless attendance record, but I wasn't a businessman. Was this still because I put him on the spot in the recruitment office?

"You're questioning your abilities again," William said. "I can see it on your face."

How the hell would he know what anything looked like on my face? How did he know so much about any of us? I bit my lip and permitted myself to ask. He'd offered me a partnership, after all, or the potential for one. Wasn't that the best time to ask questions?

"You keep saying stuff like that. But we've never spoken about anything outside work. What makes you think you know me so well?"

Despite my fear that the question might strike a nerve, he looked more embarrassed than annoyed when he asked, "Do you know what highly superior autobiographical memory is?"

I shook my head.

He set his cane on the table between us. "Examine this cane, then close your eyes. How long can you remember it in exact detail?"

"Exact detail?" I squeezed my eyes shut and recalled the multi-colored lollipop swirl and the places where light reflected off its surface like a glaze. But it was all a bit fuzzy and faded fast. "Not long."

"That's eidetic memory. Almost everyone can recall images for a few seconds. A rare few can sit down at an easel after a walk and paint a scene from memory. A very rare few can recall the exact words of a five-year-old argument. I'm somewhere in the middle. I can match your reactions to those you've had in the past and guess your thoughts by context. Or to put it another way—you're never going to beat me at cards."

My ears heated again. That explained so much about his bizarre interactions with his employees. But also, it meant my face was a permanent feature in his memory. And he thought about it enough to believe he knew me. I had to wonder: was it only when we were together? Or did he go home after work, all alone in his mansion, and picture my face like I did his? Did he—Ack. No. Stop, brain! That line of thinking would get me eaten by monsters. Or worse, fired.

My face had grown as warm as my ears, and I'd gone way too long without responding. Oh no.

William again burst into laughter. "I can't read your mind! Though you do make it easier than some. But I can tell you're a good man, and you mean well. I trust…What? What are you staring at?"

Without realizing it, I'd zeroed in on his smile. I couldn't help myself. It was bright and warm as the sun and drew my attention with its novelty. But he covered it with a hand to block my view.

"My, what big teeth I have?" he asked dryly. "You may not believe it, but I'm as self-conscious about my teeth as you are about your name."

I hadn't thought about it until he mentioned it, but he did have rather prominent canines. Not monster-movie prominent, though. Just a bit of a snaggletooth on each side, like his mouth was overcrowded and other teeth had pushed the canines outward.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I thought you were..."

His brow arched, and he lowered his hand. "Thought I was?"

"You know. Rich. Can't you afford an orthodontist if it bothers you that much?"

He hissed. Actually hissed. Like a cat. "I hate dentists."

It was my turn to laugh. "Of course you do. But, with all this sugar around, how do you avoid them? I'm half your age and have more fillings than teeth."

"You don't say! Well, I have a surprise in the next room that should answer your question. Might even fix your fillings if you have the right kind. Mind if I take a look?"

He leaned across the table and held a hand just below my chin until I gave in and opened my mouth. It was hard not to wince with his face so close. My mind filled with paranoia about my breath, the cleanliness of my teeth, the fresh wave of heat prickling my ears—

"OH. MY. GOD!" Veruca shouted.

I snapped up, sure she'd seen us and misinterpreted, but she wasn't even looking at our table. I spun just in time to see Mike release Violet from a rather intimate position against the wall. Violet attempted to beat him to death with a bag of crisps as punishment, but it wasn't very effective.

"How long has this been going on?" Veruca demanded.

"It's not what you think," Violet said.

"Bull." Veruca stomped across the break room, her heels echoing with every step, and came face to face with Violet. She looked the other woman up and down as if examining her outfit, then did the same to Mike. "Hmh. Congratulations, I guess."

Violet looked so relieved she might burst into tears. "Thank you. Thanks. Please don't tell anyone."

Wonka…William stood. "This might be a good time to remind you all that the contract you signed only protects the personal details of employees, not guests."

Violet shot him a lip-puckered look that implied he would be next to die by vegan crisps.

"Whatever," Veruca said. "Just don't forget your prenup if things get serious."

"Thanks," Mike said.

She cackled. "I wasn't talking to you. Your kiddie content has an early expiration date. Violet can easily pivot to videos for mature skin as she ages. She has a future."

All three stood by the vending machines, stunned into silence by Veruca's dropped bomb, until William cleared his throat. "Sounds like we're all ready to continue the tour?"

"Yeah," Veruca said. "Let's get this over with."

I was beginning to think she should have tossed her golden ticket when it arrived in the mail. She wasn't enjoying herself and was actively ruining the experience for the rest of us.

William gestured for everyone to head towards another set of double-doors, then leaned towards me. "I want to continue our conversation later."

I nodded. Later was good. It gave me time to get over my shock and put my many questions into words. Like, why was he just now looking for a partner? Why was he looking among contractors instead of full-timers or other business leaders?

And then there was the most important question of all: Why me?