"It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like "What about lunch?"
―A. A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

The hottest thing walking in a pair of inappropriate stilettos strutted into the training room. Michonne hedged a bet with herself how long it will take for that one to be fired or promoted. Her name was Rosita Romana, who spoke with no accent at all and claimed to have fought side by side with her parents during a war-torn El Salvador. She claimed to be twenty-five years old—something Michonne did not doubt. But an unborn–fighting? Michonne hid her phone from that same guy who kept giving her his disapproving look.

Now it was time to take five minutes to get to know one's neighbor once the class had finished one truth one lie.

"My name is Michonne Benton. I am a college graduate who needs money to help me pursue bigger and better things."

"What could be bigger than this?" Rick had asked her.

"Is that listed as a question?" Michonne was doubtful of anything that came out of her new co-worker's mouth. She found him uncomfortably attractive in an, I only prefer my women white, don't waste your time kind of way. He exuded an air of authority and an inability to relax.

"No," Rick admitted. "I just wanted to know a little bit more about you."

"Next." Michonne didn't feel like wasting too many words on someone she would have very little interaction with once out of training.

"You're next, Michonne Benton." Rick was secretly testing out her name.

"If someone were to guess your age, are they right, or are they very close?"

"Usually right or close."

"Thirty-eight." Michonne blurted.

"I'm not thirty-eight." Rick was shocked she would think he was that old. He wasn't even thirty yet.

"Am I close?"

"Heck, no!"

"Forty?"

Rick reached for his wallet. He pulled out his driver's license, and he handed it to her. He instantly realized his mistake when she asked if the trainer had his name wrong.

"No."

"So, Groomes is your last name?" Michonne didn't break eye contact as Rick had hoped she would.

"I am now aware it wasn't my age; you were doubting."

"Blame it on your shoes. Your Breitling watch you're wearing. And cufflinks."

"I could have gotten these things anywhere, gifted or..."

"Or legally purchased, I am now sure of it!"

"Was that question on the card you are holding?"

"No. At what age did you tell your first lie?"

"Let me see?"

Michonne turned the card for him to see. She added, "Questioning your age was the only way for me to know who you really are. I'm nosy. Shoot me." Michonne shrugged.

"Who am I?" Rick challenged the woman he had just met in class that day.

"You certainly didn't come from the mail-room."

"I did too."

"Mail-room? Male room. Men's room. The Male identified areas of the world, yes. Envelope licking room, sorting, filing. No."

"I don't have to prove anything to you."

"I've already had your license. Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Groomes."

Rick began to sweat bullets. He was being sized up in a very intense manner. He wanted to snatch his license without drawing attention. He held his hand out. She placed it delicately in his palm.

From there on out Rick walked on eggshells, afraid Michonne was going to blow his cover. He went on every social media platform he could think of, there weren't many, and placed it under private. He tried to avoid her if he could, and when he couldn't, he decided to appear as cordial as possible. One thing he did notice she started dressing differently. More dresses. Feminine. Sexy on occasion. He wasn't blind. He had to fight his curiosity.

"You and Michonne will partner up. We have a gingerbread house competition. And everyone must participate. The winners get a full day off with pay for 1st place, 2nd place 20 dollar gift card, and third place, 10 dollars. Full participation is required."

"What? Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" Michonne stood up to spy down on him and Carol on the other side of her cubicle wall.

"My meaning is, why are we teaming up. Like why that type of project. Kinda like why all these projects when we have phone calls to answer kind of why!"

"You are answering phone calls? Get out of town there, Mr. Groomes." Michonne enjoyed holding his feet to the fire. Carol continued to take note of their interactions that were a bit antagonistic.

"Michonne!?" Carol's tone admonished the interaction. "I want you two to sign out the phones right now and you have one hour to create something." Carol, continued to give Michonne a look she would give her child Sophia with Adhd. The only difference it mattered to Michonne to be cognizant of her outburst and her surroundings while Sophia would continue to zip and zoom.

"I have no idea why you give me a hard time?" Rick and Michonne had found a corner table in the partially empty cafeteria to work on their company-mandated project.

"I don't give you a hard time. I only give you time while being paid to do so. Outside of that, nothing is hard. Easy actually." Michonne smiled like a Cheshire cat. She was clearly amused with herself.

"I gave you a compliment the other day."

"Why would you do that?"

"I really liked your dress."

"My dress or me in my dress."

"Both."

"Thank you."

"You are welcome."

"How do you think the roof should go?" Michonne put the focus back on the project.

"I think you look nice today."

"I asked you about our Gingerbread roof."

"I gave you another compliment."

"I want to win first place."

"I want to be acknowledged by you."

"As if you are not?"

"I think you look nice today, Michonne."

"Thank you, Mr. Groome."

"I would like for you to start calling me Rick."

"Not unless we win 1st prize. I get a day off with pay, and you get the icing on top with me referring to you by the only name that is real. I say we have a deal!"

"About that roof..."

"Yeah, about this roof..." Michonne marveled at the complexity of the situation as she swallowed the last of the unbroken cookies.

Rick checked inside the last open box of cookies to find only one lone broken in half gingerbread man.

"What? I really do have low blood sugar."

"Well, I have shown you my driver's license. You will need to show me your medical records."

"There are HIPAA laws."

"Then I will continue to believe you are just greedy, Michonne."