Rigel Vought was busy sorting out Preston's daily memos. It had been this way for the past month since she started. She made a point to arrive at least thirty minutes before her boss. It gave her time to go over anything that had come in after hours the night before, and get the coffee started. Decaf. She'd learned he didn't go for anything with caffeine. It was strange, she thought, but she didn't question it. He was the boss, if he only wanted decaffeinated coffee, that is what he would get.

She'd almost arranged everything when, without warning, the doors flew open. She looked up, startled, as a person she didn't know trotted into the office and helped himself to a cup of her boss's coffee. He wore a pair of heavy work boots, a pair of khaki colored pants, and a vibrant red polo shirt.

"Excuse me," Rigel barked, eyes hard. "Who are you, and what exactly are you doing here?"

The blue-haired man turned with an expression of false innocence. "Oh my," he gasped theatrically, clutching a hand to his chest. "I totally didn't see you there. Ah well, can't be helped." Coffee mug in hand, he capered around the desk and sat down in Preston's chair. The man put his feet on the desk, and smiled at her. It was a challenge if ever Rigel had seen one. She moved the row of papers away from the intruder's shoes and stared into his eyes.

"I don't know who you are, sir," she said firmly, "but Mister Tucci will be here any minute, so I am going to have to insist you leave, or I will call security."

The blue-haired man smirked and whipped out a cell phone in an industrial case. He tossed it onto the desk. "Go for it. Speed dial number four. Or do you want me to call them myself?"

Rigel bared her teeth, and tried to look as threatening as she could. She ignored the phone that had been so disrespectfully lobbed in her direction, and snatched the handset off Preston's desk. "I'm warning you," she growled, hand poised above the keypad.

"Do it. I dare you," the intruder replied smugly.

Rigel started to type in the extension when a well-manicured finger pushed the hook down, hanging up the line. Rigel recognized the hand, and the scent of her boss's cologne. "There's no need for that, Miss Vought," Preston's cool voice came from her right side.

Dutifully, she placed the handset back in the cradle.

"Antoine," Preston began as he slowly walked around his desk. "What are you doing here?"

Antoine, Rigel noted, putting a name to the face. It wasn't someone she'd have to worry about forgetting. His hair, beard, even eyebrows were a teal blue.

"Me?" Antoine replied. "Just stopping by to say hello. That's all." He smiled innocently.

Preston glanced from Antoine to Rigel, then back again. "Miss Vought, could you give us a moment please?" he asked. Rigel nodded. She made her way to her office, but didn't shut the door tight. She reached over and picked up her phone.

Antoine grinned ear to ear as he leaned back in Preston's chair. "Hey, it's been a while since I've sat here. Feels kinda good, eh?" He spun in a circle. "I could get used to this."

Preston was in no mood to play games. "Antoine, what the hell are you doing here?"

Antoine smirked and held up a hand. "Wait for it…" He glanced at his watch, got up and gestured to the chair. "She's all yours."

Preston sat down and wiped the top of his desk with a handkerchief. "Good, fine," he muttered. "Is this why you said you had to leave early today?"

Antoine sat down on the corner of Preston's desk. "It might be." He glanced at his watch again. "Three... two... one."

There was a knock on Preston's door. "Enter!" he bellowed, glaring at Antoine who still remained perched on his desk.

Rhonda LeBlanc swept in, grey and all five feet an imposing figure. She glared at Antoine, then at Preston. "Mister Tucci,"she began, eyes burning with a predatory triumph, "I was under the impression we had an understanding about appropriate relations. Overly familiar relations between management and non-management employees."

Preston stiffened. He glared at Antoine and wished for all the world that his housemate would show some common sense and leave. He tried as best he could to ignore Antoine, who was now playing with a stress relief ball he'd pulled out of some pocket or other.

"I don't know what you're getting at, Rhonda," he began slowly, "but I assure you there has been no breach of conduct between myself and any other employees."

Rhonda gave Preston a knowing smile, that was halfway a sneer. "What about 'Exhibit A' over there?" she asked, gesturing to Antoine.

"Shoot, Rowdy," Antoine replied. "I've been doing this since the Dimas era. I'm irreverent; and the Big D let me get away with it. I guess old habits die hard. Not the first time you've seen me here." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "First time you've ever questioned it though."

Preston opened his mouth to say something, but Rhonda cut him off.

"Mister Tucci, I've noticed you registered a new vehicle with security. Where did you drive in from?"

Antoine snapped his fingers and pointed at Rhonda. "Aha," he crowed, grinning at Preston. "She can't ask you that." He raised his face to Rhonda LeBlanc. "You can't ask him that." He turned back to Preston. "You don't have to answer that, sir."

Rhonda's hands tightened into fists. "Mister Radson," she began, voice dripping with contempt, "I urge you to tread very carefully. You may be the company pilot, but you are not irreplaceable. I could fire you at a moment's notice, and I wouldn't feel bad about it."

Preston felt a rising sense of panic. Had Antoine completely lost his mind? He tensed his muscles, poising to inject himself between them if things got worse.

Antoine shrugged. "Go right ahead. You can fire me from being the company pilot, but that won't change anything." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather folio. "I'd still be here, and you'd still be paying me." He waved the folio back and forth as he spoke.

"That's impossible," Rhonda snarled.

"Actually, it's not. See, I own a share of the company helicopter. A small share, but a legal share nonetheless. For insurance reasons. It was something I had to do when I started working here." He balanced the folio upright in his palm. "I'm not just a pilot, I'm a certified flight instructor." He gestured to Preston. "Mister Tucci is a student of mine."

Rhonda turned her attention to Preston, the full squat force of her wrath. "So you have been socializing with non-management employees outside of work!"

Antoine waved a finger. "Technically, he's participating in a group out of work. It is completely illegal for an employer either as an individual or representing a corporation, to enquire about an employee's outside-of-work participations." Antoine glanced over at Preston. "You don't have to answer that either, sir. However, Rowdy, if you must know, Mister Tucci has logged hours with me since his return as interim CEO last season. This predates his official status as Chief Executive of the plant. Ergo, since he was not management at the time he became my student, the dynamic is not 'fraternization,' and violates no policy."

Rhonda snorted. "I could still fire you in a heartbeat."

"You could, but I'd still be here, and the plant would still be paying me."

"How on earth do you figure that, Radson."

Antoine hopped off Preston's desk. "Easy, actually. The chopper's part mine, and there's a budget allocated to the expenses of incurred as a results of owning and utilizing the chopper. We've been happily in the black for months now, as Mister Tucci does not make the many trips that Mister Dimas frequently went on." Antoine smiled charmingly. "The bylaws governing the use of that budget do not specifically allocate categories of use: which are fuel, maintenance, repairs, and so on. Ergo, there is nothing at all preventing Mister Tucci from using the budget to pay for instruction in flying the company helicopter."

Preston watched, mute as Antoine toyed with the folio in his hands. "It's all here, every last detail, in black and white. If you want to see…"

Rhonda's lips were drawn back, exposing her teeth. Preston couldn't help but notice they were rather stained from years of tobacco and coffee. "I have copies of your paperwork, your budget, your license," she hissed. "I don't need that from you."

"Well, fair enough." Antoine slipped the folio back in his pocket. "I guess there's nothing more to say here. Hey, thanks for stopping by thought, Rhonda. Always a pleasure to see your smiling face."

Rhonda looked completely buffaloed. She paused, froze as if dazed, then started to turn towards the door.

"Oh, hey, Rhonda!" Antoine added.

Rhonda regarded Antoine, expression utterly bemused.

"You really gotta be careful who you accuse of what. Because someone might turn around and file a complaint back at you. Not me. I mean, we're pals. We've known each other, what a decade or something? I dunno. I've lost track. I know you don't mean any harm. But we've got new employees on board like Miss Rigel, and not everyone understands that things aren't what they seem."

She started to speak, but Antoine cut her off. "There's nothing illegal going on, but all it takes is the wrong questions, the wrong thing and then bam! We've got OSHA crawling all over the place on some witch hunt for something that doesn't even exist. Because there is no problem here. Then it'll get HR tearing their hair out, and by the time everything gets settled it's cost us a ton in man hours, wages, and incident reports all to document that there was nothing in the first place. So, yeah. I think it's best we just let this go. We got this, right ma'am?"

Rhonda nodded dumbly. She turned on her heel, eyes glazed, and headed out of Preston's office, shutting the door behind her.

Antoine tossed the stress relief ball to Preston. "Here, you need this more than I do."

Preston caught it, wonderingly.

"Uhm, Antoine, what just happened?"

"Rowdy and I negotiated!"

Preston shook his head. "That's not what I saw happening."

Antoine paused, hand on the knob. "Oh really? What did you see, sir?"

Preston held his hands wide, palms up. "I saw the most fabulous display of blinding with brilliance, or baffling with bullshit that I've ever witnessed. I'm honestly not sure which."

Antoine gave a pensive shrug, expression distant. "Street kid, remember? I don't have time for bullshit." With that, he let himself, and was gone.

Antoine glanced at the sticky note pad in his pocket. It was a good thing Rhonda didn't recognize his hand-writing. Equally good that her schedule was as precise as a Swiss watch. At seven forty-five, she always closed the front blinds to her fishbowl, and went out for a cigarette on the balcony. In that time her office was obscured from the main hallway, Antoine slid a note under her door.

It was a simple note. Nothing elaborate, but he knew it would be enough to get her going.

"The pilot's hanging out in Tucci's office."

Antoine chuckled to himself. Rhonda was good. He was better. Let the seventy-sixth hunger games begin, he thought smugly.