"My wife-to-be is turning into a maniac," exclaimed Rickter in a harsh voice to his current secretary Lucas. "The woman seriously tried to kill me this morning."

"Sir, I believe a single vase is not enough to kill you. But I could be wrong," replied Lucas with sarcasm. He set several neat piles of paper on Rickter's office desk. "So, what's the reason this time?" He asked after finishing his delivery, his spectacles on the tip of his nose.

"Why do you assume I was in the wrong?" He arched an eye at him suspiciously with one hand in his pant's pocket. An attempt to hide his clenched hand, a gesture that declared his irritation on the subject.

He sighed, a gloved hand reaching to push his classic black rimmed glasses back in place. "Because, when wasn't it your fault?

He slammed his fist down on the polished maple desk. A red mark blemishing the bottom of his hand from the force. "We haven't spoken in the last three days. What could I have done?"

Lucas shook his head clearly appalled at his lack of reasoning. "Then perhaps doing something isn't the problem. But rather nothing is," he retorted, his gray eyes boring into him. "Did anything special happen in the last three days that you've forgotten?"

"No, not that I would know."

"Then a memory?" He moved towards a bookshelf in the office, pulling a particular book with the updated numerical figures of company costs.

He pushed his office chair away from his desk, plopping himself into the fine piece of furniture. One of the small perks of his position—comfortable seating arrangements. He leaned back, the cushion compressing from his weight. "I became president of the company last year. Three days ago to be exact."

"A more important memory is my guess," Lucas responded with disinterest while flipping through pages of the book. He marked crucial pages as he found them with mini post-it notes of varying colors. His ability to stay organized a defining feature that Rickter found vital to his success.

He sent a hand through his sleek midnight black hair. A memory that Irene holds dear, it could be anything. They got into more fights lately than he ever thought possible. Before last year, any type of conflict paled in comparison. These days, she got mad at him for not putting the seat down in the bathroom when he came home dead from exhaustion.

"Any idea?" He asked Lucas puzzled from the labyrinth before him. If he recklessly walked the maze, chances were high he'd run into a minotaur. But in an entirely different shape.

Lucas closed the book via the binding with one hand. "Wouldn't the point be lost if I simply told you?" He sent a sideways glance towards him. "Plus, why would I know?"

"She speaks to you about everything," he sulked as he remembered how they bonded over his misery. She called him a texting buddy—a friend. But he knew Lucas enjoyed driving him mad with his detailed report of his working life to Irene. His mishaps and errors relayed back to him not once, but twice. "What's more bothersome to you; a quarrel with Irene or having a distracted boss at work?"

He turned to him completely, his eyes dark and disapproving. "You'll never learn your lesson at this rate." His eyes closed momentarily as he rubbed his temple. "I take it you're prepared for the consequences?"

"Yes," his answer immediate with an unwavering gaze.

"If I help you, it'll be the last time ," he stated bitterly.

"Of course," a smirk spread across his face at having backed Lucas into a corner.

Moving a few steps, he dropped the book onto a pile of papers. He swept his hands down his side, smoothing out his tan suit jacket. "Sir, two days ago was your anniversary."

A/N: Another update! Let me know if you like it.