Have you ever met someone who seemed to be so perfect and a little bit of everything shimmering under the rainbow that you just wanted to stab them?

That would accurately depict how Marshall viewed Patrick as he sat across from the man and his busty blonde girlfriend as he talked about himself and his accomplishments. It didn't help that he was sitting next to Anne who was absolutely enthralled with the man. She eagerly listened to his every word and had found out that he worked at Hart-Blackwell, Inc. by a simple slip of the tongue and she continued to ask him questions about his career, education, and whatever else sparked her curiosity. Surprisingly, the blond man answered every question with a friendly grin and as a result, Marshall also learned more about Patrick than he would have bothered to find out about on his own. The tall blonde had graduated high school early and majored in business at some private college they'd probably never heard of, and then spent a couple years working for another company before returning to work at Hart-Blackwell to help repair their failing Marketing department.

Marshall found the man's life story boring as hell but Anne continued to think otherwise and complimented the man on doing so well for himself at the ripe age of twenty eight, five years younger that herself and her husband. But he wasn't the only one tired of their prattling. The busty blonde that accompanied Patrick-Clarisse was it?-whatever her name was, she cleared her throat loudly and announced that she was going to the restroom. In accordance to the silly rule that women followed, Anne followed suit. The spectacle brunet watched them leave with a deep frown before turning back to the man sitting across from him.

Patrick smiled calmly and cocked his head to the left. "Anne seems like a nice woman." He stated honestly. Marshall kept his jaw tight and nodded. "Yes. She is."

"Mhm. She talks a lot though. Very... animate." The blond continued, taking sip of his glass of wine. Again Marshall just nodded and stuffed some more food into his mouth. Patrick racked his brain for a suitable way to get a rise out of him. "So... Have you fucked her recently?"

The brunet choked on his food at hearing that. After forcing himself to swallow he glared at the blond. "That's none of your fucking business. "

"So I take it you haven't? I know the feel. After I slept with a man the first fime I couldn't even go near a woman for a bit of time." Patrick gave a shrug and took another sip of his wine. "But then I got over it and came to accept that I liked both pickles and jars." When his glass was finished he set it down and leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head. "What say you?"

Marshall's eyebrows knitted together as he was suddenly puzzled. "Look. I don't know where you are getting at but I swear to god if you tell Anne about us, I'll-"

"You'll what, honestly? Marshall you are getting a bit ahead of yourself sweetheart. I'm not interested in telling your wife a damn thing. I am however, interested in you."

The older man was taken aback but the gears spun in his brain until it made some amount of sense. "I don't know what the hell you're getting at but I am not leaving my wife for someone who I had a one night stand with at fucking hotel."

Patrick rolled his eyes, an action that made him look even younger than his twenty eight years. "Calm down. I'm not asking you to leave your wife for me. We barely know each other at that. I'm asking you if you would like to fuck, regularly and discreetly, no strings attached. I enjoyed our...time together," A smile tugged on his lips. "And from what I could tell, you did as well regardless if you admit it or not. It would require no emotional involvement whatsoever. Honestly I think it would do wonders for both of our... frustrations. And she would never have to know." With his proposition laid out he folded his arms and waited for a response from his employee.

Unfortunately Marshall didn't respond as quickly as he hope, but he did turn an interesting shade of pink. His response was cut short because Anne and Claudette materialized before he could even get a word in. "Sorry we took so long guys. You would not belieeeve how long some of these women take to go to the restroom!" Anne state with a hint of cheer. Marshall was sure he could make a good guess.

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, both men acting as if they never exchanged words with one another. Their food came and everyone enjoyed it even it is probably wasn't worth the extra charge that solely paid for the ambience of the restaurant. It was obviously a rip off but no one seemed to mind or if they did, they never bothered to voice their opinions. At the end of the meal, Patrick had offered to pay for everyone which Marshall heavily declined (as the last thing he wanted was to be indebted to the man even over something small), but begrudgingly accepted after a sharp elbow in the ribs from Anne. She wasn't that thin of a woman but her bony elbows could as well have been daggers. As both couples said their goodbyes and made their way to their cars Marshall felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled out his phone and opened a text from an unkown number.

'Think about it.' It read in plain text. His head quickly snapped over to the blond couple accross the parking lot. He caught Patrick's eye just before the man got in. He was rewarded with a small smile and a two finger salute before he disappeared inside the black vehicle. How the hell did that bastard get his phone number?

It wasn't hard to remember how the fight started. It had a lot to do with Benjamin Polk, Jr. Informally known as Anne's bratty ass nephew. This is not to say that the toddler had directly come to their home and enticed an argument. It was rather indirect. Anne received an invitation to come to the little boy's fourth birthday party in the following week. On the front of the invite there was a picture of the boy with his chubby cherub cheeks and his bright smile that brought out of her desire for something that her husband never wanted and borderline despised.

"Is it me? Is that it?" Anne stated icily. "It's not that you don't want kids. You don't want kids with me?"

Marshall pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his forefinger, sitting up on the couch. He honestly didn't think that refusing to attend some dumb brat's birthday would turn into part four of their never ending debate on whether or not they were going to have children. They had talked about it every month or so until he could get her to drop the subject. Unfortunately she had found a way to bring it up again. Just by looking a damn birthday card.

"God dammit Anne! Not everything is about you. I don't want to go to that runt's party. I don't even fucking know how you got to this subject and you damn sure don't need to start crying about it. I literally do everything for you. How can except to take care of a kid when you can barely take care of yourself?"

It may have been harsh but it was true. Anne had always been taking care of by someone. Growing up she got everything that she wanted and she honestly never had to work very hard for anything. She wasn't working now and she was too awful of a cook and too messy and unorganized so she was a pretty shitty housewife. When you really looked at it she had little to offer. He stood up and shook his head and Anne glared at him with a look that could kill. He didn't realize how much his words hurt her until it hurt him as she smacked his right across the face. "Get out." She hissed pointing to the door.

"Anne-"

"Get. Out."

He bit his tongue and shook his head. He wasn't about to argue any further with this woman. Staying the night in his own house wasn't the irritation the small black haired woman was causing him. He walked past her and snatched his keys of the counter before grabbing his coat. As he left he slammed the door for good measure. When he got into his car and slammed the door he stopped for a second and wondered.

Where the fuck am I going to stay the night?

He could always stay with Derek. They were kind of friends. Derek lived alone, if you don't his cat, and he was a pretty cool guy. It would be worth giving him a call. Marshall looked through his contacts and found his name before pressing the call button. It rung three times before he finally got an answer.

"H-Hello?" A muffled voice stated in the receiver. It was vaguely recognizable as Derek. But he sounded as if he just got done with a 5 mile run. Marshall made no note of it.

"Hey Derek. Listen. I got into it with Anne so... I need a place to stay the night." He finished with a sigh. The line was silent and there was a shuffling noise in the background before he finally heard Derek reply. "U-Um. I-I'm a little busy tonight. Monroe's, uh, sick and I have to take care of him."

Marshall looked skeptical but he nodded as though Derek could see him. "Alright. I understand. I hope he gets better." And with that he hung up the phone. Well Derek wasn't helpful at all. He sighed and sat back in his car. He could always get a hotel room. Then his phone rang again. It was an unknown number but he picked up anyway. "Hello?" He asked into the receiver.

"Mr. Evans?" It was Patrick's voice. Clear as day. He then remembered the text had received the other night. He had ignored the message but could not find it within himself to delete it. So naturally, whenever he would need to go through his messages he would hurriedly scroll past it as if that would somehow make their discussion and more so Patrick's proposition, disappear.

"Listen. Angela informed me that you took home a set of files. One of them was for the Quartz project and it's urgent that you bring it to me." The blond man so businesslike it was startling. Marshall swallowed and reached for his briefcase in the backseat. He rested his cell phone in the crook of his neck as began to shift through it. "Ah, yes sir." He stated trying to sound just a professional as the other younger. He pulled out a vanilla envelope with 'Quartz' written on it. "I'll bring it to the office tomorrow."

"Bring it to my apartment.I need it as soon as possible. I'll send you the address." Patrick wasn't asking, he was ordering.

Patrick's aparrment complex was large and intimidating. It had an air of affluence about it that warned anyone making less than six figures to stay the hell away. Marshall soldiered on in and headed straight for the elevator. He checked his phone again to see what floor Patrick's apartment was on. Of course, he was on the top floor, 25. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair and pressed the 'Up' button. Nothing happened. He pressed it once more, to make sure he wasn't imagining things. Of all the shit to happen to him today, the god damn elevator was broken. He tugged on his hair in frustration before his eyes fell upon a sign clearly pointing to the stairs. Oh fuck no. there was no way he was going to climb the stairs up 25 floors just to give his perverse boss a fucking file folder.

Just then, his phone rang again. Annoyed, he picked up. "What?" He answered gruffly.

Patrick raised an eyebrow glancing at his laptop as it was perched on the coffee table. He noted that the brunette sounded more frustrated than usual. "Hello, Mr. Evans. I figured you'd have arrived by now." He said as traced a pattern onto the leather of his couch. He could of sworn he heard Marshall swear in the background and something fall. Possibly the Quartz file. Good. At least the guy had it.

There was a shuffling noise before he got a response. "Uh, yeah. I have the Quartz file. But the elevator down here is broken." He could almost here the frustration in his voice.

"Then take the stairs." Patrick replied as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "And hurry up. We don't have all night, Evans." He hung up and tossed his phone gently back on his couch.

"That asshole has got to be fucking kidding me." Marshall cursed as he tugged on his brown locks. Of course he had to remember that asshole was his boss and could get rid of him if he damn well wanted to. Swallowing his pride, he shook his head and opened the heavy door that lead to the stairs. How bad could it be, really?

Fucking awful, that's what.

Aye there baby cakes. Sorry about how long it took to update. I kept wanting this chapter to be longer but I just said TO HELL WITH IT, and stopped being a lazy bitch and updated. Happy Fourth of July to all of my fellow Americans. Don't blow your hands off with fireworks. And a belated Canada Day if anyone who reads this is from across the lakes.

Also, does anyone want to proofread this? You'd have to meet 3 requirements.

-Not be daunted by my laziness.

-Bug me when necessary.

-Be a sweetheart. :)

PS: I know Anon asked me how old Patrick was, so, I answered the question in the story. I might do that with future questions. ;)