She swiveled on her high heels, growled at an underling to get busy, and thumped her way to her office. She had to prepare for her weekly meeting with the Board, and there was so much work to do, considering she'd have to familiarize herself with the numbers she'd taken from Melvin the day before. Her humiliation of Melvin MacMuffin would have to wait until after hours, anyway.

In his office, Melvin collapsed into his chair. What was going on today? He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The woman in the elevator. Olivia. They both had seemed to think something was different about him. His dream of the witch, her naked body gleaming as he knelt in reverence before her, seemed more vivid than it had when he'd first woken up in his bed, his wrinkled clothes from the day before still on him.

A knocking rapped from the other side of his office door.

"Come in," Melvin said, and Richie Golding poked in his head. Richie, the office clown, was one of the few faces that Melvin felt he could trust. They hung out from time to time, but Richie was a bit of a party animal and was more interested in attempting to get his "wicky sticky" (as he liked to say) than in sipping beers with a poor loser like Melvin. Still, Melvin considered him a friend.

"My main man, Mel! Saw that you got a visit from the Wicked Witch of the twenty third floor already this morning," he said with a grin. Richie stepped into the room, his arms stuffed with various files and documents. His light brown hair stuck up in the back as if it hadn't been combed after he'd slept on it. Most likely, Richie hadn't gone home last night and had crawled straight to the office from some poor girl's apartment that he'd tricked into sleeping with him.

"Brought these for you. More work for you to do, so Crabapple can steal it and make partner," Richie cracked with a raised eyebrow. Melvin tried to shake off the remark, but it clung like a wet towel.

"Drop them anywhere. Hey, Rich, can I ask you something? Do I look any different to you today?" Melvin asked, replacing his glasses on his nose. Richie tossed the stuff he'd been carrying into a disorganized mess on Melvin's desk and took a step back to examine him. Richie eyed Melvin carefully and smoothed back the hair that had been standing on his scalp, the clump of hair leaping right back up as soon as his hands passed it.

"Nope, same ol' Mel. And that's my professional opinion," he said finally.

"Thanks," said Melvin, and Richie zipped out the door. Melvin stewed at his desk as he turned on his computer. Well, Richie seemed to think that nothing was weird about him, and that was something. However, he was still not satisfied, and questions plagued him like irritated wasps, stinging him behind the eyes. Maybe lunch at his favorite cafe would get his mind off the strange morning, and he could even gaze upon his lovely redheaded waitress as he ate.

Melvin rummaged through the pile on his desk and got to work.