artfulequivocator:

    ❝Nah, I’ll be alright.
       He knows I’m comin’.❞

    He doesn’t.

    This is a make or break moment, because his actions could get him thrown out
    straight on his arse, with security called for good measure. But the past few years
    have been good to him, and Lady Luck has been on his side. 

    ❝Thanks for this.
       And…Listen, that receptionist of yours…
       Throw my number her way, yeah?❞

    He reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket to remove a single business card,
    which he then extends towards Michael, the card held between his index and
    middle finger. It’s a fake number, that leads through to an ‘office’ answer machine
    that will never be answered, and on which messages are stored until they’re
    inevitably deleted; they’re never listened to. He doesn’t want this woman’s number,
    but it’s all about keeping up appearances.

    Speaking of, the card reads:

                                                              MR. T. J. DOUGLAS
                                                Information Technology Consultant

    which is all just bullshit, but at least the business card looks nice and professional.

Michael doesn’t even bother trying to hide the 
eyeroll. 

’ Yeah, right. I’ll be sure to do that. ’

Not that he’s one to protect people, but Michael
senses something fishy about this character.
Who knows if he’s really interested in Patricia?
She was a nice woman, yeah, but hardly in his
league—

Not that he was noticing the guy’s league or
anything. God, no.

Anyway, Michael makes a mental note to 
check this guys name out online, and maybe
even give a call to his own receptionist. 

Get more information on him, because he really
doesn’t trust him.

He lifts the calling card to eye level. Seems real
enough. Made of heavy card stock paper, surely
as expensive as it seems. Printed name. Plain.

Maybe he was all about business.

   ’ Have a nice chat, Tutti Frutti. ’

Yep. That was sticking.