Several things were different about the interior of the office in its after hours state. Or, at least, Albert considered it after hours since it was so late. But it was highly likely that there was no true point where Death and his employees were carrying out some kind of business. But the light in Death’s office was out, Millie and the other desk workers out in the front were gone, and the only noise Albert could hear in the building was coming from Hope’s office. The door was cracked open, a small amount of light poured out into the mostly darkened front room of the building. The light was flickering, not like a fluorescent bulb on its last legs but a candlelit chandelier. And the sound, the sound was what scared Albert most. Not because it was ominous or foreboding, at least not in the traditional way, but because it was otherwise very mundane and even pleasant. He could hear the gentle clatter of silverware on plates and a record playing music he didn’t recognize.

And that was the worst possible position he could have been in. It was going to be a game of sorts. A game of frustrations, manipulation, and pleasant facade. With that in mind, the sight beyond Hope’s office door was much more tolerable. Because it had been nearly exactly what Albert had predicted.

He had knocked first, of course, but the door was already cracked and the slight force of the knock opened it a couple of inches. The rest was done as Hope peeled the obscuring oak panel away from view and revealed her office. Transformed as it was, it hardly looked the same as the last time Albert had been there. If he didn’t know better—and the only reason that he did was that the proportions of the room itself had gone unchanged—he might have said that she had taken the old office room off like a trailer and hooked a new one on to the body of the building.

In the center of the room, where Hope’s desk had once stood, was a more old fashioned wooden dining table. The smooth dark wooden surface contrasted against a gold and cream colored runner than hung off the two shorter ends. And at both of those ends, sitting on the runner, were two plates of food. Both piled with the most stereotypically lavish food Albert had ever seen. It looked like lamb chops with some kind of smashed or mashed potato, gravy, something green and vegetal that Albert couldn’t quite place, and all still steaming hot. To the side was a small plate of salad, simple but elegantly plated; Albert could tell there was skill involved, this looked like how his mother plated expensive entrees. There was an empty champagne glass at east seat as well, likely out of courtesy to Albert’s choice.

And that was just the table. The rest of the room had been shifted around as well. Gone were the bookshelves and filing cabinets, the glamorous nick knacks and art nouveau paintings of trees and lilies embossed with gold. In their places were dark wood tones, crimson fabric drapes, gold trimmed vases filled with cotton stalks, and an elaborate faded Turkish rug. It hadn’t stood out before, just how lavishly Hope had decorated her office before, but now that she had created a completely different and nearly equally lavish—though admittedly more homey—space it was incredibly obvious what Hope preferred to surround herself with.

“Please, come sit.” Hope said with a huge grin and a slight bow, like she was a doorman at a ritzy restaurant. “I would have made a full course and started you on an appetizer, but I know it’s late and thought you might have already eaten.”

The room seemed vacuous with just the two of them inside, and with all of the cloth on the walls Albert barely heard any ambient noise from beyond the confines of the room. And as soon as he walked all the way and in and Hope shut the door behind him, it was like he had stepped into the void. If the void were a well-furnished private room at a five star restaurant.

And apart from the room, Hope herself looked like she had put some extra effort into her appearance. She’d done her hair into waves of tight and neat little curls that dangled around her shoulders. Her face looked as though she hadn’t put on any makeup at all, though it was clear that she had. Her nails had been done in a fresh coat, now sporting black with gold speckles that matched nicely with the outfit she was wearing. It was an odd look, Albert wasn’t very used to seeing younger women in designer pants suits, but the black with crimson trip and gold shirt underneath did actually look quite elegant in a business-y sort of way.

“I did eat, actually. I’m not very hungry.” Albert mumbled in his overwhelmed state.

“Humor me?” Hope kept up the smile as she gestured to the seat closest to the door. “I promise I won’t force you to do anything, but I would appreciate some courtesy for the trouble I’ve gone through to prepare this.

As there was clearly no other choice, Albert processed a deep breath and sat down in the indicated chair. Up close, he could smell the food; and it smelled divine. But Albert wasn’t going to let Hope know that. In fact, he wasn’t planning on telling her anything she wanted to hear.

“What five star French chef did you pay off to make this?” Albert said, subtle sneer in his voice—though he wasn’t bold enough to make it too obvious. “And how much did it cost?”

“Normally I would take offense to that statement.” Hope said with a small but arrogant huff. “But tonight, I am quite happy to say that I did this myself. Though mostly I’m happy my cooking skills haven’t degraded in the last fifty years.”

Too many things about that statement were clear morsels of bait hanging off the end of Hope’s conversational fishing line. He didn’t necessarily believe her— how could she have had the time to make it, do herself up all nice, and have it still be hot when he got there?—but Albert could tell she wanted to answer as many questions about herself as she could, and she was giving him ample opportunity to do so. It was how a lot of girls at school talked. They’d bring up something they were interested in or had done that sounded outlandish so that you would ask them incredulously or with awe. And then they’d tell you all about it. Albert had heard it play out so many times. ‘So I was at the gym last night, lifting weights, had twice my body weight on the bar…’ ‘oh, what? There’s no way you can lift that.’ ‘well I’ve been working up to that weight since I was twelve, my dad’s a personal trainer…’ And it always worked on the right kind of person. The right kind of person being the hopeless guys that thought if they showed interest in everything a girl did that the girl would reciprocate. And sometimes they did… but no two people have everything in common; and if a couple says they do, one of them is lying.

To this end, Albert selected not to take the bait. It was what Hope wanted after all. Instead, he did the exact opposite. He ignored the bait and talked about himself.

“You know I cook too. Not much, but I’ve picked up a few things from some very talented chefs.” All true, though the talented chefs in question were almost exclusively his own mother. “You know, the kind that study in France under masters for a few years before trying their own hand at a restaurant.”

“You know, I did the same thing… though, of course, that was almost a century ago.” Hope began to pick away daintily at her food as she spoke.

The second helping of bait didn’t elude Albert’s notice either. He had given in and begun to nibble on the food, and though it was divine, he resisted the urge to say as much.

“But, you know, I think the hardest part is always the sauce. Like this gravy, it’s just a little too salty.” Albert knew that was one of the ultimate insults you could hurl at a chef, and he could see Hope flinch as he said it. But he still wasn’t lying. It was pedantic and minor, but that only made it more biting.

“I think you’re right.” Hope nodded slowly as she agreed. She had slowed her eating down even more and was giving Albert a penetrating look that he was trying very hard to ignore. “And it looks like we have nothing to cleanse the pallet with. Would you care for a drink?”

“I wouldn’t say no to some water.” Albert said, holding out the champagne glass.

It was another intentional subversion of manners. Drinking water from a champagne glass meant that you couldn’t toast, because it was bad form to toast with water, and it was a further insult to the chef if the meal was meant to be paired with a specific drink. The drink was usually wine. Albert had spent far too many nights at the restaurant with his mother in the time before she had decided he was old enough to be left home alone in the evenings. And in all that time, he had absorbed a tremendous amount from the staff there. But most importantly, he had learned how to get on the kitchen staff’s good side, and what not to do at the table to stay there. If Hope really was responsible for the meal, and was well trained by a master chef, she would be mad enough to kill him. But the trick was, she couldn’t assume that Albert knew any of these rules and so it would be unjust to punish him for his faux pas.

It was clear that Hope wanted something from Albert. She was putting in a lot of effort, if she was being honest at least, to offer Albert an incredibly expensive experience. It was incredibly uncomfortable as well; it would be bad enough if a normal employer trapped their employee in a sort of unwelcome impromptu dinner date, but Hope was a supernatural taskmaster with the power and influence to have him killed at the snap of a finger.

And yet, Albert couldn’t help but fight against her. It was an incredibly passive offensive tactic, but it seemed to be doing the trick. Albert got the impression that as long as he was telling the truth, being as brutally honest as he had been the first time he met her, she wouldn’t lay a finger on him.

“Silly me, I forgot you were still young enough that wine wouldn’t appeal to you.” Hope muttered, loudly and clearly enough that it may as well have been her normal voice. “The meal was meant to be had with a very specific bottle I’ve been saving. But if you’re more comfortable with water, who am I to stop you.”

Hope reached under the table and lifted up a small brass bell. It rang out like it was meant to be used in a concert ensemble, it’s tone loud and piercing.

“She should have had just enough time to—yes, there she is.”

With the bell, Hope had gestured to the door Albert had come through. But now it was opened from the outside. Amy walked in, slowly, carefully, and uncomfortably. Her discomfort, Albert guessed, came from the cocktail dress she was wearing. Somehow, it was both the flashy kind of outfit you could see being worn to a high profile event, and also formal enough that it was clear she was dressed to be a server. It was also the most revealing thing that Albert had seen Amy wear. Before that moment, he’d never actually seen any skin that wasn’t on her face or hands. But now, with the short skirt of the cocktail dress, he saw far more than he ever wanted to. It was more than a little shocking, and only partly because of the revealing nature of the attire. Almost all of Amy’s body was covered in faint or faded scar tissue, and each scar looked nearly unique.

“Amy, darling, would you be a dear and serve some drinks? I’d like some of the white, from the bottle with the gray label. Albert will be drinking water.” Hope ordered her collector around as casually as if she really were part of the wait staff of a restaurant.

Without any sign of restraint, Amy made her way over to a small serving car located in the corner of the room and returned with the champagne bottle and a small pitcher of ice water. She served Amy first, and when she made her way over to Albert he could see something that looked like an amused grin being stifled on her face. Something told Albert that she knew as well as he did how bad a decision it was to drink water at a time like that. Apart from her stifled grin, Amy didn’t say a word; though it probably wasn’t because she didn’t want to.

“Thank you, Amy. That will be all.”

Amy gave a clumsy curtsy and made her exit. Before she’d closed the door behind her all the way, Albert heard the intentional ripping of fabric that signaled the destruction of the dress.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to share with me why we’re here, Hope?” Albert finally asked. “I’ve tasted the food and we’ve shared a drink—”

“Not exactly.” Hope interrupted casually.

“Fair enough. But we’ve had something to drink. Now I’m wondering why you pushed me into sitting through this really inappropriate and disturbing charade.”

“Oh, it’s nothing much, is it?” Hope waved the question off. “I think your exaggerating.”

“Exaggerating which part?” Albert asked as he rested his chin on his fist. “The part about it being a charade or the part abut it being inappropriate?”

“All of it.” Hope scoffed. “Can’t a girl treat her employee to a nice meal to commemorate the beginning of a long and lucrative career?”

“Well first off, I work for your dad—” Albert began, being careful to keep his voice calm and collected.

“Technically, I’m his business partner.”

“—and secondly, this is extremely inappropriate. You’re way older than me, you’re technically my boss, and you have so much control over my life, how am I supposed to say no to any of this. You could probably pressure me into killing someone if you wanted to.”

“I suppose you’re right about something, there is a pretty sharp power imbalance.” Hope murmured. “But if you call me old again I have you flayed alive.”

While the threat was genuine, Albert could tell, it still made him smile. He’d won. She broke first. He’d been very close, but he hadn’t been overtly rude. He’d made mistakes on purpose, and he’d been blunt, but he hadn’t be rude. Not really.

“I think you know that I’ve been perfectly honest with you since I sat down.” Albert began again. He felt mildly more in control of the situation now. “But you’ve lied to me. I now there’s another reason why you did all this, but I can’t figure it out.”

“Well, you needed to meet Graham.” Hope began, but trailed off.

“Yes, that was a good idea, and one that Amy might have had on her own. Or Graham; he seems pretty care free, but he seems smart too.”

“I figured if you were already over here, maybe we could spend some time together, geez, are you happy?” Hope blurted out. “I wanted to get a better feel for you and see what you were like socially.”

“Uh huh…” Albert hummed. It still felt liker there was more to it, but he wasn’t going to dig much deeper.

“I was making something nice anyways, too, so I thought I’d make it a nice dinner meeting.”

“That… does make some sense.” Albert let himself agree with Hope for just the smallest thing, but he made sure to cover up the statement with something else too. “But I’m curious about one thing. What made you think that I would be a fit for this kind of social interaction?”

Albert stood next to the table and gestured to himself. He hadn’t taken much care to keep himself tidy since he’d gotten back home. He was still just wearing jeans and a tee shirt, his shoes were tattered and clearly about to break down in a number of locations, his hair could have used a cut the month prior though the lack of styling he did with it meant it wouldn’t have changed much, and overall he looked like he belonged at the table of a local malls food court. There couldn’t have been anyone more discordant to sit where he had been sitting and eating what he had been eating.

“Well, now that’s misleading.” Hope huffed. “Clearly you know how to handle yourself at the table. And the clothes and all that—that’s just superficial. If you had the wardrobe and the product, I could have you looking like a million bucks in an hour.”

“I don’t agree…” Albert didn’t want to think about what it would be like to have Hope in charge of the way he looked. “But I don’t think it matters. I don’t have the wardrobe and I don’t have… the product, whatever that means. And that’s part of who I am. I’m not the kind of person that dresses up like that or gets my hair done in a salon.”

“But you know your manners. You could be—” Albert cut Hope off mid argument.

“And I’m not the type of guy that’s gonna pretend to be something I’m not. Because I only know my manners from spending time on the other side of the kitchen door.”

There was a moment of pause as Albert let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. Things had gotten much more defensive than he’d expected, and his heart rate had shot up. He very nearly had gone on a rant and lost control of what he was trying to do—leave. But he’d made something akin to an exit with his uncomfortable rebuttal.

“Thank you for this, though I would rather you never do this again.” Albert offered a slight bow as he leaned down to retrieve his backpack. “It was quite nice. But I’m going to go back home and sleep.”

Albert fished the quill out from his pocket as he spoke, and he didn’t want to bother making an obvious gesture with it by bringing it to his shoulder. Instead he gently held the tip between two fingers and pushed them up against his thigh so there would only be minimal contact. But it was enough. Albert felt the world around him shift and he was back in his alleyway. He’d heard the beginnings of something Hope was saying as he left, but all he’d made out was, ‘you’re welcome’ which seemed oddly out of place for Hope.

But it was too late to worry about what she’d been saying. He could deal with that problem after some sleep. He still had a short walk before he made it back home, and it was dark and cold out.