The Gargoyle from General Management (Claws & Cubicles, #3)

by Kate Prior

My posture changes like I desperately need to get a good grade in standing still, like that’s a normal thing to want.

small company like this one, now that I think about it. Gargoyles are kind of known for being ladder-climbers—top of the food chain kind of guys. There’s a saying that if you need to find one, just go to the top floor of the tallest building around.

“I’m here to get to know people. Right now, my priority is to make sure everyone on my team feels recognized for the effort they make. I'm trying to come up with something better than these,” he says with a chuckle, and shifting in his seat, he reaches into his vest pocket, and shows me a sticker sheet full of little gold stars. “Oh, that's adorable,” I laugh. “Forget whatever I was saying about retaining and appreciating long-term employees, gold stickers are where it’s at.” He raises an eyebrow, but it looks like he's glad it amused me. “Not patronizing?” “I don't know if you fully grasp how primal the need for a shiny, little sticker runs.” I wiggle my eyebrows, perhaps a little too drunkenly. Decorum is gone, I want a sticker, and I don’t know how far I might be willing to go for one right now. Thankfully, I stop short of elaborating on that.

“Are you alright?” the gargoyle says, surprise in his voice. I’m just hanging out in an empty hotel conference room, masturbating, pondering my life choices, as you do.

I’m rambling about a podcast I like and its anti-capitalist approaches to Monster Resources. “So, like, if you listen to a few episodes you might think the three hosts are, like, brothers, especially because of the name of the podcast. But if you've ever been to one of their live shows, you'd realize they're actually three heads of one hydra. Anyway, Justin's my favorite host-head

favorite TEDtalks (Treachery, Excruciation, and Destruction),

It’s essentially the High-Fiving-About-Yearly-Statistics meeting, not the How-Can-We-Actually-Improve-Things meeting.

Then his pants come undone, pushed down just far enough, and my eyes widen. Forget wings and tails, I want to know how his tailor works the fabric of time and space to make that monster hide. I have girlbossed too close to the sun.

“That first night I didn’t think you’d ever come out of your shell.” “Pssh! I don’t have a shell,” I roll my eyes. I’m here, aren’t I? Pretending to be friendly and outgoing as well as competent. “Your shell is the envy of all hermit crabs,” he says,

I’m going to break up with my telehealth therapist. Why am I going to therapy when I can have a gargoyle pin me down and make me unpack my baggage?

I don't know what it says about me that stripping down to nothing up here is fine, being eaten out on the rooftop is fine, but him putting his crisp, over-ironed shirts on the gritty cement up here like it’s nothing makes me wonder if we should take this indoors.