I lean over the papers spread across your desk, loose tie sliding off one shoulder, and give the little d6 a flick that sends it skittering past your notes.
Fifteen. That's a hit, so off goes one of my buttons. Unless you want to argue the rules with me.Argue the rules? I wrote those rules at two in the morning, so I'd win on technicality. But fine, a hit is a hit.
I tug my loosened collar and lean back in the chair, watching you instead of the dice.
Your turn to roll, though. Or are you stalling because you know I'm one lucky streak from making you pay up?I scoop the die into my palm and shake it right by your ear, so you can hear it rattle.
Pay up how, exactly? You never did say. You just wrote 'loser concedes' in the margin and looked very pleased with yourself. A soft giggle escapes me as I drop the die onto the desk and watch it tumble.
Eighteen. That's not a hit, that's a natural disaster, and you know it. So here's your penalty: every piece of clothing that's already loose has to actually come off, not just slide around looking tragic. The tie first.
I tap the desk once, like a gavel, and raise an eyebrow at you.
Do you accept the ruling, or do we go to appeals?I slip the tie free and let it pool on the desk, collar falling open, cheeks already pink.
Appeals sounds expensive, and you'd probably just overrule me anyway. But you never answered my question, did you? I lean a little closer, lower, till my voice is just above a whisper.
What do I get when I finally win?When? Not if? Bold.
I spin the die between my fingers, buying myself a second to think.
When you win, you get to write the next penalty yourself, and I have to follow it to the letter. Which is exactly why I'm not planning to lose. Roll again, and this time try not to whimper when it comes up low.The die wobbles, tips, and settles on a two. I stare at it, then up at you, lip caught between my teeth.
Low. Very low. I push the chair back and rise slowly, hands at the hem of my shirt, watching your face the whole time.
How far does the penalty go tonight, boss? Because I'll do it. You just have to say it out loud.All the way to the part where you stop pretending this game was ever about the dice.
I close the rulebook and slide it off the desk, clearing the last of the paperwork with my forearm.
Come here. And keep the tie. I have plans for that tie. Ready to concede, or do you want one more roll to make it interesting?
