One
“Hugo…” Ozen’s voice was full of concern, but Wash didn’t want to hear it. He had too much to do to placate the CEO.
“I’ve got three projects I’m working on right now, and I’m helping with a few more in the office. I don’t have time right now to argue with you. Unless you need something specific, I need to get back to work,” he grumbled, forcing his tone to be as polite as possible while he internally ranted about nosy coworkers who couldn’t mind their own business and put him on the radar of the CEO. Again.
Avery, Ozen’s mate, looked between Wash and Ozen, a worried frown on his face. At one point, he’d been the CEO’s temporary assistant, but the last Wash heard, he was now some kind of author. He didn’t follow the gossip much, so he couldn’t be sure, but he swore someone mentioned something to that effect. It made him wonder why the human was around. Shouldn’t he be writing or something?
Drawing in a breath, Ozen let it out slowly. “I’ve noticed a disturbing pattern in my employees lately. A healthy work/life balance has become a low priority, and too many people have been overworking themselves to the point of either injury orself-sabotage. I cannot allow this to keep happening. You’re an integral part of this company, Hugo, and I don’t want you to burn out or get sick because you’re working too much.”
Was there really an issue with his work/life balance if he had no life to speak of? Wash spent most of his time in the office. What was the point of going home when he had no friends and didn’t speak with his family? Even his brother, who worked in the same building, didn't speak with him often. Not from lack of trying recently on Elijah’s part but that was besides the point. Ever since Elijah asked him to stop interjecting himself into Elijah’s problems and let him handle things himself, Wash kept his distance. If he didn't want an overprotective brother hanging around, then Wash would respect that. Even if it meant the one person he was close to stopped talking to him.
He wasn’t going to discuss any of that with Ozen Hawksley. The esteemed co-founder and CEO of Spellbound Corps was a kind man who cared enough about his employees that he took time out of his schedule at least twice a year to check in with each department himself. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to nudge Wash into changing his ways. But ever since he mated with his little human, he was more pushy about it. Anyone else might see that as a sign of a conscientious boss. Wash saw it as a CEO edging on micromanaging. There had been no clients complaining about his work. There was no reason for the CEO to interfere.
His glower said more than his words ever could, and eventually, Ozen gave in with a nod. “I can see this conversation isn’t helpful at the moment. What projects are you conducting? I can assign a few interns if you need help–”
Putting his hand up, Wash resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Thank you, but no. That would only create more work for me. I’m fine. Have a nice day.”
From the look on his face, Ozen wasn’t happy about his refusal to accept help. Wash didn’t care. It wasn’t part of his job description to keep the CEO happy about stupid nonsense like his work/life balance. As long as his projects continued to make the clients and consumers happy, no one had any real reason to complain.
With several people still waiting to speak with Ozen during his visit, he had no choice but to leave Wash to his own devices. The second Ozen turned his head, Wash spun on his heel and marched off, disappearing into his office and locking the door behind him. He put up the wards for good measure to keep his well-intentioned ghost colleagues from poking their heads in to check on him. He was almost certain it was one of them who reported him overworking, though no one ever admitted it.
Sidestepping a few smaller personal projects he had lying around, he moved behind his desk and sat, eyeing the paperwork in front of him. Taking on another project would be… ill-advised, especially with Ozen breathing down his neck. But this one was personal to him. Any project that had to do with telepaths was. His brother might not want him around but that didn't mean Wash wouldn’t do everything in his power to make his life easier if he could.
Pulling out a fresh notebook, he started taking notes on what the client wanted and why, adding little dictations about possibilities for initial experiments and what he hoped would be possible in the future. It was likely this would need a member of the tech division to join him, since magic and telepathy often didn’t mix well. He mumbled to himself, scribbling away, and didn’t notice the room getting dark until his lights flickered on automatically. That particular project he worked on himself, tired of having to stop in the middle of a thought to turn on the lights. There was already the technology for lights to turn onwhen the sun had dimmed. He just brought that technology into his office so he wouldn’t get distracted.
His phone ringing was what finally snapped him out of the near-trance he was in. He blinked rapidly, looking around, and when his eyes dropped to the clock on his phone, he sighed. 8:30 p.m. He wouldnotadmit that Ozen had a point.
Picking up the phone, he tucked it between his shoulder and his ear, looking through his notes again to see if he had missed anything the first time. “Yeah?”
“Don’t tell me you forgot.”
His brows snapped together. It was pretty rare that he remembered what Taron was saying to him the first time he spoke; the shapeshifter often forgot to share half the conversation in his head out loud, but he normally came to visit if he had something to say. He wasn’t sure the last time Taron had chosen to call him.
“Forgot what?”
Taron groaned, long and loud, and Wash’s eyes rolled automatically. Dramatic little brat. “What, Taron? I’m a little busy.”
“Too busy to show up to your best friend’s birthday party?”
His expression flattened. “You aren’t my best friend, Taron.”
He barely even counted the shapeshifter as a friend. The only reason he granted the distinction was because Taron was thoughtful enough to respect all his quirks. After learning the hard way, that is. But it only took once for Taron to learn to always wait to be invited into his office and to watch where he stepped once inside. It was more than Wash could say for many of his colleagues.
“Rude,” Taron sniffed.
Rubbing his forehead, Wash asked in a long, dragged-out voice, “When and where?”
“When and– Hugo!” Taron complained. “It started two hours ago!”
See? If Taron was truly his friend, he’d know how much Wash hated his first name. He used a nickname with anyone he considered a friend. Since he didn’t consider himself close to Taron, he didn't share the name with him. He’d be expected to tell him why, and he wasn’t interested in sharing the story with anyone other than his close friends. The only person who currently knew of his preference, aside from his brother, was Tony. And no one could hate the sweet human. Taron had gotten lucky, ending up mated to him.
“I apologize. I got wrapped up in a project. I’ll get you a gift instead. What do you want?”
“Huuugggooo,” Taron whined. “I wanted you here! It’s too late for you to be working right now! Come out and join us! We’re headed to the club next and–”
Absolutely not.
“There was no way I agreed to go to the club. Just send me a text of what you want for a gift and have a nice night. I’ll see you to– Wait, why are you at a club when you have work in the morning?”