Philip Collyer vs the Cola Thief

  PHILIP COLLYER VS THE COLA THIEF

  AMY RAE DURRESON

  Copyright Amy Rae Durreson 2019

  Smashwords edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  About This Book

  Philip Collyer vs the Cola Thief

  Other books by Amy Rae Durreson

  About the Author

  About This Book

  Philip Collyer vs the Cola Thief was first released in Dreamspinner Press's Closet Capers anthology in 2013.

  PHIL tried to be a decent manager. He never wanted to be one of those guys who enjoyed making their staff feel worthless, so he took the time to listen to his people, even when he privately thought they were complaining about nothing. (He couldn't change the rotation of the earth to stop the sun from shining in the windows, could he? All he could do was order thicker blinds, and he was sorry that spoiled the view, really he was, Sharleen.) He bought good coffee for the staff kitchen, signed any reasonable leave requests (and the odd unreasonable one when he was faced with tears, because being gay didn't mean he could cope with weeping women, whatever his friends thought), bought the first round every Friday, and always made sure they had a designated driver before he chose his own drink. He'd even been known to crawl around the back of a broken photocopier or help the IT minions heft equipment back to their basement.

  But there was one thing he could not be nice about, one thing that drove him beyond all reason.

  Phil needed caffeine to get through the day. Breakfast was strong milky tea, followed by coffee at his desk to start the morning, the first cup from the organic café by the bus stop, and then from the kitchenette at the far end of the floor midway through the morning and twice in the afternoon. Lunchtime, though, was for cola. Phil loved it: the cool metal sheen of the can, the first shock of it against his tongue, the sudden shiver of energy crackling through him as the sugar and caffeine hit his system. Sometimes he started his lunch break with it; other times, he waited, letting the anticipation build until he couldn't bear it and had to crack open the communal fridge and reach for his precious can.

  Except today, it wasn't there.

  Someone had stolen his cola.

  He had to close the door and reopen it a few times to check. Then he emptied everything out of the fridge, desperately hoping it had just been moved to the back. But it was still missing, and he began to shove everything back in randomly, swearing more loudly with every cup of yogurt and little Tupperware box of sandwiches.

  "Hey, are you okay?"

  Phil recognized the voice, but for once didn't care. Under any other circumstances, he would have been embarrassed to be caught like this by Kester, of all people. Kester was the other reason Phil liked helping out the IT department. It was worth it for the smile of appreciation he got every time. Kester was all dimples, blond dreadlocks, and easy-going charm. He had a knack for putting frantic people at ease, even when the medical-supply database inevitably crashed during the peak of the flu-vaccine season, and he made their outdated equipment perform daily miracles. He also had a range of daring hobbies, Phil knew (not because he was a stalker, really, but because he'd asked). He liked to go on protest marches and spent his vacations crawling around the inside of abandoned mines and abseiling off mountains with unpronounceable names. (He'd shown Phil pictures of himself grinning brightly as he dangled off the sides of sheer cliffs on one of the many Fridays he'd tagged along to drinks with the orders department.)

  In short, even though office rumour claimed he was bi, he was so far out of reach that he would never give someone like Phil a second look. That didn't mean Phil wasn't going to look at him, though.

  Right now, that look was a glower. "Someone took my cola!"

  "That sucks," Kester said, his soft mouth turning down in sympathy. "I'm sure it was an accident…."

  "I drink it every day."

  Kester's hand landed on his shoulder, warm and reassuring. "I'm sure it wasn't personal. Someone probably thought it was theirs. And, y'know, that stuff's really bad for you."

  Phil narrowed his eyes. Of course Kester would think that. He was one of those vegetarian, clean-living, organic-health-food types. Usually Phil admired that, but not today. "I like it."

  Kester nodded gravely and then removed his hand and headed for the kettle. "You want some coffee? I was about to make some."

  "Thanks," Phil said, making an effort. It wasn't Kester's fault, and he would just have to cope for a day. "What are you doing over here?"

  "Installing the database upgrade on everyone's machines. I did yours first, remember?"

  He'd been heading to a meeting, but he'd taken a moment to appreciate the way Kester had brushed past him in the doorway. "Sure. Will it speed things up?"

  "That's the plan," Kester said and reached out to the drainboard to pick up the pink “Kiss the Boys” mug, which had been a gag gift from Phil's sister. "This is yours, right?"

  The coffee helped, even though the first sip revealed that Kester had forgotten to add sugar, but Phil was still irritable enough that he snapped at Lisa when she came to hover in his office door and flap about something to do with HR and photocopier paper he didn't care about.

  He was still thoroughly disgruntled when he left the office. His sister, who had declared that being eight months pregnant and diagnosed with gestational diabetes were good reasons not to leave her couch, had asked him to pick up her prescription, which meant an extra forty minutes on his journey. By the time he got back to his ramshackle, lonely house, he was in such a mood all he could do was sink onto his sofa and feel sorry for himself. He was thirty years old, his life revolved around his job, and he was infatuated with a man completely out of his league. Wasn't that bad enough to satisfy the Fates? Why did they have to take his caffeine too?

  THE next day, before he put his can in the fridge, he wrote his name on it in permanent black marker. A mistake was understandable, he supposed. If the mysterious drinknapper knew it was his, they'd probably be mortified. Perhaps they'd even come and apologize.

  The morning went well. The phones never stopped ringing, but that was normal for early autumn, as doctors' offices began to put in their orders for the latest flu vaccine. Phil liked the fact that he was doing good, in a small way. He wasn't the scientist who designed vaccines or the doctor who administered them, but he played his part, as did every member of his team. He was helping to save lives.

  His good mood lasted until lunchtime, when he opened the fridge and found his cola was gone.

  "But it had my name on it," he protested to someone's pasta salad.

  "What did?" Kester asked. "Your drink again?"

  "I wrote my name on it," Phil repeated. "In really big letters."

  "I'm sorry," Kester said, and it sounded heartfelt. At least someone understood his pain.

  Phil closed the fridge door and leaned back against the counter. They'd never had a problem with this sort of thing here. There were no new hires. Why would somebody just start helping themselves?

  He looked out over the twenty souls he supervised. Sharleen? No, she got migraines and made a point of drinking strange-smelling herbal teas. Lisa? Too prone to tears when someone snapped at her. She wouldn't have the nerve. Danielle? Too proud. She'd skipped lunch for a month when her husb
and got laid off, rather than ask for a raise. Tim? He vanished at the start of every lunch hour and came back with swollen lips and a smirk exactly an hour later. Gareth was too clumsy to sneak anything past anyone, and Kim was pregnant and off caffeine.

  When Kester handed him a cup of steaming coffee, he was startled enough to ask, "Why are you here? You work in the basement."

  "I missed natural light," Kester told him.

  Phil looked at him in disbelief. The rest of the company referred to Kester's lair as the Batcave. It mixed strangely flashing stacks of technology with tatty sofas and old movie posters, all scented by the fumes of coffee and the never-ending stash of half-melted chocolate cookies Kester's minions hid behind the server. It was by far the most appealing workspace in the building.

  Kester blushed under his scrutiny, shifting from foot to foot. Then, sheepishly, he admitted, "You guys have awesome coffee."

  "Help yourself," Phil said sourly and skulked off back to his office. It wasn't until he sat down that he realized he still hadn't told Kester he liked his coffee sweet.

  THE next day he tried a Post-it note. He pondered the message all the way in on the bus and eventually settled on Hi. This belongs to Phil. Please don't drink it. You don't want to see me get grumpy! :)

  It was firm but friendly, he thought, pressing the note gently to the can. Not too passive-aggressive, but it made its point clearly. Optimistically, he placed the can right in the middle of the fridge.

  "What's the note for?" Lisa asked, coming up behind him with a cup of yogurt. She leaned in to look. "Is someone stealing food?"

  "Just my drink."

  Lisa nodded sagely, her feathery earrings bobbing against her cheeks. "That's how it starts. The last place I worked, someone used to take a bite out of every sandwich in the fridge. Just one bite."

  "Let me know if that happens," Phil said, his heart sinking. "I'd have to take that to HR." He didn't want to bring that kind of trouble down on his people. HR worked to their own weird, humourless rules.

  Lisa smiled, showing a few too many teeth. "Oh, I'll be fine. The trick is kitty litter. One bite and they won't risk my lunch again."

  "Right," Phil said, regarding her with a sudden caution. "I'll remember that."

  "You should," she said earnestly. "A man's caffeine is sacred."

  Unnerved, Phil backed away. In front of his computer again, he took the last few minutes before the phone lines opened to e-mail Kester.

  From: pcollyer@pharmaphoneline.com

  To: kjarrod@pharmaphoneline.com

  Subject: My staff are crazy

  Lisa thinks I should seed my drink with kitty litter. Not sure this is the best way forward.

  He wasn't expecting an immediate response, and as the phones began to ring, he forgot about it. It wasn't until he stopped for his morning coffee that he noticed Kester had replied.

  From: Kester (kjarrod@pharmaphoneline.com)

  To: Phil (pcollyer@pharmaphoneline.com)

  Subject: Mine are crazier

  They've been talking to each other in Klingon all morning. A man could get paranoid.

  Phil took a leisurely sip of coffee and checked his watch. He had time to answer.

  From: Phil

  To: Kester

  Subject: Klingons on the starboard bow

  You don't speak Klingon? I'm disillusioned.

  He was halfway through his cup, luxuriating in the rich flavour, when he got Kester's reply.

  From: Kester

  To: Phil

  Subject: Re: Klingons on the starboard bow

  No, but I'm fluent in Sindarin.

  Seriously, could the man be any more perfect?

  From: Phil

  To: Kester

  Subject: One Ring to Rule Them All

  Does that impress all the Legolas fangirls? (Admit it, you didn't think I'd know that one).

  He actually put his coffee down in anticipation of the reply.

  From: Kester

  To: Phil

  Subject: My Precious…

  Not so much, but I get my pick of the fanboys ;P Can I come and steal your coffee again?

  Phil blinked at it. Was that deliberately flirtatious? He couldn't always tell.

  From: Phil

  To: Kester

  Subject: One does not simply walk into Mordor

  I've always been more of an Aragorn man myself :) And, sure, help yourself. I'm not going to stop you.

  Then, in better spirits than he'd been in all week, he returned to work. By lunchtime, he was whistling as he made his way to the fridge.

  But his can, and his note, were gone. In their place was a single bright-pink Post-it note. In a bold, sloping hand, it read, You're cute when you're mad. :) XX

  Snarling, Phil ripped it out of the fridge and stormed out. He spent his lunch break sitting on the front steps of the building, trying to calm down. By the time Kester appeared beside him, he'd recovered enough to smile up at him. The man was pretty from any angle, but he looked ridiculously tall and heroic from knee height.

  When he sat down, though, the first thing Phil noticed was his warmth. They weren't quite touching, but he could feel Kester's heat all along his side, a comfort in the cold October air.

  "You okay?"

  Phil shrugged. "I'm fine."

  "You're pissed off," Kester said and nudged him with his shoulder. "I don't get it. It's just a drink."

  "I look forward to it," Phil admitted and then hunched forward, embarrassed. He didn't want Kester to think he was that pathetic. "It's just one of those little things, y'know. The ones that help you through a long day."

  "You need to find better ways to reward yourself," Kester said seriously.

  "What do you suggest? Drugs and alcohol? Bad plan."

  "You don't have anyone waiting for you at home, do you?"

  "No," Phil snapped and then added in his own defence, "I used to. I was with my uni boyfriend for years, but I guess I just got too boring for him. His new guy was a pilot, and I couldn't really compete with international travel and a sexy uniform."

  "He cheated on you?"

  Phil went quiet. Of all the details for Kester to seize on, it would have to be that one.

  "You deserve better."

  Phil shrugged. Leon had been a bastard, no doubt, but he'd had a point. Phil's life was dull, and he couldn't see any way to change it. Some people just weren't made for excitement.

  "How about going dancing? I know a few places."

  "Not my thing," Phil said automatically and glanced across to see an odd look in Kester's eyes, as if he was disappointed with Phil. "Look, I appreciate the effort, but you shouldn't let me bring you down. It's not your problem."

  Kester let out an exasperated sigh and stood up. "Let's get back to work." And, to Phil's surprise and slight disappointment, he vanished back into the basement without stopping for coffee.

  THE next day his note was a little more pointed. I don't find this funny. Don't take things that don't belong to you.

  At lunchtime he found another little pink square, stuck to an empty can. Can I take you, cutie, because you should belong to me? XX

  His noise of frustration must have attracted attention, because when he looked up, Lisa and Danielle were both peering around the kitchen door.

  "We saw the note earlier," Danielle said. "Someone thinks he's funny."

  "Worst secret admirer ever," Lisa agreed with a couple of quick nods.

  "Secret what?" Phil repeated blankly.

  She smiled nervously. "It's kind of romantic, in really messed-up way."

  "I don't want a secret admirer," he snapped. "I want to drink something cold and caffeinated and bad for me. Is that really too much to ask?"

  "You could just keep a can on your desk," Danielle suggested with a slow shrug. "Or buy a mini fridge."

  "I shouldn't have to," Phil protested and then frowned at them. "Wait—you saw the note earlier. Did you see who left it?"

  Lisa shrugged. "Sorry. Everyone
in the building uses this kitchen."

  "They do?"

  Danielle's smile was a little sly. "We have the best coffee."

  FRIDAY'S warning read: Stealing food is unprofessional. If this continues, I will be forced to report the losses to HR and you may face disciplinary action. It wasn't nice, but he'd had enough. It didn't help that he'd barely seen Kester in two days, though he'd heard him laughing with the girls outside his office. The man obviously thought he was a self-pitying whiner and had given up on him.

  He wasn't all that surprised to find the little pink square and empty can in the fridge. Ignoring the crowd of witnesses who had gathered in the doorway, he plucked it out.

  You can discipline me any time, big boy. We don't need to invite HR. ;)

  Slowly, Phil crumpled the empty can in his hand and dropped it into the recycling bin. Then he made his way out of the kitchen, passing through the crowd without another word.

  It took him all afternoon to cool off, but by then he was determined to turn the day around. He made his way down to the basement. Kester's minions, who he could only tell apart because one of them had breasts, both looked up as he came in, lips pursed in identical disapproval. Phil edged past them with a vague smile to pick his way to Kester's cubbyhole.

  "Pub tonight?" he asked.

  Kester jumped, shoving a pile of stationery behind his monitor. "Can't make it. Sorry."

  "Oh," Phil said, feeling his heart sink a little further. The minions were still glaring at him. He wasn't sure what he'd done, but he obviously needed to fix it. "Er, I was planning to have a Lord of the Rings marathon tomorrow. If you want to join me…."

  Kester looked up, his hazel eyes wide. Then he smiled and Phil relaxed. All was right with the world again.

  HE was up early the next morning, jittery with nerves despite his efforts to remind himself that it wasn't a date. It really wasn't. He drove to the post office to pick up some packages for his sister, then bought beer and snacks after panicking briefly over whether they were organic enough.