Meet Zeus in Mister McHottie, as told by Chase Jett (aka Zeus’ Former Best Friend):
I’m in the middle of interviewing Tina, the world’s perkiest woman, for a position in sales management when I hear a commotion break out in the lobby. My door flings open. “Gentlemen, you can’t just go in there,” my admin assistant says as thirteen-plus feet and seven hundred pounds of Viking hockey players get stuck battling each other to get through my door first.
“They’re harmless,” I tell Tina.
I hope I’m not lying.
“Oh my god, it’s the Brute and the Force,” she whispers reverently.
Zeus wins the battle of the doorway and strolls in first. He whips out a Sharpie, signs Tina’s head, and then scrawls his name across my desk before doing a mic-drop with the marker. “We need to talk.”
Ares adds his signature to Tina’s left arm and eyeballs the front of my desk in a way that makes me think he’s using X-ray vision to locate my crotch.
To sign it or turn it into ground meatballs is anybody’s guess.
“Thanks for your time,” I say to Tina. “I’ll be in touch.”
“If we had a sex room, I’d so be using it right now,” she whispers reverently as she stumbles to her feet. “Can I get a picture before I go?”
I take her phone and snap a picture of Zeus and Ares holding her mermaid-style, then a normal one with her dwarfed between the two men. If they have time for pictures, they’re probably not here to chop my legs off.
When the door shuts, Ares sits in the leather chair Tina’s just vacated. It creaks, there’s a snap and a plume of glitter, and suddenly he’s in a crumbled pile of old leather, springs, and wood that’s seen better days.
Like yesterday, before a behemoth squashed it with his ass and released one last hidden glitter bomb.
“Dude,” Zeus says. “We talked about you and chairs. What’s the rule when you don’t know where it’s been?”
“Don’t sit in it.” Ares hangs his head.
I offer him a chocolate from the glass candy dish my admin insisted I needed. He swallows it, wrapper and all, then grabs the bowl and drinks the rest down.