“I’d better get a move on.” He waves politely at the other two and goes back to his box, bending ninety degrees to pick it up and regaling the three of us with a view of white men’s boxer shorts peeking through a tear in the backside of his pants.

Indira is the quickest to recover. “Hey, Luke, not sure if you know, but you’ve ripped your pants. We can see the whole jolly family from over here.”

Lucas’ first reaction is to stand up abruptly and ridiculously turn in half circles while trying to catch sight of his bum and failing miserably. The next step, however, is to glare at me.

Oh, I’d like to see how he’s going to blame this on me.

Lucas promptly explains, “I must’ve ripped them while exiting my van through the window because someone refused to move her truck and let me get out the normal way.”

All sugar and sweetness, I say, “Perhaps you ought to learn how to park before you rent a truck.” I give his preposterous suit a quick once-over. “Or wear more practical clothes when engaging in manual labor.”

Dr. Keller just stands there gaping at me, rage simmering in those strikingly blue eyes.

“Come on, Tegan,” I quickly add, before this can turn into another heated argument. “Let’s go get that ice cream.”

I lock my door and call for the elevator that has wandered to some other floor in the meantime. Tegan and Indira wait by my side.

“It was nice to meet you,” Lucas says, addressing his remark to them, and then disappears inside his hole.

Why, of all the possible office neighbors, did I have to end up next to a grumpy ogre? By the time I come into work on Monday, he’ll probably have riddled the landing with wooden “Stay Out” and “Beware Ogre” signs like Shrek. I imagine his face all green and laugh to myself as I enter the elevator and push the ground floor button. Lucas Keller might look nothing like an ogre, but he sure behaves like one. Maybe he’s a reverse Shrek: handsome on the outside and ugly on the inside.

“The new neighbor is pretty easy on the eyes,” Indira comments.

Ah, she’s noticed. Good thing I’ve had an early show of his awful personality and can’t be fooled by the handsome face.

I shrug at the comment, indifferent.

But Indira insists, “Maybe a bit too old for me; I steer clear of anyone above thirty.” And she eyes me suggestively.

How did she guess I’m single? Is it written on my forehead in big letters?

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” I say.

Especially not with entitled egomaniacs, I add in my head. But there’s no need to share my opinion on the man in question, since Indira has already ruled him out due to old age.