This chapter and the Rocky tribute, featuring Eye of the Tiger, is for you. That's right. You.

***

There he was, all six feet and two inches of solid muscle from working out and daily cycle rides. His wavy, brown hair was neatly combed, and his blue eyes sparkled as he flirted with the office staff on the third floor of Hudson Engineering's main office building. He wore a light-blue, collared, slim-fit Gant houndstooth shirt and a pair of navy-blue chinos to match his eye color.

Yep, that was my brother, Jack King, to a tee.

"Hey, Eva! How's it going?" Jack had his hands in his pockets as he turned toward me.

I recognized that distinct voice miles away, from when his voice broke in his teens to when he swore at me after I beat him multiple times playing Street Fighter. He, of course, was the Mortal Kombat master. I mean, how do you beat Liu Kang? Even when I played as Raiden, the god of thunder, I couldn't manage to beat Jack's Liu Kang.

"What on earth are you doing here, Jack? Coming to visit me?" I cocked my head at an angle to one side and let slip a sly smirk.

"I work here, didn't you know? I started last week." Jack teased me with a wicked grin, while his hands were still in his chinos.

Tool, I thought as I rolled my eyes.

"Do you guys know each other?" Marissa's beady eyes squinted me warily as she crossed her arms and tapped her feet impatiently.

Silly Marissa. As if I was competition, I thought. Hah!

"We're siblings," Jack and I proclaimed in unison.

Marissa's face reminded me of The Scream, a composition created by Norwegian expressionist artist Edvard Munch in 1893. The Norwegian title is Skrik, which is translated to shriek. The name said it all, especially as she placed both hands to capture her sinking cheeks.

Over the next few minutes, Marissa's attitude transformed from contempt and abhorrence to fawning, too-sweet, syrupy sycophancy.

"Eva, you never told me you had a hot brother." She gasped while eyeing Jack as if he was beef jerky.

"You never bothered to ask," I replied hastily, while Jack shot me a warning look. Be nice, was what he silently signaled to me.

"Jack, you never told me you started working here," I stated.

"You never asked." He smiled as he folded his arms.

"Fair enough." I sighed.

"Wanna join me for lunch today?" Jack raised one dark eyebrow, directing his gaze at me.

"Sure," Marissa and I replied at the same time.

"I wasn't referring to you," Jack spoke to Marissa. "I'm asking my sister to join me for lunch."

Hah! My lips broke into a lemon-slice grin.

"I'll see you at twelve p.m. at the lobby, Jack," I replied.

"Hey, Eva, you're more than welcome to sit with me at lunch any day," Marissa's urgent voice sang out after me as I walked away to deliver my expense reports to the accounts officer.

***

During lunch with Jack, we both noticed Mary walk past us. She wore a cute, little black dress, where the hem met the knees, and a quaint but stylish pair of low-heeled, shiny, black shoes. She smiled and waved at me, and I waved back with a small salute.

"Hey, listen, Eva. Do you know her? She's pretty hot," Jack inquired.

"Yeah, that's Mary McQueen. She's our marketing administration officer," I responded quickly.

"Can you introduce me to her?" Jack's inquisitive eyes met mine.

"Yeah, later. For now, you need to keep your eyes on your food. She's a nice girl, so no funny office business, all right?" I rolled my eyes and toyed with my avocado salad. I wished that the chefs added chicken and more salt to it.

After lunch, I went up to the top floor and made a pit stop to the restroom on the way to my office. I heard the sound of sniffles coming from one of the cubicles. It was more than sniffles. It sounded like someone was crying.

That someone was sweet, dear Mary McQueen. I knew this because I peered at her shiny, black shoes behind the gap of the closed cubicle door.

"Mary?" I asked, and waited for her to respond.

More sniffles, followed by a gentle wail, were let out in harmony in response to my question.

"Mary, is that you? Are you okay?"

What a stupid question, I cursed to myself. Of course she wasn't okay.

"Mary, if you don't come out, I'll file an HSE stop card soon," I sang out.

I waited for another minute before I heard the lock unlatch and saw the door open.

Mary McQueen was a hot mess, with mascara running down her delicate face and eyes puffed in swollen redness. She looked as if a dozen bees had stung her face. Her normally pouty mouth resembled a pair of lips that had been plumped by fillers in the last half hour.

"They all hate me," Mary wailed in hopeless despair.

"Who hates you?" I questioned her with grave concern.

"They all do... The women on the third floor. Especially Marissa." Mary hiccupped and sneezed at the same time. A bit of that sneeze landed on my hand, so I ran it under the faucet, washed it with Molton Brown liquid soap, and dried it with a hand towel.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-" Mary sputtered

"That's okay. It happens." I laughed softly.

"Y-y-y-you don't hate me?" Mary asked timidly.

"Gawd, no! Why would I hate you?" I raised my voice in astonishment.

"Because Marissa said-"

"Fuck Marissa." I stopped Mary there in her tracks.

Over the next few minutes, Mary revealed to me that she was outcast by the women on the third floor who refused to include her during their lunches and other social activities.

Mary was a woman in her early twenties of Korean heritage. She was adopted into an Australian family at a young age and excelled at school and during her university years. She had a business degree, majoring in international management.

She was very attractive, with smooth skin, beautiful doll-like eyes, dark, elongated lashes, and a dainty figure with curves in all the right places. She dressed immaculately, and her hair was jet black and silky long, down to her waist when she let her hair down. She often tied it back when she came to work.

That afternoon, I learned that Marissa and her motley crew had made work life difficult for Mary. You would think that the pettiness of high school ended in high school. Unfortunately, life didn't work that way. The competition, the hurling insults, and the jealousy still continued long after high school. Human nature could be such a beast.

"Mary, in this life you gotta own every accolade you've earned. Every reward you are given. Every praise that comes your way," I advised her as I gently wiped the tears off her face.

"There will always be people who are jealous of what you've got, but they don't know you. They don't know the blood, sweat, and tears you've put into getting what you've got. Those people...they don't matter."

"Eva, can I say something?" Mary lifted her face, and her eyes looked straight into mine.

"Shoot. You were going to say it anyway," I replied.

"When a man in this company is successful, financially viable, well-groomed, confident in his own skin, and a bit of a smartass, he receives praise and admiration from both genders," Mary said.

"Yeah, there's no issue with that, as long as he earned it," I replied.

"However, when a woman achieves the same, the men scrutinize her credibility, and the women ask why should she deserve it." Mary stared at me and paused.

"What do you mean, Mary?" I was slightly confused about what she was trying to say.

"What I mean is that our colleagues on the third floor treat your brother as if he was Adonis himself, but they ignore you and question who you sweetened the deal with in management to get your job."

I sighed. After years of hard work, long hours, and intense back pain and migraines caused by hours on my PC to meet deadlines and complete my projects, I would never be good enough for the world.

Part of me felt defeated, but another part wanted to fight back. My brother and I came from the same mother and father. We lived in the same womb for nine months before we were born.

Why should the world praise him but punish me for our achievements?

"Mary, you know what? Fuck the world," I growled.

"'Eye of the Tiger', mate." I fist-bumped her delicate hand.

"Huh?"

"'Eye of the Tiger'. Ya know, from Rocky, right?"

"Rocky?"

"Have you seriously not seen Rocky? The film about the boxer Rocky Balboa? It's a classic!"

"Ummm..."

"Mary, if you're not doing anything this Friday night, you've got plans now. You're coming over to my place. We'll get Vietnamese takeout, and we're watching Rocky together!" I flashed her a toothy grin that revealed a small gap between my teeth.

"I feel so bad now for telling you all the goss. Do you need a friend?"

"Mary, I'm not a frigging Care Bear who spends time looking for friends. I'm a lone wolf, yeah? I'm here to make a living to survive and thrive because no one else will do it for me."

I lowered my eyes and bit my lip before making eye contact with Mary again.

"Yeah, all right! I'll be your friend," I said a little too quickly and confidently. Why not? Mary was a little soft, but she was cool.

"Oh, thank you so much," she cried out in glee and hugged me so tightly that my size-twelve hips started to hurt. It was as if we were in a musical. I hated musicals.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Okay, thanks, that'll do!" My body stiffened, and I gently pushed her hands away from me.

Beautiful Mary had cold hands but a warm heart.

Late April

A few weeks later, after I indoctrinated Mary to the Rocky film collection, I also raided her wardrobe and dressed her in a killer outfit to work. I told her to rock it and own her footprints at Hudson Engineering. The result was a stronger, more powerful Mary McQueen, whose boosted confidence also showed increased productivity on the job. This, to me, was a win-win situation.

I added "This Baby Don't Cry" by K. Flay, which was on the Triple J hit list on Spotify, in Mary's playlist, which she listened to in her office at work. I thought it was cute to see her head bop from side to side as I heard the lyrics softly resound from her PC.

She grew gutsy and dared to wear a pair of suede, black knee-high heels to match a checkered, collared minidress to work. The dress was above the knees and didn't reveal anything distasteful, so she got away with the look. She reminded me of Jean Shrimpton or Jane Fonda, in their younger years, in that dress.

My brother, Jack, was interested in Mary, and her feeling for him was mutual. The result: a romantic date at an alfresco restaurant along the riverside.

Mary's song: (explicit words in lyrics)

https://youtu.be/D3F6yNPQeew

***

June.

Buzz, buzz.

"Hello?" I answered my phone in my office while I was in the middle of reviewing a tender at work on a Friday afternoon weeks later.

"Eva, you've gotta come to this blah, blah, blah..." Maddy sounded like she was gushing, gasping, and burbling underwater.

"Say what?" I asked.

All I heard was more babbling and a few words, such as "and," "party," and "food."

"Maddy, I didn't understand a single word you said," I huffed into the phone. "Did you say food?"

"Yes, there will be food. Eight p.m. sharp tonight. My place."

"If there's food, I'll be there," I replied before hanging up.

A message appeared on my phone about a minute later. It read: Dress sexy tonight.

I rolled my eyes and then smiled. Life was always interesting with Maddy. Being a graphic artist, she certainly had a flair for creativity and came up with some batshit crazy ideas.

At eight p.m., I was at Maddy's place for a small dinner party she and her Scandinavian flatmate, Jonas, were hosting for a bunch of his friends.

"Girl, I told you to dress sexy," Maddy hollered, shaking her head in disbelief at me.

"This is sexy." I defended my silver top and designer jeans.

"Come in my room, quick, before more people arrive!" Maddy whisked me away as Jonas greeted guests who were arriving.

"Now, this is a killer dress. It belongs to one of my sisters. She doesn't want it anymore, so it's yours." Maddy's pearly whites flashed as she held a tiny, red dress that screamed out, "Eat me!"

"There is no way-uff!" My protests were muffled as Maddy threw the dress on my head before walking out and slamming the door to the room shut.

Five minutes later, I felt like pork sausage, dressed in a skintight, off-the-shoulder, scarlet dress. When I greeted myself in the mirror, I gasped with surprise.

No, it wasn't a bad surprise, but rather an "I can't believe I'm pulling this look" amazement. I looked...gorgeous, I guess. I smiled, put on my black heels, and walked out of the room.

At that exact moment, I eyed the door, which was opening, and saw him. Him.

Gorgeous Sven had just arrived, and he looked simply edible. His hair was styled and slightly tousled, with golden highlights gleaming under the artificial lighting. He wore a beaded chain around his neck and a vintage T-shirt with a pair of fitted jeans. His teal eyes glistened and locked with mine as his pink lips mouthed a perfect O. Did I mention his high, razor-sharp cheekbones? No? Well, now I have.

Just as I was about to greet him, I noticed that his hand was holding something, or rather, someone's hand, as he moved through the doorway. Standing next to him was Sven's date. She was a pretty blonde girl with a busty figure, Carrie-curls from Sex and the City, and tall, slender legs that were tanned from a spray-tan salon.

"Kom," he coaxed her as she walked through the hallway. (Translation: Come.).

"Jeg kom med kjæresten min," Sven said to Jonas as they shook hands. (Translation: I came with my girlfriend.).

When Jonas introduced Maddy and me to Sven and his girlfriend, my heart dropped like a ton of bricks plummeting into the obsidian abyss of disappointment.

Sven Hansen had a Norwegian girlfriend.

Her name was Ingeborg Rasmussen.

Ouch! Someone had just acupunctured my heart with a bunch of prickly needles that hurt. I knew it was too good to be true. A guy like that? Guys like that never stayed single for long.