You rack your brain, trying to remember something–anything–Morgan has done that’s questionable, or if possible, illegal. You definitely witnessed a few instances of office supply theft. You didn’t tell at the time, because you’re no narc, but that’s gotta have some traction, right?

Oh, and one time when your laptop shat out during a meeting you had to open your presentation on Morgan’s computer. You definitely saw gmail and a dating website open in the browser.

“It doesn’t matter whose lunch it is, Morgan, because you’re not going to say anything.”

“I’m not?” Morgan arches an eyebrow scornfully. Fucking Morgan.

“No. Because I know that you have a habit of taking things that aren’t yours, too. Like an entire packet of Post-it Notes just last week. Yeah, I saw that.” You narrow your eyes in a way you hope is threatening.

“Seriously?” Morgan laughs nasally. “I’m gonna go call Pheobe’s extension. She should know where to look next time someone–”

“Wait. WAIT!” Morgan’s already over by the phone. “I also know that Brian down in IT would find some interesting things if he were to check your laptop’s browser history.”

“How would you–”

“I have my ways.” Sounding mysterious is always better. “I also noticed a few files on the drive that made me question–”

“SSHHHHH! CHHHH!!!” Morgan is actually running towards you in an effort to get you to shut up. “No one needs to know about those pictures. I downloaded them by accident, I swear. I just clicked on a bad link. Also, the models are legal in their countries, so it’s really not a problem. Just a…just a bad link.”

Whoa. You were just fishing at random, but from the sounds of it, you hit an office blackmail payday with this one.

“I believe you Morgan,” you say, looking down your nose at your cowering coworker. “But I need to know I can trust you.”

“Of course you can. What am I, some sort of tattle-tale?” Morgan laughs in a high, strained sort of way. You think back to all the times Morgan’s passive-aggressively CC’d your bosses, but decide to let it go. You’re too thrilled this gambit is paying off to risk it.

“Just to make sure, why don’t you take a bite of this, too.”

You pull the sandwich out of the bag, thrusting it in Morgan’s face. Morgan jerks back involuntarily.

“But I don’t want to eat something you’ve–”

“Take. The. Bite.”

Eyes filled with loathing, Morgan leans in and bites the sandwich. You’ve left no other option, after all. Jesus, you’re like the godfather of the break room.

You put the sandwich back in the bag and stuff the lunch to the back of the fridge.

“I trust you have nothing more to say to Pheobe about this.”

“No. Nothing.” Morgan’s face screws up in disgust. “Jesus, who makes a mayonnaise and cheese sandwich, anyway?”

THE END

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