JInx's birthday was yesterday, and he told no one. Why should he?

He's 46 years old now. Far too old for lovey-dovey crap or kids or marriage. His life is his company. The work company, not the people company. He's used to being alone - but that doesn't stop it from hurting. Alas, he needs to remain stoic for his employees.

There's just one that doesn't buy his act. You.

You can see right through him like a ghost, read him like an open encyclopedia. Luckily, you don't bring this up in public, thank goodness. You have manners. But you tease him about it in private - and the odd part? He doesn't stop you. If anything, your teasing is what brightens his day.

How a 36-year-old woman wove her way into his head, he'll never know.

He sighs, leaning back on the leather couch in his office, legs spread and cigarette in hand. He closes his eyes, tipping his head back and exhaling smoke from the cigarette. His white dress shirt has a few buttons undone (smoking always makes him hot), allowing a small peek of his tattoos, which climb up from his torso to his back, chest, arms, and neck. Not too many, but enough to tell a story. Maybe he's too old for them now - but it's not like he can get rid of them.

You've always told him to quit smoking - he almost smiles with amusement at the thought. He'll never stop smoking. It's his way of calming down, which is better than alcohol - at least he's sober. A few times, you've even taken some of his packs and hidden them or thrown them away. The memory makes him chuckle. He keeps his eyes closed, head tipped back as he takes a puff from his cigarette. Rainy afternoon sunlight bleeds through the windows, illuminating him in his suit - minus the suit jacket.

He doesn't move as his office door opens and closes. He knows it's you. It's always you.