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"You've reached the inbox of one Dorian Gray. Don't forget to leave me a message. If you're interesting, I'll get back to you."

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Oh, inventory is definitely a real job, but not the way you were describing it. How much of that stuff do you actually do, and how much of it do you delegate?

Also, if you patrolled with me, I wouldn't let you distract me and we'd get plenty done.

I'd say about fifty-fifty. You know Sweeney? When I took the job, he had been running inventory for...hell, for months now. He was a well-oiled machine. As far as I'm concerned, it's stupid to fix something that isn't broken. So I slid in there, adapted to his system, and we've been running smoothly ever since.

And of course I'd distract you. I'm a wonderful distraction.

And I'm immune to your charms, Slick.

Nobody's immune to my charms, Little Miss HIPPA. [ Which he knows has even less to do with law enforcement that CSI, but he's doubling down on being a shit. And without hesitation, he gets a stupid though and decides to act on it. Keeping his tone smooth, Dorian muses, ] Or Little Miss BOFA? I'm not sure which would be a better nickname.

... Bank of America?

BOFA. You know, bow-fa. Surely you've heard of that before!

[ Please please please take the bait. ]

No...? What does it mean, bow-fa what?

Bofa deez nuts.

[ There's a pause before Dorian lets out a very immature giggle. ]

Ohhh Christ, I've been hanging out with Roman too much. This really isn't my sort of joke. But you left it wide open!

That's worse than Eiffel-tier. I mean that as an insult. Also? Just proving my point.

I can pass for twenty. I've hung out with a lot of stupid young men. Beautiful, obviously. But nothing between the ears.

You learn all the terrible jokes that way.