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Dennis finds Chris in the break room later, holding an ice pack to his jaw. The bruise beginning to bloom a faint purple against his tan skin sends a thrill of satisfaction through Dennis’s chest.

"Here to admire your handiwork?" Chris drawls, wincing as he shifts the ice.

"I'm supposed to apologize," Dennis says stiffly. "So.” He looks to the side. Clears his throat. Looks back, eyes not following the turn of his head. “Sorry.”

"You call that an apology?" Chris's eyebrow rises. "Might need to punch me again—that one didn't quite convince me."

"Don't tempt me."

"Aww, princess. If you wanted to touch me that badly, you could've just asked."

Dennis takes a deep breath. He kills the sigh before it can escape his lungs. Fuck Chris if he thinks he’s going to get to him again.

Dennis turns to leave, but Chris's voice stops him:

"You know what the best part is? For the next week, every time someone sees this bruise, they'll think of you. Can't buy that kind of publicity."

"Go to hell."

"Only if you lead the way, your highness."

Dennis stalks off, regretting the apology already. Ungracious dick! Zero class and a smug asswipe to boot. Sorry his ass. Chris should be sorry for being such an annoying piece of shit.

His phone buzzes.

Unknown number.

Dennis frowns. He taps on the message.

Nice right hook princess. Didn't think you had it in you.

Dennis almost laughs. He'd blocked Chris's personal number after the dick pic, but this one's different—probably Chris's work phone. Or maybe a spare because he keeps getting blocked for inappropriate behavior. That prick probably has a collection of them, one for each person he's harassed.

Another message pops up.

For real tho, sorry about the pic. Dick move. No pun intended.

This time Dennis does laugh. It's that or scream. Of course Chris would go there. The man has no shame.

Fuck off he texts back.

Already did. To your profile pic. No pun intended again.

Dennis looks out into the horizon, at his dreams of changing it slowly crumbling. He takes a very, very deep breath.

Then he blocks Chris's number again, orders a car, and tries very hard not to think about Chris jerking off to his company profile photo.

He fails spectacularly.

The next week is torture. Eye of the Tiger plays every time Dennis walks past the crew. Workers dodge exaggeratedly when he passes, shouting "Duck and cover!" Chris's team has started taking boxing stances when they see him coming.

And Chris?

Chris just watches with those dimples on full display, like he’s never been more entertained in his life.

Dennis has never hated anyone more.