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Meetings with C-suite furs tended to go one of two ways.

Every second his mind wasn't either occupied watching playoff hockey or bantering up at Chiller's was, instead, spent focusing on the more negative trend those meetings might take. That is, the sort of ambush style affair one typically heard of in nightmarish internet forums and friends griping through Kaos call sessions after a few drinks.

Rationally, Matthew told himself, those were probably rarer. Hell, why would a bunch of C-suite furs bother calling him in just to tell him he was a massive fuck up? That was Andrew's job.

Or, well, his partner in crime--Mark Travers, CISO of CloudSec Enterprises.

A hound and a fox. Not exactly the best combination to be faced with if one expected to go in and outmuscle or outwit them.

But, Matthew realized, that was precisely the reason they both attained such lofty heights.

And probably why CloudSec didn't get screwed nearly as much as some of their competitors, both on contracts and in corporate mishaps.

The skunk bounded nimbly up the stairs leading to the main entrance of the Pikes building, right on the riverfront. On the glass of either door, he could see all the logos of all the various companies that owned or rented out space. One of them was actually a rather high end steakhouse on the first floor.

But his eyes always found CloudSec's logo--that familiar silver cloud and gold aegis with the letters CS emblazoned on the cloud in proud gold script. It might have seemed a little boastful, if not for their reputation.

And they had quite a reputation indeed.

Matthew spared a quick nod to Frank and Paul, a pair of burly stags sitting behind the security counter, and padded his way over to the elevators. One opened its doors just as he neared, a happy coincidence, and he stepped inside and swiped his keycard in the reader, then jabbed his thumb into the button for the 58th floor.

Just as the doors closed, there was a familiar cadence of shoes on the tile, someone springing through the lobby. Matthew rolled his eyes and stepped to his right, just in time to avoid the little auburn blur that came tripping over herself into the elevator.

"Slept in again, Viv?" the skunk asked.

The little squirrel let out such a flurry of breathless curses and utterances, Matthew couldn't help but grin. And when she punctuated her tirade with a middle finger, he snorted and hid a laugh behind his hand.

"--laugh it up, you stripey sod!" she finished, her accent thickening with her frustration. Vivian huffed and flicked her tail, her hands working to rearrange her purple cardigan.

Amused, he gave a quick sniff. Bluebell shampoo. Oh, it had indeed been a late morning.

Vivian caught his look before he could disguise it. "And you can wipe that bloody smug smirk off your face, too!"

Matthew held up his hands in surrender. "Consider it wiped," came his reply, despite his widening grin. "How was your weekend?"

The huff and glance down at the backpack slung around her left shoulder told him all he needed to know.

"Friday night with--"

"He was a pillock, all right?" she grumbled.

Oh, a bad one, if Vivian was still pissed.

He winced and ticked his head to the left. "Sorry."

The squirrel blew a breath through her nose and muttered something that sounded vaguely like "forget about it." And so, the pair fell into silence and Matthew shifted his attention to the age-old employee pastime of watching the numbers climb on the elevator's digital display. All the while, he counted down in his head.

Right around the 50th floor, Vivian huffed and broke her silence. "He started putting his bloody clothes on while I was still catching my breath on the bed," she muttered.

Matthew blanched. No wonder she was so touchy. And to think he'd been needling her.

Now what did he say?

The elevator bell sang out its call before he could formulate a suitable response. His ears splaying just slightly, Matthew gestured that Vivian exit first, those old manners drilled in by his father so ingrained they were almost reflexive.

The pair walked side by side to the door, and Vivian held up her keycard to the door to trigger the single access entry, followed by Matthew in short order.

Sighing, the squirrel hefted her backpack so it sat a little higher. "Any big tickets I should know about?" she asked, her voice full of false cheer.

Matthew shrugged. "Not on my docket, can't make any promises about the rest of the team." He gave his tail a nervous little flick and turned so he could nod in the direction of the C-Suite offices. Or, as the lower-level employees called it, Dante's Inferno. "I've got a meeting with the Dante crew."

Vivian sucked in a breath through her teeth. "Wow. Okay, I'm sorry I just took my shit out on you." He could imagine her bottom lip held between her buck teeth for a moment. "You gonna be okay, luv?"

From stripey sod to luv in about five minutes. Less, even.

He turned to offer a nervous, crooked smile in reply. How much could he actually say before the meeting? "Ryerson said it's supposed to be a more positive talk. Not a lynch mob, at least."

"Not what I meant by okay, but that's good to know." The skunk felt her by his side, her tail brushed comfortingly against his arm. "Don't forget to breathe. And good luck." Then she left him, hurrying off to find herself a desk before the office filled. Temporary desks were a luxury afforded only to leads and senior analysts and engineers.

Matthew thanked his lucky stars that he'd made the jump to engineer a year ago. Running around and finding a desk before the start of a shift.

Not the best thing for a skunk with anxiety and occasional issues controlling his magic.

Thankfully, no incidents like Chiller's had happened at CloudSec. Yet.

The skunk approached the door and pressed his card to the keypad and awaited the chime, then pushed it open with a rattle and click of retreating locks.

Andrew was on the other side waiting, leaned against the wall outside his office. The old hound offered a half smile and nod. "Ah, Matt," he said as the door swung shut, the mechanized latches clicking back into place. "Glad to see you made it in. I'd heard there was some traffic out your way."

"I was just able to avoid the bulk of the congestion," came Matthew's reply. "It happened shortly after the entry ramp, so I just waited it out."

"Lucky break there. People not paying enough attention." The hound shook his head, then he pushed off the wall and gestured toward the conference room's frosted glass and, at the center, of course, was the CloudSec logo. "Everyone's waiting. Shall we?"

The skunk licked his lips and nodded, his tail lowering in show of his nerves even as he followed Andrew's direction, and moved to enter the room.

True to form, the "Big Five", as the rest of the staff called them, were already seated and waiting. With the lone exception of Andrew, of course. The walls were painted a stormy gray-blue, like the Floridian horizon when one looked out at an oncoming storm, and on the back wall, the CloudSec logo flanked by the company motto:

Secure the Cloudfront

A rather transparent play on wording and reference to the "front" with respect to war. Naturally, of course. The CEO was a massive World War buff and could proudly trace his lineage back to soldiers who served in each branch of the armed forces.

Matthew didn't have the heart to tell him that Cloudfront wasn't nearly as sexy--for lack of better term--as the Western or Eastern Fronts.

And it was indeed Patrick Longleap whose floppy bunny ears stood straight--telling of happiness in pretty much any bunny. "Ah, Matthew," he said, rising from his chair. That at full height, he barely came up to Matthew's chest was a cruel irony when one thought of the footprint he held in the industry.

Both figuratively and literally speaking.

Patrick thrust out his tiny hand for a shake, and smiled. "Been quite a while, son. When was the last time we were in a room that wasn't an all hands, eh?"

With a nervous laugh, Matthew accepted the gesture, and blinked, surprised at the strength of his grip. "Er, my orientation, Mr. Longleap. About two years ago now."

"Really? That's unfortunate. But ..." he sighed and shook his head. "A function of having to go to our different locations as we build up, I suppose."

"Uh. Well. Perhaps, sir, but isn't that a good problem to have?"

The bunny grinned. "Right in one. Andrew's been keeping you nice and tucked away in engineering, clearly. Hardly fair, isn't it?"

Andrew snorted, rolling his eyes. "Curses, foiled again," he deadpanned. Neatly sidestepping a halfhearted kick, he padded to a seat beside a lioness by the name of Nina Harkings and sat. "Now Nina will take him for sales, I suppose."

"If he feels he has the stomach for hundreds of no's to get one yes." Nina, at least, was somewhat familiar. She was sweet, but driven. Friendly, but fierce.

When she smiled, one had to check if it was her sales smile or her casual one. The latter tended to come if numbers were good or everyone padded over to the Irish pub a couple blocks away.

If they weren't, well, bats had competition for who might loom best.

Matthew would put his money on Nina anyway.

Which meant now was the time to appear as unappetizing as possible.

"To be honest," he said, "working in sales makes me wanna consider crab fishing in Alaska."

Nina snorted a laugh. "Frankly, that probably makes you smarter than most of the fresh meat."

Now there was a delightful choice of words. Matthew managed to disguise a shiver behind a polite nod to Minnie McKenna, a plump little pig and the perpetually perky head of employee resources, and beside her, Mark Travers.

But a couple inches taller than Patrick, Mark was none the less an imposing figure as well. Though where Patrick could get by on his energy and drive, Mark held a room in control by the simple means of being the smartest person in it, yet letting everyone think he had nothing pertinent to add to a conversation until he pulled the rug out from under everyone. He met Matthew's eye and flicked his ears, probably the most emotive he'd be in this setting.

Matthew opted for a half wave and sat down across from Minnie, and braced himself for the conversation to come.

Patrick didn't seem inclined to make him wait, at least. "Our lack of opportunity to cross paths aside," he began, turning to pace slowly around the table, his hands clasped behind his back. "And despite my schedule being, for lack of better term, an ever-growing clusterfuck for which I'm eternally indebted to Ms. Tsacharov for organizing, I am only absent from the home office so frequently in body, but not in mind." The bunny turned a pointed look upon Matthew, and twitched his ears. "They aren't for show, of course."

"Er," said Matthew, unsure if he should fake a laugh. But when he caught a glimpse of Mark rolling his eyes, he had a feeling everyone else would needle him later if he did. "Of course not."

The bunny smirked. Apparently that had been some sort of test.

"The funny thing about being a CEO is that you don't necessarily hear everything. Just the important things, good and bad." He glanced at Andrew, arching a brow.

Andrew held his hands outward. "We talked Friday!"

"We did," Matthew added, if nothing else, to look like a team player. "Heat of the moment. It happens."

"Of course it does. But what comes after the issue has passed is just as important as the measures taken to resolve whatever caused it." Here, Patrick stopped by his chair and set his hands on the table. "I hear your name along with those resolution methods quite often, Matt."

"Er ..."

Again, Mark rolled his eyes. "You're beating around the bush again, Pat," he said gruffly.

"I'm a bunny, that's what I do."

"I'm a fox. Chasing you to get to the point is what I do."

Minnie cleared her throat, and brought their antics to a halt. "Entertaining as this is for Friday nights at the pub," she quipped. "I think Matthew has had the entire weekend to stew on this. That's plenty long enough."

A quick note was etched in Matthew's mind that Minnie should get an anonymous donation of those chocolate truffles she liked so much. The sow could qualify as a saint.

And with only a few words, she'd managed to make both look like a pair of sheepish school kids.

A smile flitted across Andrew's features. "Well," he said. "A fair point. And, really, this has been something in the works for a while. And would've been discussed on Friday if not for--" he coughed and glanced away "--unforeseen circumstances."

Nina shook her head, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "You idiot."

It wasn't graced with a response. But it did garner a flicking of an ear in her direction.

"A need has come up on the consulting team," Andrew said. "Various clients looking to make that pivot into cloud or hybrid cloud environments, or not really quite sure about it and need something a bit more technical than Nina's sales crew to give them a demo on how one can do the job--no offense."

"None taken." The lioness shrugged. "I could hardly expect my team to implement a cloud environment any more than yours likes to come out of their cave to network with clients."

"Ouch," he replied with an amused smile, but didn't linger on it. "Anyway. We've got a need for someone who knows their way around securing cloud resources and can quickly pick up custom deployment for enterprise clients, with international compliance standards in mind."

"To cut more quickly to the chase," Mark said in his low, deliberate tone, "we want someone who knows compliance regulations and deploy these customized, secure environments to our clients, and in a way that is in line with our business model. And seeing as how you've worked both as an analyst and an engineer for the past two years, and served well in a lead capacity ..."

The fox let his sentence hang in the air, his meaning plain.

Matthew felt his heart lodge firmly in his throat. A thousand and one reasons to list and explain why he didn't think himself suited for this sort of role. There were so many differences between just securing and maintaining and deploying resources per the stated, carefully crafted needs of an oncoming client, and actually waltzing in and just ... just ...

Putting it all together from scratch. With any semblance of authority behind his recommendation.

What came to mind instead, though, was, "But I'm not a consultant!"