The hum of the industrial refrigerators was the only sound left in the bakery. It was late--far later than Joe usually stayed--but inventory night was a beast that had to be tamed. Joe wiped a layer of flour from his forehead and clicked his pen, checking off the final crate of sugar.
"That's the last of it, Boss," Joe said, leaning back against the stainless steel prep table.
Maggie, the bakery's owner, stood across from him. She was the picture of elegance, even at this hour, with her short brown hair perfectly styled and her sharp business attire crisp and professional. She looked over the clipboard, a satisfied smile touching her lips.
"Excellent work, Joe. I appreciate you staying so late to help me with the count." She set the clipboard down and looked over at a stack of cardboard boxes in the corner labeled OUT OF DATE PIES. "Though... would you be interested in a little overtime?"
Joe blinked, confused. "Overtime? But we're done. Unless you want me to scrub the floors?"
"No, nothing like that," Maggie said, her voice dropping to a mischievous purr. "I need help disposing of the expired stock. It's a waste to just throw them in the dumpster without having a little fun first."
Joe watched, bewildered, as Maggie walked over to a wooden stool in the center of the room. She smoothed her skirt and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. She looked up at him expectantly.
"I want you to pie me," she said calmly. "Right in the face. With the out-of-date pies."
Joe stared at her. The silence stretched out. "Is... is this a joke?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Maggie replied, her face deadpan.
"I can't just throw a pie at my boss," Joe stammered, looking from her to the stack of boxes. "That's gotta be against some kind of HR policy."
"I'm the owner, Joe. I am HR," she said. "And I'm serious. I've had a stressful month. I want to let loose. And honestly? I bet you've wanted to get back at me for something."
Joe paused. He thought about the last month. He thought about the sudden text messages at 5:00 AM changing his shift. He thought about the time she rearranged the entire week's schedule on a Friday afternoon, ruining his weekend plans. He looked at Maggie, then at the dozen boxes of expired pastries.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his hand hovering over a box.
Maggie rolled her eyes, letting out a dramatic sigh. "Joe, pick up a pie and hit me in the face, or you're fired," she teased, a playful glint in her eye.
That was all the permission he needed. Joe opened the first box and lifted out a heavy, nine-inch lemon meringue pie. The meringue was piled high, stiff and sticky. He stepped up to the stool. Maggie closed her eyes, tilting her head back slightly.
Joe hesitated for a split second, giving her one last look, before he lunged.
SPLAT.
He smushed the pie deep into her face. He felt the crust crumble under his palm and the cool, wet filling displace around her features. He held it there for a moment before pulling the tin away.
The result was instant chaos. Maggie's face was completely masked in white meringue and yellow lemon curd. Broken shards of crust clung to her cheeks. She sputtered, wiping a bit of cream from her lip, and started to laugh. It was a genuine, belly-deep laugh.
"Next!" she choked out between giggles.
Joe grinned. He reached for the next box. A cherry cream pie. He didn't hesitate this time. He swung his arm and planted it square over the lemon mess.
WHAP.
He did it again. And again.
The bakery filled with the wet sounds of impact and Maggie's muffled laughter. Joe worked his way through the stack, grabbing apple crumbles, banana creams, and custard tarts.
By the time he reached the final box, the elegant businesswoman was gone. In her place sat a statue of sugary destruction. Maggie was completely buried. Her brown hair was matted down under a heavy, multi-colored sculpture of whipped cream and fruit fillings. Her face was hidden beneath inches of sludge. Her crisp white blouse and grey skirt were ruined, coated in a thick batter of debris and sweet slime.
Joe opened the last box. It was the heavy hitter: a chocolate whipped cream pie.
The room was quiet, save for the sound of filling dripping onto the floor. Joe stepped forward slowly. Maggie sat still, waiting for the coup de gre.
He didn't throw this one. He pressed it slowly, firmly, right into the center of the mess. He pushed until he felt the pie flatten completely against her, then released his grip, leaving the aluminum tin stuck to her face by the suction of the cream.
He stepped back to admire his work. Thick, dark chocolate cream began to ooze out from under the tin, sliding down her neck, dripping onto her chest and shoulders, covering the layers of lemon and cherry that were already there. She was a masterpiece of mess.
Joe pulled out his phone and snapped a photo.
"Thanks for the overtime, Boss," Joe said, grabbing his jacket.
He walked toward the exit, listening to the wet plop of the pie tin finally sliding off her face and hitting her lap. As the door closed behind him, all he heard was a delighted, muffled giggle echoing through the bakery.