Carlton looked around and shuddered in horror and disgust.

This had to be some kind of sick hell.

That could be the only possible explanation. He had died and gone to hell and this was his torture.

How else could every square inch of his office be coated in a thick layer of gold glitter?

And it wasn't just the thick plastic kind of glitter flakes. It was also the fine, sand-like glitter that clung to everything it touched. His shoes had already been attacked from the two steps he had taken inside before realization had struck.

Walking in it proved slightly difficult as he slipped and slid to his desk.

The only non-glittered item on it was a white card that read "Congrats on 25 years Lassie!" in scribbled sharpie.

Carlton growled lowly. Of course this was Spencer's doing.

When had he even been back in Santa Barbara?

He picked up his phone and dialed an all too familiar number. He sneered as his hand was instantly coated in the devil dust and held it away from his face. He would go up and drag Spencer down from San Francisco himself to clean this up if he had to.