At Barrett and Associates, no expense was spared for the annual Christmas party. Guests sipped on costly champagne and sampled treats created by the priciest chef in town, while enjoying the beauty of Cliff Barrett’s mansion by the lake.

Alexandra, Cliff’s only daughter and the decorator for the party, stood at the top of the stairs leading to the ballroom and admired the twinkling lights and festive atmosphere. Everything had gone off without a hitch this year. In fact, it almost seemed too perfect. There’d been none of the last minute plan changes that usually occurred while organizing one of her father’s parties. Looking out at the smiling faces of the guests and the beautifully decorated room, Alex mentally patted herself on the back. Her work was done. Now she was allowed to mingle.

Her gaze went straight to Scott Clause, the golden boy of Barrett and Associates. Scott was a whiz kid who’d breezed through college and law school before landing himself a coveted position at her father’s prestigious law firm. He was the youngest lawyer to become an associate and, in his four years as a lawyer, he had yet to lose a case. But not only was he intelligent and driven, he was also the sexiest man Alex had ever seen. She’d secretly crushed on him for years and tonight, she had decided, was the night to make her interest known. She was more than a little nervous, but determined to let him know how she felt.

Wiping her sweaty palms on a cocktail napkin, Alex started down the stairs. Scott was in the center of the room, surrounded by his usual bevy of attractive women, but that did not deter her. Tonight was going to be her night.

As she made her way across the room, cheerful voices called her name. She waved and smiled, but did not stop to speak to her father’s numerous business acquaintances. If she stopped, she would spend the rest of the night caught in inane conversations--and she had something entirely different in mind. Something that required mistletoe and dark rooms.

As she drew close to Scott, she smoothed a hand across her hair. Not a curl out of place. She knew she looked her best. The red gown fit her to perfection and she’d shelled out major bucks to hire a professional hair and make-up artist. Gone were her usual glasses and tidy bun. They were replaced by green tinted contacts and an elaborate up-do. Instead of bulky wools and thick sweaters, Alex was finally showing off the body she’d spent years shaping by attending daily aerobic classes. For the first time in her life, she was using her father’s money to her advantage.

Scott was discussing the win of his latest court case when Alex reached his side. Without missing a beat, he put a hand around her waist and drew her along his side as was his custom. Instead of stiffening as she always did, Alex leaned further into him. She noticed the catty expressions on some of the women’s faces and struggled to keep from smiling. This was going to be a fun night.

Scott smelled good. He was wearing her favorite cologne, and the spicy scent teased her nostrils. She wondered where he sprayed it. Did he put it on before he dressed? Or did he wait and spray it on his clothes? She imagined him emerging from the shower, steam rising from his nude body as he toweled dry. Her mouth watered at the mental image.

Scott’s hand tightened against her waist and drew her attention to his face. His gaze searched her body, and she could see the admiration in his eyes as he studied her new look. “How’s my pretty girl?”

Her lipstick red lips parted in a smile. He always called her his pretty girl, but for the first time she felt like he meant it. “Just dandy. How are you?”

Scott smiled easily, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners and making him appear much younger than his thirty years. “Hanging in there.” He bent down and whispered, for her ears alone, “Thank you for rescuing me. I’ve been trying to get rid of these vultures for about an hour now.”

Alex drew back and gave him an amused look. “You shouldn’t tempt them so by acting all sexy and available.”

Scott laughed at her jab. “I suppose you’re right.” He noticed her empty hands. “Would you care for a drink?” He gestured for a server and ordered without her having to remind him of her favorite drink. “A Bloody Mary for the lady. No celery.”

Alex widened her eyes innocently. “I’m impressed. You actually remember what I drink?”

Scott tapped his head. “Photographic memory. I remember lots of things.”

Alex wondered if Scott even realized how lucky he was. He was smart, rich, successful, and a genuinely nice guy. He did have a tendency to flirt, but that was the thing she loved most about him. He made every woman around him feel desirable. You would never catch him ignoring a woman just because she wasn’t as pretty or as wealthy as the other women there. Sometimes she worried that he only flirted with her because her father was his boss. But it was a known fact that her father doted on Scott, so there was no need for him to play up to the boss’s daughter. Add to that his genuine disregard for most rules, and she was sure he was friends with her because he wanted to be, not just to impress her father.

Come to think of it. Where was her father?

Alex allowed her eyes to scan the ballroom until they landed on her tall, graying, but still powerful-looking, father. Cliff Barrett was holding court near the refreshment table, exchanging legal tales with his old fraternity buddies. She thanked her lucky stars at the sight. If her father was drinking with his friends, then he would be occupied with them for most of the night. Alex would be free to pursue Scott with all the seductive ploys available to her. Sadly, there were not all that many seductive ploys in her arsenal. Most of her plan hinged on her ability to maneuver Scott under the mistletoe she’d hung in her father’s office. It was the closest room and the only one guaranteed not to be trespassed into by some of the guests.

The server returned with her drink and Alex accepted it gratefully. If she was going to seduce Scott, a bit of liquid courage was appreciated. As she sipped, she studied Scott over the rim of her glass. He was talking to the wife of one of the lawyers. Alex couldn’t remember her name, but she was a beautiful blonde with more hair than common sense. Marley, or Harley, or some silly name like that. Alex was not typically a jealous sort, but it unnerved her to see Scott talking to another woman. She should be used to it, since he’d had more girlfriends in the past year than she had fingers and toes, but it was hard to witness him bringing a rosy flush to the married lady’s cheek with his practiced words.

“If you’re sure your girlfriend won’t mind,” Marley, or Harley, or whoever, said with a cautious glance in Alex’s direction.

Whoa! Whose girlfriend? Alex’s head snapped up. “Pardon?”

Scott gave her a fond look. “Alex, darling. You don’t mind if I dance with Carly, do you?”

At least now she had a name to go with the face. “Of course not. It’s not like we’re da...”

Scott quieted her with a sharp look. Alex’s mouth snapped shut. What the hell? Was Scott wanting her to pretend to be his girlfriend? He was practically playing into her hands. Turning to Carly, Alex smiled easily. “Just be sure you return him in one piece.” She spoke nicely, but her eyes clearly said “Hands off, bitch. He’s mine.”

“Of course,” Carly said, and wrapped her hands around Scott’s muscular forearm. “Come, Scotty. Let’s go dance.”

Alex hid a smile at the look on Scott’s face. He detested being called Scotty, a fact she knew since he’d once told her about a high school girlfriend who’d called him by the nickname in a sing-song voice every time she saw him. Alex took another sip of her drink and casually observed the couple on the dance floor. Carly was pressed against Scott, who was trying valiantly to dance without stepping on the trailing hem of her dress.

“Why don’t you just fuck him and get it over with?”

Alex was so startled she nearly dropped her Bloody Mary. She steadied the glass and glanced at the man who’d snuck up beside her. Thomas Dyer, Carly’s husband and Scott’s best friend, grinned at her and winked broadly. Alex’s guarded expression slowly faded. “Good Lord, Tommy. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Tommy had been with the company for eight years. Alex had always liked the fun-loving man, although she’d held no great fondness for his last three wives. Carly was currently wife number four, so it was not surprising that Alex had difficulty remembering her name.

Tommy lifted his mug of beer and pointed toward his wife. “Looks like it’s about time for a new wife.”

Alex felt a burst of horrified laughter. “Tommy! You shouldn’t say such things. Scott would never try anything with one of your wives.”

“No,” he agreed solemnly. “But that doesn’t keep her from trying to get him in the sack.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex mumbled. She didn’t know what to say. Tommy was such a nice guy, a bit outspoken perhaps, but certainly undeserving of having a wife cheat on him.

Tommy shrugged aside her concern and let his eyes drift over her body. His eyes widened with stunned surprise. “Damn, Alex. What happened to you?”

Her stomach lurched. “You don’t like it?”

“Hell, yes, I like it! If your father and Scott wouldn’t have my balls, I would be tempted to carry you out of here myself.” He reached for her hand and made her do a little twirl. He whistled softly. “You clean up good.”

“Thank you, Tommy.” Alex laughed as he continued ogling. She slapped his arm playfully. “Now quit it. You’re making me blush.”

Alex felt an arm snake around her waist an instant before she was pulled up against a warm body. “Tommy, are you flirting with my girl?”

She recognized the deep timbre of Scott’s voice and gave a delighted shiver. She rested against the hard length of him and provocatively shimmied her hips the tiniest bit. She heard the quick intake of breath Scott made and knew that her ploy had worked. His hand moved to her hip and he subtly pressured her into remaining still.

Tommy put his arm around his wife’s shoulder and shook his head. “No, just keeping her entertained.” He gave his wife a little squeeze. “Care to dance, sweetheart?”

Carly looked less than enthusiastic about dancing with her husband as she followed him out onto the floor. Scott’s hand remained on her waist as he came around to stand in front of her. “Poor Tommy. That woman’s a viper.”

Alex felt bad for their mutual friend, but her concern for Tommy fled as she gazed up at Scott. She’d seen him so often that his face was as familiar as her own, but tonight it was like seeing him for the first time. His strong jaw, lightly covered with stubble, practically begged her to run her lips across it. His firm mouth, usually smiling, tempted her to lean up and kiss it. She swayed for a moment, unsure what her next move should be. Before she could decide, Scott took charge of the situation.

“Let’s dance.”

She moved as if in a dream. On the dance floor, Scott wrapped his strong arms around her. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder as her arms came up to encircle his neck. They moved as one, their thighs brushing with each sway of the music. She could feel his breath ruffling the hair above her ear while his hands lightly stroked her back. It was easily the most romantic dance of her life, made even more so when she felt the tickle of his lips against her ear.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered.

She felt a rush of heat flood her body even as goose bumps broke out on her skin. “Thank you.”

The band was playing her favorite song. As she recognized it, she laughed softly to herself. She was dancing with the best looking guy in the room to her favorite song and he’d just called her beautiful. Perfect, absolutely perfect.

Alex forgot all about the other people in the room. In her mind, it was only her and Scott. She pressed herself closer to him and abandoned her mind to the music. She should’ve known it was too good to last.

“Excuse me, Alexandra.”

She felt a tap on her shoulder and groaned inwardly. The night had been going so perfectly. She let her arms drop from Scott’s neck and turned to the caterer. “Yes, Martha?”

Martha gave her a sheepish look. “I’m sorry, but your father and his friends are requesting a bottle of brandy from the wine cellar. I tried to fetch it, but the door was locked.”

“It’s alright, Martha. I forgot to unlock the door earlier. I left the key in my bedroom. I’ll go upstairs and fetch it for you.” As the caterer hurried away, Alex turned back to Scott. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I feel like taking a breather anyway. Would you like some company?”

“Sure.” Inside her chest, her heart began beating triple time. He was escorting her to her bedroom? Things were turning out even better than she’d planned. She’d hoped to get him alone in her father’s office. Being alone with Scott in her bedroom was infinitely better.

As soon as they were out of the ballroom, Scott began patting his pockets. She smiled at the action. “Nicotine fit?” she teased.

Scott sent her a wry glance as he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit up. “I’m going to quit.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve heard that before.”

Scott took a long drag and blew the smoke away from her. “Want one?” His dark eyes tempted her to give in as he held the pack toward her. She bit her lip and cast an anxious glance back toward the ballroom. Her father would kill her if he ever learned of her secret habit, but she was craving one mightily.

“Just one,” she said, and filched a cigarette. Scott cupped his hand around his lighter and brought it close to her face. She touched his hand with her fingers and leaned in. As the smoke filled her lungs, she sighed with pleasure. “Do you know this is the first cigarette I’ve had in days?”

Scott blew another trail of smoke toward the ceiling. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Alex took another puff and nodded. She glanced nervously over her shoulder, expecting her father to pop out and catch her any moment. Scott laughed and tweaked her nose. “You’re a grown woman, Alex. Your father’s not going to spank you if he catches you smoking.”

“I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“You’re not a disappointment,” Scott replied. “He should be proud to have a daughter like you. You’re beautiful, kind, and the best party organizer I know.”

She laughed at his praise. “You forgot sexy, classy, and unforgettable.”

“Those, too,” he said with a quick nod. “You know I adore you, so stop fishing for compliments.”

It was amazing the way words just tumbled from his lips. He could stop her heart with the barest of ease. They’d reached the top of the stairs and he’d turned right without asking for directions to her room.

“Do you even know where you are going?”

He turned back to her, the dim lighting slashing across his handsome face. “Of course I do.”

She hurried to catch up with him. “How?”

He smiled unabashedly. “I’m staying next door to you. Earlier, while you were taking a nap, I thought your room was mine and accidentally walked in on you.”

“Oh.” He’d been in her room and she hadn’t sensed it? Damn, what rotten luck. “At least I wasn’t naked,” she teased lightly.

He smiled wolfishly. “More’s the pity.”

He stayed near the door as she searched for the key to the wine cellar. She finally found it in a stack of papers on her desk and held it up triumphantly. “Found it.” She started back toward him, but then remembered the smoke on her breath. “Wait just a moment. I’ve got to brush my teeth.”

She tossed him the key and headed to the bathroom. He followed at a leisurely pace and she saw his reflection in the mirror. He caught her eye and shook his head sorrowfully. “You worry too much about what others think.”

“I do not,” she mumbled, around the toothbrush in her mouth. A speck of toothpaste landed on her chin and she wiped it away with her fingers.

Scott came into the room and propped his hip on the counter beside her. She felt self-conscious brushing her teeth in front of him, but he didn’t seem to mind watching her. “Yes, you do.” His hand lightly brushed her elbow. “It would be fun to see you let your hair down once in a while.”

She bent down and spit, in as ladylike a manner as she could, into the sink. “Literally or figuratively?” she asked, as she came back up and continued brushing.

“Both,” he answered. He inched over and she nearly flew out of her skin when his hand came up to touch her chin. “You had a spot of paste,” he explained, as his hand dropped back to his side.

“Thank you.” Once again she bent down to spit. She rinsed and dried her mouth on a towel. When her lips were dry, she ran her tongue across her teeth and smiled. “All clean.”

His eyes dropped to her mouth and she stilled at the flash of heat that appeared in their dark depths. Her tongue flicked out to lick the corner of her mouth and she could’ve sworn he groaned. She wasn’t bold enough to hold his gaze. Dropping her eyes from his, she pulled her make-up case forward and rummaged around for her lipstick. She opened it and peered in the mirror as she applied it. Her eyes flicked to Scott, who was watching her with a disturbing intensity. Smiling, she held out the tube. “Want some?”

He took the tube from her hands and dropped it onto the counter. It clattered as it fell into the sink. Scott grabbed her hand and slowly pulled her forward. She sank into a dreamlike state as he lowered his head. He was going to kiss her! Scott Clause was actually about to kiss her. She leaned into the kiss, letting out a small sigh when his lips finally touched hers. He pulled away almost instantly. “I’m sorry.”

She backed away from him, embarrassed by his change of mind. “I’m sorry, too.”

Scott put his hands on her shoulders and tugged her toward the door. “I’m not sorry for kissing you, Alex. I’m sorry for not picking a more romantic spot.”

“Oh,” she muttered numbly. More romantic spot? The bathroom was fine with her. Hell, a kitchen counter would do nicely. Anything, as long as he continued to kiss her. “Where did you have in mind?”

He turned back to her, a grin playing about the edges of his lips. “I’ll let you know when I find it.”

Rebecca eyed her bank statement with disgust. The low numbers made her stomach clench. She didn’t understand. Hadn’t she just deposited her paycheck three days before? Wasn’t she working two jobs? The balance hovered just above zero, mocking her and her efforts. Rebecca put in a full forty-hour week as a bank teller and another ten to twenty hours as a server for a high-end catering service, but she still hemorrhaged money.

“I’m going to have to ask for more gigs,” she muttered.

This was an option she had not exercised previously, and she wasn’t thrilled about being forced into it now. But if she wanted to make extra cash, the Christmas season was the time to do it. Everybody, from directors to movie stars to lowly assistants, was throwing lavish parties in downtown LA and Beverly Hills, and they all called on the catering services of her employer, Star Parties.

Rebecca flipped through her cell phone’s address book until she found Mike Sinclair’s phone number. She knew from experience he would be more than accommodating, but it still rankled. Wasn’t working fifty hours a week enough? Wasn’t she allowed to sleep and relax and have fun?

“Star Parties, Mike speaking.”

“Mike, hi, it’s Rebecca.”

“Rebecca! I was just about to call you. Or have Shelly call you, at least.”

“Oh?” Rebecca didn’t regret missing the chance to talk to Mike’s mousy assistant.

“How would you like guaranteed jobs for the remainder of the holiday season? I’m talking on a nightly basis here,” Mike said, his voice loud and buoyant.

“What’s the catch?” Rebecca asked, on her guard.

He laughed. “You know me too well, sweetheart. You know Jeff?”

“Jeff the bartender?” Rebecca had worked with him a few times. She didn’t know him personally, but she knew his type. Smarmy, arrogant, cocky, he was a spoiled kid with a pretty face from a wealthy family.

“The very one. It seems he went and got himself in a spot of trouble. His license has been suspended.”

Rebecca blinked. “Well, that’s awful for him, but I don’t know what it has to do with me.”

“Jeff is going to need help getting to gigs. You know he’s our most popular bartender. People request him specifically when they call Star Parties.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine why. Most of their clients were older women planning posh soirees and huge bashes to impress their husbands’ business associates and their fellow soccer moms. Jeff had a certain charm and he worked hard for his tips.

“Why doesn’t he just hire a limo or take a taxi or something?”

“We both agree that it would be best for business if he rode with one of the servers.”

“And I’m the lucky girl?”

“You’ve got the most reliable transportation and you live near him. I’m willing to pay for the extra work.”

“Um, what if I don’t want to be his personal driver?” Rebecca asked, not thrilled with the opportunity. Money was nice, but really, why couldn’t Jeff take a taxi?

“It might be more difficult to find jobs for you.”

Rebecca sighed, weighing her options. Work every night or don’t work at all. Put in the most basic terms, it was an easy decision. “When do I start?”

“Tonight.”

Well, she thought, it’s a good thing I don’t have any plans. Not that she ever had plans anymore.

“Get a pen, I’ll tell you his address and the time he’s expecting you.”

“Yes, sir,” she muttered.

Rebecca scrawled the address across the back of a grocery store receipt and punctuated it with a sad little frowning face.

“No later than six,” Mike told her.

“Right.”

“Hey, Rebecca, thanks. We really appreciate it.”

“You know me, I aim to please.” She hung up before he could rope her into some other distasteful job or errand.

Six? That barely gave her an hour to get ready. Rebecca hung her uniform in the bathroom to let the steam smooth the wrinkles, before turning the water as hot as it would go. She stripped, stepping under the punishing spray with a gasp. It shocked and burned and exhilarated her.

Rebecca pushed the hair out of her face, reveling in the scorching water. Her skin turned red, her back stung, her muscles tightened, and the water pounded like her heart around her. Caught up in the astonishing sensation, her skin and flesh stimulated and tight, she forgot about the night ahead, focusing instead on the thrill of pleasure that raced with her blood.

Her hand moved between her thighs, and her finger brushed against her clit, but she resisted the temptation. Not only did she not have the time to do it properly, she resented the fact that she didn’t have anybody to do it for her.

“I need a fuck buddy,” Rebecca announced to the walls. Her voice echoed off the tiles, amplified. “And the neighbors probably didn’t need to know that,” she added.

Rebecca turned the hot water down, letting the cold water cool her skin and blood. No time for fuck buddies, no time for boyfriends, no time for relationships, no time to touch herself. Not anymore. “And probably not ever again,” she sighed, as she lathered her hair with shampoo.

Ten minutes later, she emerged from the steamy bathroom to dry herself, checking the clock obsessively as time marched forward. Twenty minutes after that, she pulled on her uniform, offering a silent prayer of thanks that it didn’t need to be dry-cleaned. Fifteen minutes later, she sat outside of Jeff’s apartment building, trying to brace herself for his winning personality.

Rebecca could understand Jeff’s appeal. He had a striking, memorable face and an easy-going smile. He charmed people with sly grins, twinkling green eyes and a flop of black hair that always fell over his left eye, no matter how many times he pushed it back. He wore nice clothes. He smelled good.

Not that she got close enough to smell him.

Often.

Sometimes, when they passed each other in a tight hallway or a small kitchen, she noticed that he smelled like gingersnaps and man. She didn’t know how else to describe it, and she didn’t like to ruminate on it. But she would have plenty of time to analyze his grooming habits as she chauffeured him all over the Greater Los Angeles area.

Rebecca watched him as he walked out of the building, scanning the area for her car. He knew his appeal, of course, and he took advantage of it. She witnessed him charm women out of more than just their money, and they always came back for more. She honked her horn to get his attention. He waved and trotted over.

“Hey,” he greeted, opening the door.

“Hey.” She waited until he buckled up to start the car. “Where are we going tonight?”

“Up Mulholland. I’ve been there before, I’ll tell you the way.” He smiled and turned on the radio. “It’ll be a nice party.”

Rebecca watched, annoyed, as he fidgeted with the dials. Biting her tongue, waiting until he settled on a station before commenting. Why did he think he had the right to fuck around with her radio? Wasn’t it the driver’s decision?

“There we go,” he said with satisfaction. She didn’t recognize the song, but it already irritated her. Loud and obnoxious, she didn’t need the extra distraction.

“Great.” She pushed in a CD with a smile. “That’s better.”

“Hey, I was listening to that.”

“So?”

“So? You can’t just turn it off...”

“It’s my car, Jeff. I can do what I want.” Rebecca signaled and pulled onto the busy road, sliding her car smoothly into the traffic.

“Who is this, anyway?”

She looked sideways at him, watching as he opened her glove compartment and started rummaging through the contents. “Wilco. And close that.”

“Wilco? Never heard of them.”

“So? What’s your point?”

“I’m just saying is all. What kind of music do they play?”

“Alternative.”

“Alternative?” Jeff shook his head. “I don’t like most alternative stuff. Most of it is annoying and pretentious.”

“Well, thanks for sharing your opinion. I’m truly a better person for hearing it.”

“Hey, no problem.”

Sighing, Rebecca tapped on her brake. She’d known traffic wouldn’t be good, but this was worse than she expected. She stopped at a green light, unable to push into the crowded intersection.

“Why don’t you just go for it?” Jeff asked.

“Because there’s no room.”

“So?”

“So there’s no room.”

“It doesn’t stop these other people.”

“And that’s how accidents happen. I don’t need to get broadsided today, thank you,” Rebecca snapped.

“People don’t like to sit at a green light,” he told her. To punctuate his point, the guy behind them laid on his horn. “See?”

“Tough shit,” Rebecca muttered. The light turned yellow, then red. “See? I would have been stuck in the middle of the intersection.”

“They would have waited until you got through.”

“Right, like they could even see my little car in those fucking SUVs.”

“This is going to take forever,” Jeff said, rolling down the window.

“Why don’t you drive if you have a problem?” Rebecca smirked. “Oh, wait...”

“Look, I’m not happy about this either. Do you think I like having my license suspended? I have a life, you know.”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. Like I don’t have a life? Like I’ve got nothing to do except haul your ungrateful ass around?” Rebecca asked, as she gunned it through the intersection. “I didn’t ask for this you know. I didn’t call Mike and say, ‘Hey, got an obnoxious jerk I can chauffeur?’”

“You think I’m an obnoxious jerk?”

Rebecca regretted her outburst at his hurt question. She didn’t normally call obnoxious jerks ‘obnoxious jerks’ to their faces. But she didn’t appreciate his nagging, and there was an Expedition right on her ass, its headlights blinding her.

“I didn’t...”

“Because,” he said, cutting her off, “I didn’t request an annoying bitch.”

Rebecca slammed on her brakes, pulled hard to the right, cutting off another Expedition, and pulled into a Stater Bros parking lot.

“Hey, what are you...?”

“Did you just call me a bitch?”

“Rebecca, look...”

Rebecca shut off the engine before turning to face him. “Did you just call me a bitch? Get the fuck out of my car.”

“Rebecca, look, you can’t kick me out.”

“Get the fuck out of my car. Right now.”

“We have to be at the party in less than an hour,” Jeff reminded her. “Mike will be pissed if we’re late.”

“Oh, I’m not going to be late. I’ll be right on time. Now get out of my car.”

“Fine, but who will get fired when I don’t show? Probably the person responsible for getting me there.”

“Take a fucking cab. Like a normal person. What? Are you too good for taxis? Then hire a limo. Not my problem.”

Jeff put his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know. Look, I’ll level with you, OK?”

“The clock is ticking,” Rebecca said. “It’ll probably take at least twenty minutes to get a cab over here for you.”

“Rebecca ... Mike and I decided it would be best if people, you know, didn’t know about this...”

“What do you mean?” Rebecca asked, curious despite herself.

“It won’t look good for me or for the company if people realize I don’t have my license ... especially if they find out it’s because I have a DUI,” he admitted.

Rebecca gaped. “A DUI? What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I know. I know. It was stupid. I’m never going to do it again. But until this gets straightened out, I should keep as low a profile as possible. I need your help,” Jeff explained. He smiled, looking at her through his long lashes. “Please? You’re the only sober person I know.”

“Why should I help you? I mean yeah, I get some extra money, but come on... You hardly deserve it,” Rebecca said, undermining herself by turning the key in the ignition.

His smile widened. “I know I’m not worth it. I’m shit.”

“Just ... don’t talk again, OK? Keep your mouth shut until I need the directions.”

“Will do.”

“And especially keep your mouth shut about my driving.”

“I promise.”

Rebecca sighed. “Why do I have the feeling I’m going to come to regret not kicking you out of the car when I had the chance?”

Jeff shrugged, keeping his mouth shut, his lips compressed.

“Hold on,” she said, as she pulled into traffic. “It might be a bumpy ride.”

* * * *

Rebecca lifted a tray of hors d'oeuvres, balancing it on the heel of her hand. Girls bustled around her, dropping off empty trays and picking up fresh ones. They laughed and called out to each other, but Rebecca was focused on her task. She had to concentrate, otherwise, her mind would drift to Jeff.

“I saw that you arrived with Jeff,” Nancy said from behind her.

Rebecca spun around, nearly dumping the expensive caviar onto the floor. “What?”

“You and Jeff. What’s up with that?” Her friend smirked. “I didn’t think he was your type.”

“Oh, really?” Rebecca asked the tall brunette. “What’s my type?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never actually seen you with a man. For all I know, you’re a dyke.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “I’ve got work to do.”

“Hey, don’t be snippy with me.” Nancy grabbed her own tray, but she didn’t step out of Rebecca’s way. “I just want to know if something’s going on between the two of you.”

“Me and Jeff? No. I just drove him as a favor. Come on, get out of the way.” Rebecca tried to side-step, but Nancy moved with her.

“Why are you in such a hurry? Those porkers can wait a few more minutes for more food. Now, I want to talk about Jeff.”

Rebecca lowered her tray to the table, defeated. “What about Jeff?”

Nancy smiled. “Is he any good?”

Rebecca shook her head. “What?”

“You know, is he any good? He looks like he might be dynamite in bed...”

Rebecca rubbed her eyes. “I told you, there’s nothing between us. I just did him a favor. It’s not a big deal.”

Nancy arched an eyebrow. “OK, fine. Maybe you haven’t, but don’t you want to?”

“No.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“No!” Rebecca lowered her voice. “Did anybody else see us together?”

“Why do you care if nothing’s going on?” Nancy asked.

“That’s precisely why I care. I don’t want everybody here getting the wrong idea about us,” Rebecca explained.

“No, I don’t think anybody else saw.”

“Great, now come on before people start missing us. They might not need the appetizers, but they sure get grumpy when we’re slow.”

Rebecca followed Nancy out of the kitchen to the party. She plastered a large smile to her face and began to circulate around the room. There were many familiar and famous faces. Faces that would make her heart stop and her palms sweaty under any other circumstances. The first thing she learned on the job was that celebrities didn’t like to be gawked at or reminded they are celebrities at parties. Especially by the staff.

Distracted by her own traitorous thoughts, and Nancy’s as well, she didn’t care who was eating caviar from her plate. Even if nobody else saw them arrive together, she knew Nancy couldn’t keep the fact to herself. Rebecca imagined that every server there had already heard that the two of them were having hot, wild monkey sex.

Which was completely unthinkable. Ridiculous, even.

As Rebecca passed the bar, Jeff caught her eye and smiled. It wasn’t a friendly how-are-you-smile, or a passing acknowledgement. The smile reached his eyes. It seemed like they were sharing a secret, or a joke. A joke that only two people on the planet would understand. She paused for a moment, caught off-guard, returning the smile despite herself.

The second passed and a woman with bright, white teeth caught his attention and ordered a champagne cocktail. Rebecca shook her head, moving again. He probably wasn’t even smiling at her anyway. She wouldn’t be surprised to discover that a leggy blonde had been standing behind her shoulder the entire time.

Rebecca’s forced grin widened and she pushed him out of her mind. It would be a long night even without Jeff serving as a constant distraction.

* * * *

Rebecca limped out of the kitchen, holding her shoes in one hand and her purse in the other, in search of Jeff. The final drunk guest had just staggered out the door. Rebecca had helped clean the kitchen and load the van, bitterly noting that Jeff was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t help but hope that he had found his own way home, but, after everybody left, she could hear him outside of the kitchen, laughing.

He wasn’t at the bar like she expected. Annoyed, she followed the sound of his voice to the library. Rebecca found him sitting on the couch with a vaguely familiar blonde, laughing and joking, her hand on his leg, and his arm across her shoulders.

Rebecca leaned against the door jam, folding her arms. Neither one of them noticed her, too engrossed in each other. She checked her watch. Just shy of three in the morning, and it felt like it. Her feet and back ached, her head throbbed, and her gritty eyes longed for sleep.

The blonde’s giggle was like shards of glass piercing her brain.

“Jeff?” She said, as she stepped into the room. “Does this mean you don’t want to come home with me?”

Jeff looked up, startled. “Oh, Rebecca. I was just talking to...”

“Sindy. With an S,” the blonde said with a wide smile.

“Nice to meet you Sindy with an S.” Rebecca smiled sweetly. “Did you enjoy the party?”

“Oh, yes, it was wonderful. Did you see Martin Sheen was here?”

Rebecca nodded. “I did notice him.”

“Anyway, Jeff was just telling me about all the people he’s met. It’s so exciting! His life is so glamorous.”

“Oh, it is,” Rebecca agreed. “But you know what’s not so glamorous? Washing his dirty underwear.” She waved a hand in front of her nose. “Living with this man is just impossible.”

Sindy’s smile faltered and she turned to face Jeff. “I thought you said you were single!”

“What? I am. Rebecca is just a friend...”

Rebecca shook her head. “That’s what he tells all the pretty girls, sweetheart. But he always comes home with me at the end of the night.”

Jeff’s face turned a hectic shade of red. “Sin, she’s lying. Really.”

Sindy jumped to her feet and grabbed her drink from the end table. “I thought you were different. But you’re just like everybody else.”

Rebecca nodded. “He really is.”

“Cheating on your girlfriend and then lying about it? While she’s standing right here? You disgust me,” Sindy announced, as she poured her rum and Coke over his head. “To think I almost showed you my breasts.”

Rebecca waited until Sindy stomped out before erupting with laughter. Jeff wiped his face with a bar rag he pulled from his back pocket.

“I suppose you think you’re real cute,” he muttered.

She nodded, unable to speak. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she couldn’t catch her breath. Every time she tried to stop laughing, she heard Sindy’s dramatic exclamation, and the guffaws started again. To think that she had almost shown him her breasts!

“I can’t believe you did that.”

Rebecca shook her head, wiping her face. “I’m sorry ... it’s just...”

“You’re not getting paid to ruin my life, you know.”

Rebecca nodded. “I know, I know. It’s just one of the perks.”

He stood up and pushed his wet hair out of his face. “She’s never going to talk to me again.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. I’m sure you can find a dozen just like her.” Rebecca hiccupped. “Come on, I’m ready to go.”

“Is that what this was about? You want to go home?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah.”

“I normally don’t leave until much later...”

“What’s your point? We’re on my schedule now.”

“Are you serious?”

Rebecca nodded, all traces of mirth gone. Now she only felt tired and irritated. “You really have a hard time accepting the fact my world doesn’t revolve around you, don’t you?”

“Fine, let me grab my stuff.”

“Hey, don’t put yourself out on my account,” Rebecca said. “Maybe you can convince Sindy with an S to give you a lift home.”

“Maybe you’re just jealous because nobody around here wants to take you home,” he sneered.

Rebecca laughed off the barb. “Why the hostility? Because you won’t get laid tonight? I promise, you’ll survive.”

“What if I really liked that girl?” Jeff asked. “What if I really wanted to get to know her better?”

“Would that be before or after she shows you her tits?” Rebecca asked, turning to the door. “I’m leaving now.”

“This is not going to work,” Jeff muttered. “I can’t live like this.”

“Welcome to Hell.”

“Maybe you need to get laid. It might make you a more pleasant person to be around.”

Rebecca spun around, the words flying out of her mouth. “And do you think you’re the man for the job?”

Jeff’s eyes widened. Her face flushed, the hot blood crawling up her neck and cheeks. They stared at each other for a long, silent minute. Rebecca couldn’t read his face at all. She hoped he couldn’t see the deep mortification reflected in her eyes, but she refused to be the first one to back down. She wasn’t going to let him shame her into averting her gaze.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I might be just the man for the job.”

Rebecca snorted. “Yeah, right. Not in your wildest dreams.”

“Hey, you brought it up, not me.”

She turned her back on him and started walking. “I am done with this conversation.”

“What? Are you afraid?”

“I’m finished,” she stated, pulling the front door open. “Finished.”

“You are afraid. Mmmm, what does little Rebecca have to be afraid of?”

“Shut up, Jeff,” Rebecca warned, unnerved. What did she have to be afraid of, indeed.

“Don’t try to play all coy with me. You wouldn’t have brought it up if you didn’t want it,” he pointed out.

Rebecca spun around again and put her finger in his face. “You brought it up. Not me. You. And I’m not going to play your sick game.”

“What sick game? I’m not playing a game here, Rebecca. I’m serious.”

“Yeah, right. I’m sure you are.” She hurried down the walk towards her car. She wished it was a safe haven from Jeff, but it would only be a prison until she dropped him off. At least there would be no traffic. She could have him out the door, away from her, in less than fifteen minutes.

“Hey.”

Rebecca unlocked the car and tore the door open.

“Hey,” he said again, from behind her.

“Get in the car,” she said through gritted teeth.

Jeff grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him. “I told you, I’m serious.”

“I’m sure you are. Now let me go.” She struggled to pull her arm away, but his fingers didn’t loosen. He pushed her against the car, his other hand on her shoulder.

“Let me show you.”

“What are you...?” Her question was cut off by his lips.

Rebecca’s brain froze. her body stiffened. Every nerve seemed to misfire. Her flesh went numb and then blazed with heat. The familiar smell of gingersnaps filled her head and surrounded her, as she kissed him back without thought. Her mouth moved against his, until his tongue brushed against her lips. She opened them without hesitation. His body pressed against hers, solid and warm. His cock hardened against her thigh.

Rebecca knew she needed to break the kiss or he would overwhelm her. Every second they spent locked together, the closer she wanted to be. She wanted to crawl up his body, wrap her arms and legs around him, and never let him go. She wanted to strip his clothes off, push him against the car, and have her wicked way with him. Every repressed desire flared to life, demanding attention, validation.

She tore her mouth away, pushing on his chest. They both gasped for breath, and he looked at her expectantly. “Just...” She finally whispered. “Just get in the car.”

Jeff wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, nodding. “Fine.”

Rebecca closed her eyes and counted to ten. Even if she did want him, even if she needed to be kissed and touched like that again, it couldn’t happen. She learned a long time ago that you don’t get naked with co-workers, not for any reason. It never ended well.

Baltimore, Maryland

Christmas Eve

It’s a slow night. She knew before coming in to work that it would be. Rachael Morton has already wiped off the counters and all the tables as well as swept and mopped the floor. She’s even filled all of the sugar containers and filled all the napkin dispensers. She’s not sure why she hasn’t just told Greg that they are closing early. The Silver Spoon was a diner without diners this Christmas Eve. Most people were home with their families, preparing for Santa Claus to come or getting some well-needed rest before traveling the next day. Some people were traveling now. Still others were at Christmas parties, drinking and laughing with other people that they usually hated in the light of day.

But not her. Not that she likes Greg or anything. And they aren’t even talking to each other at the moment, much less laughing. But she guesses spending Christmas Eve here with him is better than spending it alone. She supposes he probably feels the same way. Even though she can hear the TV in the office blaring some repeat of Star Trek, or one of those other shows he insisted on gushing about to anybody that will listen.

You’re being uncharitable, her conscience tells her. A voice which sounds a lot like her mother.

Well, mother, I feel uncharitable.

It’s Christmas and usually she loved the lights, the colors, the cheer that just seemed to come with the season. But, not this year. This year has been pretty bad even by bad standards. So, there wasn’t much to be cheery about.

She does feel edgy being in the restaurant alone, this late at night. With Greg. But, as long as he stays in the office watching TV, she should be alright. She glances at the clock. 10:37. Do you know where your children are? She has no children, will never have any children thanks to lazy ovaries. Just goes to show how bored she is to be thinking such stupid stuff. She should just close. Not like she’ll get paid more for keeping it open. The owner might have made her manager, but the bulk of her income still came from tips. And tips don’t come from empty tables. At least not in her experience.

The bell above the door dings, jerking her out of her thoughts. To see the door she has to lean forward a bit to see past the three foot Christmas tree situated at the end of the counter. She gasps when she sees the man standing there. He’s about average height, his lean frame draped in a rumpled designer suit--she would have bet a month’s wages that it was Armani--with a dark raincoat over top of that. A gold watch glints at his wrist as he flicks the cap of a silver lighter in his hand. Open, close, open, close. Over and over, as he looks around the diner, not seeming to really see it. He shuffles his Italian leather-adorned feet unconsciously. He was dressed much better than most people who came in here. The diner usually got the junkies who had managed to beg a few dollars out of a kind citizen, or the drunks who stumbled in after a night at the bar a block up and over. Lunch hour brought in most of the businessmen, but this man was nothing like any them.

Maybe it was the short, black, spiky hair that contrasted with the expensive clothes. Or his almost model looks. Sharp cheekbones, full mouth, strong jaw and nose. Jet black brows slanted over eyes that were as blue as the Christmas lights winking in the windows. A scar trisected the right brow, giving him a roguish air.

How pretty, she thinks, her face immediately burning hot almost as soon as the thought goes through her head. She drops back from her toes and stares at the counter for a second, until she’s sure she can speak and not make a fool of herself by stuttering. She hates to stutter. She always does it when she’s nervous. And for some inexplicable reason, this man is making her nervous.

“It’s seat yourself. I’ll be with you in a minute.” She peeks back around the tree in time to see him start at her words. Its almost like he’s just remembered where he is. He fixes those eyes on her, and a little squeak gets caught in her throat at how haunted they look. There’s something about them that pulls at her. He’s in pain, she thinks, before she can stop herself. She flushes again, reminding herself that she’s not particularly intuitive and to mind her own business.

“Sure, thanks. Take your time.” He flips the lighter one last time, closing it with a sharp snap. Then, he walks across the floor and chooses a booth right across from where she’s standing. Probably to make sure she doesn’t forget about him. That’s not likely, she thinks, watching him settle on the red vinyl of the bench. He goes back to toying with the lighter once he’s seated and she watches his fingers--strong, masculine fingers--slide over the smooth casing of the Zippo. An involuntary shiver rolls over her and she shakes it off, unnerved. Then, she goes back to looking at the receipts from their rare and brief busy dinner hour.

After a few minutes, and more than a few stolen looks, she gives up. She shoves them into the cash register and shuts the drawer. With pad and pencil in hand, she walks around the counter and over to his table, plastering a smile on her face. The closer she gets to him, the more her heart speeds, and she has to remember to breathe evenly. She’s worked here seven years, and, in that time, she’s had exactly two panic attacks. She sincerely hopes that this isn’t the start of a third.

“What can I get you?” She says when she stops, her voice sounding unusually high to her own ears. Again, he seems not to notice her, even after she speaks. She sees a large, orange envelope on the table and vaguely wonders where it came from. She doesn’t remember seeing it when he came in. It’s not your business, she reminds herself, even as her eyes scan over the surface. Tyler Jennings, she reads silently. She steals another glance at him to make sure she’s not being caught spying. Carlyle and Fitz, Attorneys at Law, reads the return address. Deciding she’s spied enough, she clears her throat. “Uhm, sir?”

“What? Oh, sorry. What’s good here?” he asks, after finally hearing her.

“Do you want an honest answer?” she says, before she can stop herself. She flushes again and drops her eyes. “I-I mean, everything,” she finishes softly, feeling like an idiot. She hears his chuckle, and wishes the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

“S’alright. Wasn’t exactly expecting a gourmet meal when I walked in,” He sounds like a movie star, her mind registers almost dreamily. She stares at his mouth for a few seconds, fascinated by the sound of the rich, deep voice falling from it, hoping he’ll speak again. Then, she realizes what she’s doing and starts wishing for the floor swallowing again.

“Th-the m-meatloaf is good,” she finally manages, feeling the hot prick of tears start behind her eyes. She hates feeling like this, acting like this. Somehow, she can’t seem to stop. She doesn’t dare look up at him and meet his eyes, she just knows she’ll die from embarrassment at the mocking she’s sure to see there. He chuckles again and she knows she’s going to die.

“Tha’s fine. And coffee. Black.”

“S-sure. Be right back with your coffee,” she flees then, without looking up at him, her heart hammering like thunder in her ears.

* * * *

Ty watches her go with mild interest. He feels the smile that was tugging his lips fade almost as soon as she disappears behind the counter. Somewhere in the back of his turbulent mind, he registers that she doesn’t look like the waitresses you see on TV, with their hair teased ten miles high and make-up spackled on, as they take your order while snapping gum. This girl is young, he’d say no more than 25. For some reason, it makes his 32 years seem old. He could detect no make-up on her peaches and cream skin other than a light dab of gloss across her lush mouth. She’s full and womanly under her ugly, light blue waitress uniform. Her dark blonde hair is pulled away from her round face, letting him see the smoky blue of her eyes with ease. He realizes, quite unconsciously, that she’s pretty. And shy, if the way she was avoiding his gaze means anything.

Nothing like Julianne, he thinks, glaring down at the envelope on the table. Anger--red hot and searing--scorches through him as he eyeballs his name. His wife--ex-wife, he reminds himself fiercely--was all sable hair and porcelain skin. Her beauty was delicate, like a china doll’s. Her eyes a clear, crystal green. She gave off an air of being childlike, helpless. But, behind those beguiling eyes was a very cunning mind. A fact made abundantly clear today. Oh, sure, he knew that their marriage was over. Had been for over a year now. But this, this made it final. And on Christmas Eve, no less.

Julianne always had a taste for the ironic, he thought, unconsciously reaching for a cigarette. Of course, he at least had some satisfaction in knowing that she wasn’t getting anything more from him than he had given her during their marriage. The fault in their break-up was hers. He damn sure wasn’t going to pay for it.

“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s no smoking in here.” The waitress’s apologetic voice cut through his bitter thoughts in time to keep him from touching the flame of his lighter to the tip of his cigarette.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. Distracted,” he says with a shrug. She offers him a smile and actually meets his eyes this time. He finds himself caught for a second by the way the artificial light sparkles in them. Then, she drops her gaze from his and the second is lost. He glances down and watches as she pours his coffee, the rich, fragrant brew wafting up to tickle his nose. “Fresh?” he asks, half grateful, half surprised.

“Y-yeah. I have a thing about old coffee,” she answers, her voice low. Another shy smile is flashed and he is charmed by the way her skin pinks up under his scrutiny. “I’m always throwing out old and brewing fresh.”

“Well, cheers to you, then. I detest old coffee m’self.” He lifts his cup in a mock toast before taking a sip of the hot brew. His sigh of satisfaction has a flower of pleasure blooming in her chest.

“You’re not from around here,” she states nervously, berating herself the second it falls from her lips. Well, duh, Rachael. She winces at her stupidity and turns to leave. But, a warm, firm grasp on her wrist stops her. She jerks a bit at the unfamiliar touch and her eyes go a little wide. He immediately lets go, bringing the hand up, palm out, to show her he meant no harm.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, flashing her a grin. She could swear her heart skips a beat.

“N-no. I’m sorry. I-I’m a little jumpy.” She feels foolish, and she’s pretty sure she looks foolish too.

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.” he counters. He watches her smile again, her nervousness around him palpable. He surprises himself with what he says next. “Would you ... would you join me?” She blinks, obviously caught off guard. She looks so sweet right then, with her eyes that seem to go on forever and her lips parted a little in surprise.

“I-I-I c-can’t. I’m working.”

“Oh, sure, and I can see you are very busy right now,” he says dryly, with a quirk of his scarred brow. There’s amusement in his eyes and she wonders if he’s making fun of her. But she can detect no malice in his sparkling eyes.

“No, I guess we aren’t,” she concedes with a little laugh. She can hear Greg moving around in the kitchen, it’s so quiet.

“Food’s up!” Greg calls, sliding the plate up to the warming area. She’s sure he’s headed back to the office to finish watching his show.

“I’ll get your food.” The man nods, his eyes dropping back to the envelope as she moves away. Once behind the counter, she puts the coffee carafe back on the burner and reaches for his plate. Then, without asking herself why, she pauses to pour herself a cup of coffee and returns to the table. “Do you still want me to...” she places the plate in front of him, and stands, holding her coffee, until he waves her into the seat across from him.

“Yes, please.” She likes listening to him talk. His voice is rich and smooth and seems almost sensual without actually meaning to be. She settles across from him and reaches for the sugar dispenser just as he’s reaching for the salt. Their fingers brush, and Rachael jerks from the electric current that sings up her arm from the contact. She steals a glance at him to see if he felt it, too, but he’s not looking at her. He’s seasoning his food and looking like nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Calling herself stupid, and reminding herself that she left behind foolish, romantic notions a long time ago, she reaches for the sugar once more. “So, what’s a young girl like you doing toiling your time away in a diner on Christmas Eve? Shouldn’t you be out with your boyfriend or something? Going to parties?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she says quietly, stirring the sweetener in her coffee. He’s surprised at this. A pretty thing like her should have two or three boyfriends begging for her attention.

“Are the men in this town blind?” he hears himself say, as he stabs a piece of meatloaf and brings it to his lips. She gives a nervous laugh at that and shakes her head.

“No. Just not interested.”

“Oh, so they’re stupid then?” She blushes, and he can’t help but think it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. Very different from Julianne, he thinks again.

“I-I started working here to pay off student loans.”

“What are you studying?”

“Nothing. I don’t go anymore.” It’s a touchy subject, he can tell by the way she’s toying with her spoon in her coffee. It’s none of his business. All he had wanted was a little company to get his mind off of what was in the envelope. He didn’t want to play shrink to a twenty-something college drop out. But, then again, the sadness that clouds her face has him asking,

“Why?” Her eyes dart to his, surprise that he would care evident in their gray-blue depths. They are quite lovely eyes, he realizes, looking into them. Multi-faceted and deep like the ocean. And, in them, he can see an inborn kindness and basic innocence that seems to be long gone from most of the people on the planet. He wants to get lost in them, to have some of that rub off on him, so he can remember what it feels like to be human again. To be cleansed.

But, of course, that’s silly. So, he shrugs it off and just looks at her with cool interest and continues to eat. He doesn’t really taste the food. Just mechanically cuts and eats, chewing instinctively. If he thinks about it, he’d realize that he hasn’t really enjoyed anything, not even a simple meal, in almost a year. But he doesn’t think about it.

“Family,” she answers simply, still stirring that spoon around in her cup, the metal tapping the sides with little clinks. She’s used to answering this question. Her customers often ask why she’s here, in this place, when she should be out somewhere, having a life. She’s settled on this answer a long time ago. It's close enough to the truth that it’s not a lie, but vague enough not to tell them anything too personal. She glances up at him to see that eyebrow raised high again, and instinctively knows he’s not the type to let that cryptic statement suffice.

“Family? I can understand that, I suppose. There’s no way in hell I’d be an antiques dealer otherwise.” She’s a little surprised that he didn’t pursue her past further, but she’s relieved.

“Antiques? You sell old furniture?” She blushes at his chuckle, thinking she’d made herself sound stupid again. She asks herself once more why did she sit down with him?

“Yeah, basically. Though my father’s boxers would probably twist if he heard me talkin’ about it like that.”

“Oh,” is all she says. She finally stops stirring her coffee and lifts it to take a sip. “Do you like selling antiques?” He stops eating and a quizzical look passes over his sharp features. She wonders if she’s said something wrong. Then, he starts to laugh--a real, full laugh. She’s stares at him, wide eyed, wondering if Greg had put some of his ‘special herbs’ in the food again.

“You know,” he says, after he’s calmed down. “I think you’re the first person who has ever asked me that.”

“Really?” She can’t imagine that. Her mother, rest her soul, always asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up. There was never any pressure to be one thing or the other. She could have the world if she so desired, at least as far as mama was concerned.

“Yes, really. It was always ‘expected’ for me to go into the family business.” He sneers when he says this, the expression lifting his lip in ways that Elvis could only have dreamed of. “But then, family has a way of making you do things you don’t really want to,” he finishes, dropping his utensils on his now empty plate.

“Yeah, I guess they do.” She takes a sip of her coffee as he reaches for his. He looks up at her, caught by the wistful sound of her voice. He’s surprised to see the longing in her eyes as she stares unseeing at the envelope on the table. He somehow doubts it’s the chipped Formica that it was lying on that she wants so badly.

“You all right?” he asks, jarring her from her thoughts. Another blush creeps over her skin, the pink somehow making the smokiness of her eyes more vivid. She’s really quite lovely, he thinks, then he feels something inside of him stir. Something he thought long dead.

“Y-y-yes, I-I’m fine.” She sets her cup back down too quickly. As soon as her fingers release it, it tips over onto its side, spilling the dark brew across the table in a small river. It slides silkily across the table, heading straight for the envelope. “Oh, no!” she cries, as they both scramble into action. Ty snatches the envelope out of harm’s way and throws it onto the bench next to him, then grabs a handful of napkins to help her staunch the flow. “I-I-I’m s-sorry,” she stammers, soaking up as much as she can with her own handful of napkins.

“It’s all right. Was an accident,” he soothes.

“I’m so stupid! Just a clumsy cow.” Ty’s eyes shoot up to her as this flows out of her mouth. His eyes are wide with surprise that she would say something like that. But, once his gaze settles on her, he realizes that it’s not really her talking. The way her mouth was working with no sound coming out other than tiny whimpers and the glazed, panicked look in her eyes told him that she was repeating something someone had said to her. A lot.

An irrational rage on her behalf sprang up in him, making his eyes flash and his jaw clench so tight it almost popped under the stress. He wants to kill whoever said that to her, made her feel as if a tiny, inconsequential accident was enough to hate herself for. By the time he felt calm enough to speak again, to tell her ... what, he didn’t know ... she was already fleeing from the table, the cup, his plate and the sodden napkins clutched close to her chest.

“I-I-I’ll g-g-get y-your check,” she tells him, not looking back at him.

“Hey!” he says, as she disappears around the counter, her entrance into the kitchen blocked from view by the sad-looking Christmas tree situated on the end. He stares at the top edge of the kitchen doors as they swing in and back out, indicating that she was gone. He has no choice but to stand, staring at the tree as it blinks merrily with reds, greens and blues. Shit.

* * * *

Stupid, stupid, stupid, her mind chants, the voice that is echoing in her head sounding suspiciously like her father. Cold, emotionless, full of contempt. The dishes in her hand slide into the sink as she leans against it, the sound of her heart throbbing in her ears so loud that she doesn’t know whether or not they broke when they landed.

Deep breaths, count to ten. He can’t hurt you anymore, she reminds herself, the image of Frank Morton rising up in her head like a phoenix from the flame. An average, unassuming-looking man, he had been proud as a peacock when her brother Carl had been born. But then she had arrived, a girl, utterly useless in Frank’s eyes, except to pick up the slack when mama had gotten sick. And to use as a whipping girl whenever his mood had turned sour. She squeezes her eyes shut against the thoughts, closing them so tight that the lights behind her lids swirl in crazy patterns, making her dizzy. But it swipes the picture of her father away, clearing it from her mind so she can breathe again.

“Rachael?” Greg came out of the office, his eyes narrowed as he looks at her shaking shoulders. He wonders if she’s having some sort of fit and feels mildly annoyed that he has to deal with this. They don’t pay him enough for it.

She jerks when she hears his voice, embarrassment that Greg is seeing her like this flaring bright in her chest. If there was ever a person not to show weakness to, it was him. And that was just because he would use it against you later to get something he wanted. Jerk, she thinks as she breathes deep to calm her racing heart.

“I’m fine,” she tells him, managing to keep the tremor out of her voice by sheer will. Deep breaths, deep breaths.

“Yeah, sure.” Greg rolls his eyes, and starts to go back into the office. He pauses just inside the room and looks back over to her. “Can we close soon? Don’t know about you, but I have a life.” Rachael lets out a bitter laugh and casts a glance in his direction. She feels a bit calmer now, steadier.

Yeah, sure you do, Greg. And I’m Miss USA, she thinks nastily.

“Start to clean up. I’ll cash him out, then we can leave.” She’s always amazed at how confident she sounds when talking to Greg. She wishes it could spill over into other aspects of her life. Greg goes back into the office, muttering something under his breath. She’s sure it’s nothing pleasant, but doesn’t really care. As long as he does what he’s told, that’s all that matters to her. She glances down into the sink and is mildly surprised that nothing has broken. Thank God for small favors, she thinks before turning away from it.

Her heart tries to speed up again as she walks over to the doors leading back to the dining room. She has humiliated herself in front of a customer, and she wishes that she could just blink her eyes and take it all away. But that sort of stuff only happens on TV, so there was no rescue from embarrassment for her. With a deep, bolstering breath, she straightens her apron and walks through the doors...

...to find an empty dining room.

“Oh, no,” she gasps, as she rounds the counter to see that her dark-haired antiques dealer is gone. Maybe he just went to the bathroom, logic tells her. Unfortunately, logic didn’t account for people who skipped out on their check. That sick feeling settles even further in her stomach when she reaches the table to find the raincoat gone, as well as the envelope. There’s no doubt in her mind he’s gone, and a deep sense of disappointment washes over her. Telling herself it’s because she now has to pay for his meal, she shrugs it off and starts wiping down the table. Colorful curses, the kind that she would never say out loud, strung through her mind like Christmas lights. They came to a dead halt when she moved the metal rack holding the salt, pepper and menus. There, tucked between that and the napkin dispenser, was a carefully folded napkin, with just the hint of green sticking out of the top.

Feeling extremely foolish for thinking him a crook, she reaches out and plucks it up, smiling at the sloping ‘Merry Christmas’ written across the front. Her heart skips in her chest as her eyes landed on the two crisp fifty-dollar bills staring up at her.

Her eyes immediately jump to the door, as if she expected him to be standing there, watching. Of course, he wasn’t, having decided to leave his gift and not remain present for her to try to give it back. Her eyes drop to the money again, her brows knitted together in confusion. His bill would have come to barely six dollars. This was a ninety-four dollar tip. Why?

With little choice other than to either give it to Greg, or keep it for herself, she tucks one fifty into the pocket of her apron and takes the other around the counter to the register to ring out his ticket. Then, with $93.21 weighing down her apron, she walks over to the door and locks it, her eyes searching down the empty street for her benefactor. She has no idea why he felt he needed to give her that money. But, she sends a silent thank you out to him before turning away to go turn off the Open sign.

* * * *

“Want me to walk you home?” Greg asks twenty minutes later, as she locks the door for the night. She pockets her keys and turns to look at him. She knows that he’s not really interested in walking her home. The way he’s dancing on the balls of his feet, his eyes darting down the opposite direction of the street tells her this. And really, Greg is the last person she wants to be with right now, so she shakes her head no and waves him on.

“No, thanks. Merry...” she starts as Greg practically bolts away. “...Christmas,” she finishes, the word barely a whisper. She watches him trot down the sidewalk for a second, then draws her jacket a little tighter around her before starting off in the other direction.

As she walks, she takes in the shiny tinsel bells and stockings that hang merrily from the lampposts, their golds, reds and greens glinting in the soft light. Silver snowflakes hang from store awnings, spinning in the breeze. It’s the closest they’ll get to a white Christmas this year. Not that she really minds, though. Snow reminds her of home, of listening to her father fit and rage over the piles of white stuff that accumulated each year. And each year, she would be the one outside shoveling it. Carl couldn’t be bothered with such a menial task. He was too busy basking in his place as male heir. Of course, what exactly he was supposed to inherit, Rachael was never sure. A broken-down farm that saw more hard times than good? Wasn’t much to be happy about as far as she was concerned.

If it weren’t for her mother, she would have probably still been back there in that town, waiting on her father and the heir apparent. But, mama had put her foot down this one time and Rachael had been able to go to college. Her grades had earned her a partial scholarship to anywhere she wanted to go. So, off to Maryland she had gone. It was as far away from her father as she could get. And here she stayed, even though her college days were long over.

Pushing all thoughts of unhappier times away, Rachael stops in front of the giant tree lighting up the front of an outdoor mall. Her apartment is just a block over, which gives her the excuse to stop here on her way home. It’s huge, seeming to stretch forever up to the sky. It’s lit even now, the lights and colors draping its rich, green branches like a beacon in the night.

Merry Christmas, Mama, she says to herself, sending a little smile up to the heavens. Her heart aches a little as she thinks of the woman she lost just this year. It still hurts, to think that her mama isn’t there to talk to anymore. Like tonight. Rachael could have gone home, picked up the phone and called her mother, to tell her all about the handsome stranger who had left her the huge tip. They could have giggled and laughed like schoolgirls, as they tried to decipher just why he would have done it.

But, unfortunately, that wasn’t to be anymore. Rachael is left to ponder this by herself. And it saddens her even more on this night that’s supposed to be joyous.

With a sigh and one last glance at the massive tree, she starts walking again. In an effort to lift her mood, she thinks about the man. She had made a massive fool out of herself, she knew. But still, he had left her that gift. And, really, it was a gift. No one tipped like that. Ever. The most she had ever gotten was ten dollars. And she’s still convinced that was because the woman had been in such a hurry she didn’t notice she had grabbed a ten instead of a one.

She wonders about him. Wonders what might have happened had she not made such a supreme ass of herself and if he hadn’t had that sad, haunted look in his eyes. It would have been nice if she’d been able to relax with him. To laugh and flirt and act like the girls she used to envy back in school. The ones who made talking to a man look as easy as getting dressed. Or undressed, as the case may be.

Who knows, she thinks as she walks up to the door of her ground floor apartment. If she had been able to be that type of girl, maybe she would have gotten more in her Christmas stocking than wishes and dreams and a whole pile of ‘what ifs.’

“Oh, well. Looks like we’re celebrating Christmas alone this year, Chessy,” she says as she walks inside, swinging the door shut behind her. The cat in question looks up from her perch on the couch, blinks once, then lays her head back down. “Hello to you, too,” Rachael says with a laugh. She shrugs out of her jacket and hangs it on the hook by the door. She kicks off her shoes as well, and leaves them next to the door before starting towards her bedroom. It’s dark, but she doesn’t feel much of a need for light. Her apartment’s not that big, for one. For two, she’s been living here for three years, since she moved out of the dorms. If she didn’t know her way around the small space by now, she never would.

She strips out of her uniform when she gets into her bedroom, finally turning on the small lamp on her nightstand. The room is small, barely big enough for the double bed, dresser and nightstand she has in there. But she still has room enough to move. The bed is simple, with a bookshelf headboard that she rescued from a yard sale about the same time she moved in. A patchwork quilt that had belonged to her mother was draped across it, the soft blues, yellows and pinks soothing. The dresser and nightstand were simple, stock pieces that could be found anywhere. She prettied them up with some seashell stencils and colorful scarves across the top.

After emptying the pockets, she drops her uniform in the laundry basket sitting by the bedroom door and sifts through the dresser for her comfy clothes. She carries a pair of pink and blue flannel pj bottoms, a pair of plain white panties and a big, oversize T-shirt into the bathroom. She quickly showers off the day, taking her time washing her hair. The smell of strawberries and honey surrounds her, relaxing her.

She remembers the man again--the heat of his amazingly blue eyes, the sensuality of his smile. She imagines that he would smell like tobacco and maybe something spicy. Her mind takes it to another level, and suggests what he might taste like. Wild and fierce and overwhelming. She’s not sure why she thinks this, but looking back, he seemed to have passion just singing along under his skin, almost desperate to break out.

With a deep, satisfied sigh, she tilts her head back and lets the shampoo run from her hair. The warm water coasts over her, tantalizing her nerves and invoking thoughts of gentle fingers caressing her skin. A soft moan escapes her lips as she imagines whose fingers they are. A soft throb has started at the apex of her thighs, sending out little tremors over her body. Without thought, her hands slide over her skin, taking away the stress of the evening and fueling the fantasy playing out in her mind.

She imagines running her hands through jet black curls and over sharp cheeks and jaw. As her fingers close around a stiff nipple, she pretends that they are full, soft lips and gentle teeth teasing the bud. Her other hand has slid down her stomach, following the path of the water to her center. It doesn’t take long for her fingers to find and tease the sensitive bundle of nerves there.

It doesn’t really take long for her orgasm to slide over her. “Tyler,” she gasps, as her knees tremble and her body throbs. She leans back against the white tile of the shower stall and relaxes into the climax, sighing as it takes away all her tension. A little giggle escapes her lips as her nerves stop twitching and relaxation starts to seep into her bones.

“Thanks for the tip and the great orgasm,” she says, laughing again. She quickly rinses off, then steps out, drying and dressing just as quickly. Her hair is wrapped in a thick, peach-colored towel as she walks back into the living room, plans to make popcorn and to watch It’s a Wonderful Life prominent in her mind. She almost trips over her own feet, however, when a knock sounds on the door. She eyes said door suspiciously for a few seconds, a thread of fear working its way through her short-lived ease.

“Who on Earth is that?” she asks the cat, who seems like it could care less who’s outside their door at midnight on Christmas Eve. “Somehow I doubt it’s Santa Claus,” Another knock, and she finally starts forward, her steps slow. She makes sure the chain is on before opening it, and when she does, she’s sure her eyes are as wide as saucers with shock. “You!”

“Hello, gorgeous.”