The streets of Manhattan were littered with people of all different shapes and sizes, many were wearing the craziest of colors; some were even acting a bit crazy. Then again it was difficult to tell who was talking into a tiny Bluetooth headset and who was simply talking to themselves. Betty Suarez quickly realized she was the latter, talking aloud while briskly brushing past the citizens of her crowded city, mentally checking off items on her "to-do list" one by one.

She had finished her assignment for Y.E.T.I., as proven by the manila envelope that contained her proposal tucked neatly inside her oversized denim patchwork bag. She had also finished her treatment, a small, nearly insignificant article on a new hot vintage couture shop in So-ho that she had reviewed. Betty was sure the piece would never see the pages of Mode, but she was grateful Daniel Meade kept passing assignments her way. A part of her wondered if he did so to ensure she would not get bored with her job and leave him, but secretly Betty knew she could never do that. At least not for anything less than perfect and a really, really big raise.

The thought made Betty smile as she stopped by the bagel vendor outside the offices of Meade Publications and picked up a lightly toasted, onion bagel with a "dollop" of cream cheese for her very particular boss.

The elevators leading up to the Mode floor of the large building were nearly as crowded as the streets below. Betty felt her small frame smash to the back of the car, which was nothing unusual, and she sucked in her breath to tuck her tummy in and refrain from inhaling more designer knock-off perfume. Even after three years as Daniel Meade's assistant, it still amazed Betty the lengths to which some of the women around her went to get noticed. She wore hand-me-downs and her mother's old blouses, kept her unruly, thick hair wild and free, and never shied away from flashing her bright, brace clad smile and Daniel still noticed her. Sometimes perfume and short skirts and cleavage were not all they claimed to be.

Just as Betty released her hold on her breath the elevator doors opened and she burst through the cluster of people, finding herself face to face with Amanda. She was clad in a short navy blue skirt with a matching cleavage baring top. Betty inhaled as she past, wondering what perfume Amanda wore, but decided against giving her nose another assault and quickly turned away.

"Good morning Amanda," Betty called over her shoulder as she rushed to her own desk.

"Says who?" Amanda called back. Obviously someone was not having such a great day, and it was only 9:00am.

Usually Betty was in the office before nine, sitting at her desk before Daniel was even in the building, but the dual writing assignments had left her sleep deprived and she had missed her alarm. That sent off a chain of events, namely Betty missing the bus, then the subway, and enabling her to beat most of the foot traffic that had really caused her delay. Out of breath and sweating a little behind her bangs, Betty tossed her bag onto her chair and rushed into Daniel's office, bagel in hand.

"Good morning Daniel," Betty said cheerfully, her smile strained behind her heavy breathing.

"Calm down Betty," Daniel told her. "You've only been late…." His voice trailed off as he tried to recall the last time his assistant had been late. Perhaps she hadn't. He was right to let this time slide.

"Twice," Betty told him. "I've only been late twice. Well, then now. So three times. Only three times."

Daniel smiled. She was just so honest. Too honest.

"Only three times?" Daniel asked mockingly. "I guess I don't have to fire you then."

Betty ignored his joke, although she did appreciate how he trusted her, how he treated her like more than an assistant. "You have a meeting a ten, circulation department wants to run over some points about the lack of distribution in the outer burrows. Then there's a creative consulting meeting with Wilhelmina and you need to pick the cover by the end of business today. The final shots are in the file on your desk. You have to narrow it down."

As Daniel casually opened the file and began to look at the photos of the beautiful blond model who would be gracing Mode's next cover, he asked, "And?"

"And what?" Betty replied putting the bagel down before him. "Your coffee?"

"No Betty. The article. Did you do it?"

"Of course! It's in my bag. Let me get it."

As she turned on her heels and hurried out of the office Betty could hear Daniel call, "And I will take that coffee!"

Pacing the space between her desk and the glass partition behind it Betty constantly glanced toward Daniel's office, watching him read her piece again and again. He had to be. The article was not that long. What was he looking for, she wondered. What could he possibly be thinking?

This was not the first time she had worn the treads of her shoes down in that very spot. Daniel had read her work before, he knew her writing style, yet he still wanted more. And he still told her he could not print it. It was exhilarating to get the job, the opportunity from someone like Daniel Meade, even if he was her friend. Yet, it was also heartbreaking when he told her "no". Sometimes Betty thought she would never get used to the rejection, but she knew she had to if she wanted to survive beyond being an assistant.

Over the years her relationship with Daniel had grown from a professional one to one of friendship and trust and respect. It was no longer one sided. Together they made a unit, they were the core of each other's lives, they were an almost unstoppable team. How could she be his assistant forever?

Daniel's waving arm shook Betty out of her thoughts and sent her hurrying back into his office.

"It's good," Daniel blurted out. "Really, really good."

"The topic was different, more…."

"You," Daniel finished the thought for her. "Vintage clothes, vintage style, that's definitely more you."

Betty smiled sheepishly as Daniel looked her up and down, visually taking in her brown and orange floral pattern dress.

"Can you make it longer?"

Betty looked down at her dress, wondering if it was too short.

"The article?" Daniel reiterated. "Can you make the article longer?"

"Um, yeah. Yes. I think so."

"Good," Daniel said as he handed it back to her. "I need about four hundred more words."

Betty looked confused as she reached over his desk to take back her piece. What was happening? Did he actually like it? Was it Mode-worthy?

"I need it by 4:00pm," Daniel told her as he got up and buttoned his dark blazer.

Betty only nodded and watched him walk toward his office door in search of a circulation meeting.

"Betty?"

"Yeah?" she asked, her eyes wide, her face pale.

"I'm running it," he told her before striding out.

All Betty could do was squeal.

By four she had finished the article, in fact she had it done by noon, but held off on giving it to Daniel. She was afraid it would appear too eager. He read it, approved it, and just like that it was sent to be edited, then placed within the graphic design department, photos and gloss were added, and then it was slipped inside The Book. Betty could barely contain her excitement. The thing hadn't even been published yet and she was already seeing stars.

The Book was the Holy Grail and she was Indian Jones, or an adorable girl from Queens version. She had just provided the ending the audience was dying to see.

"Big plans tonight?" Daniel asked as Betty and he made their way to the elevator bank.

"Christina and I are going to celebrate," Betty said proudly. "It'll be nice to have something good to talk about for once. It'll be nice to drink for fun and not for…well and not for the sake of getting drunk."

"That does sound nice," Daniel told her. "Have one for me ok?"

"Sure thing," she responded as her cell phone began vibrating inside her bag.

The elevator took them down as Betty read a text message from Christina. After flipping her phone closed she sighed heavily.

"What?"

"No drinks. She's not feeling well and already went home," Betty said sadly.

"We could…." Daniel began, but stopped himself.

Betty placed her bag on the ground and slung her coat over her frame. She buttoned and zipped and clasped until she was snuggly inside the fabric.

"You know winter's almost over right?"

"You forget, I don't live in the city anymore. The way back to Queens is long and cold and potentially dangerous," Betty said, her voice high and happy. "This way I'm warm and safe."

"Ah, I see. A bullet proof vest made of polyester and batting," he joked.

"Laugh all you want, but this coat was my mother's and it saved her from a mugging once," Betty explained.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I guess the guy couldn't find her pockets in all this fabric and eventually gave up."

They both chuckled as the doors slid open and revealed the lobby to them.

"You should go out anyway," Daniel told her as they reached the front of the building. "I mean, you should celebrate no matter what. You deserve it."

"Maybe I'll rent Working Girl and get some Ben and Jerry's."

"That's not celebrating. That's depressing."

Daniel took hold of the fabric of her coat pulling her close to him, as if controlling Betty on a leash. "Come on. I'm taking you out on the town."

"Really? Where?"

Daniel stopped and turned to look at her one more time before responding, "Nowhere where there may be cameramen. Or sketch artists."

"Funny," she said back. "For someone who wears neon pink ties you sure do have a lot to say about my fashion choices."

Daniel laughed again. As he felt his face muscles twitch in joy and excitement he realized just how much laughing and smiling he did when Betty was around. She was good for him, but not for the eventual wrinkles on his forehead. Daniel shook the thought away. Betty Suarez was worth permanent laugh-lines.

After three banana daiquiris and four scotches Betty and Daniel found themselves laughing and smiling a lot. They were hold up in a corner booth of some small, smelly, dark New York City dive bar, the kind of bar no one would dare take pictures of. Still, that's not why Daniel had chosen it. The cold had prompted them to rush inside any bar, anywhere, and they stayed at the first one.

It was dingy and while it looked damp the warmth caused by countless bodies pressed against one another in alcohol-induced hazes made the bar feel as homey as a ski loge on Christmas Eve. In fact, Daniel thought most things would feel warm, perhaps even like home, if Betty was there with him.

Daniel's blazer was crumpled on the seat next to him, his tie undone, the first two buttons of his shirt open. Betty's hair was even more unkempt as if drinking somehow made tangles magically appear. Yet neither of them cared about their appearances. In fact, somehow they each looked better, more relaxed, more at ease, more themselves.

"This place is great!" Betty yelled, despite the fact that Daniel was sitting only three feet away. The music was loud, but somehow Betty seemed louder. "I mean it. So great!"

As the waitress came by to give them each another drink she rolled her eyes at Betty's outburst, yet cast her sights on Daniel. Her shirt was barely buttoned and Daniel couldn't help but notice. He always noticed and Betty always knew when he was looking the other way.

Once the waitress had left Betty shouted, "Subtle Daniel! Why don't you just sign your number to them?!"

Daniel was feeling the effects of the alcohol himself, but he had a longer track record of drinking himself stupid and therefore a higher tolerance. So even though he was one drink ahead of Betty he felt five behind.

"Betty, keep it down a little," he told her.

"You know, you know, you…you always do that. You know?"

"What are you talking about?"

"With women. You always look," Betty said tossing the straw from her daiquiri aside and taking a full gulp of the beverage.

Daniel put his hand up to stop her, but it was too late. Nearly half of it was gone.

"What's wrong with looking?" Daniel asked. "It's better than always touching right? I think you taught me that."

"No! No! No!" she shook her head wildly. "I taught you to…to…what did I teach you?"

"To be better," Daniel said slowly, silently. "You Betty, you taught me to be better than I was."

His eyes bore into hers with an intensity Daniel never knew he was capable of. He had been honest with her so many times before, honest about why they were such good friends, or more accurately, why she was such a good friend to him. Yet, this time it seemed different. Maybe because they were celebrating her achievements, her goals met because of his help. Or maybe it was because she was drunk. He had always found it easiest to talk to women when one or both of them was a little light headed, a little worse for wear.

"What are we doing here again?" she asked swallowing the last bit of her drink and impulsively raising her hand for another.

As the waitress looked over Daniel shook his head from side to side to signal her to stop. Betty had had enough.

"You are about to be a published writer," Daniel reminded her.

"Yes! Yes I am," she said joyously. The waitress returned, having not understood Daniel's head bobs or secretly wanting another chance to flirt with him and gave Betty yet another drink. "I am the newest – hiccup – writer at Mode magazine," Betty told her. She then began to climb onto her seat, getting into a squatting position, seemingly uncomfortable and shouted "I write for Mode!"

"She's usually very professional," Daniel assured the waitress before tugging on Betty's dress. She slammed down onto the seat and giggled. "Very, very professional." Then she reached for her drink, but Daniel promptly pulled it away.

"I think you're done," he told her.

Daniel helped Betty squeeze herself into her old, puffy coat and then placed several bills on the table to cover their tab. As he walked from the bar he slipped the waitress his card and winked. Sometimes it was just that easy.

"Thank you Daniel," Betty said once they finally found themselves trying to hail down a cab.

"You'd do it for me," he replied. "In fact you have."

"No, no. Thank you for taking a chance on me." The cold, night air was piercing the pores left exposed on her face. Shivers suddenly overtook some of the alcohol and Betty began to stand taller, prouder. She began to see Daniel for what he was and it made her smile.

"You always do the right thing, the noble thing. You always look out for everyone. I just wanted to do the same for you. I wanted to take care of you for once," he said, his back to her while he scanned the street for a ride.

The words began to sink in and Betty wondered what he meant. Did he give her the job, the assignment, because he believed in her talent or because he liked the way it felt to do something nice for her? Was she really a good writer, deserving of an article in Mode or was she just a friend who was receiving a really big perk?

"I'm not sure I understand," she said.

"I just wanted to do something nice."

"So you let me write an article for a national magazine?"

Daniel turned back to look at her as cabs rolled on past them. He was unsure why the inflection in her voice had changed. He suspected it was not because of the banana daiquiris.

"Well, I…"

"Daniel, writing for Mode, for anyone, is a big deal for me. I wanted to do it on my own."

"There's no shame in letting people help you. Look at me Betty. Would I be Editor-in-Chief if I hadn't been the boss's son?"

"Well that's you! I'm not you!" Betty found herself shouting. She wasn't sure why she was getting so upset. He had just given her career a boost and he had done it with kindness and warmth. Still, somehow the honor didn't feel just right.

"I don't get you Betty. One minute you're happy and laughing and grateful and the next…"

"I'm realizing what this really is," she said sadly.

Before Daniel could stop her Betty was walking down the street toward a subway entrance. For a moment he wondered if he should follow, but Daniel thought it best to let her cool down.

He had to admit to himself that there existed a certain amount of selfishness in his actions. He did like doing nice things for Betty, partly because she deserved the best, but partly because he loved the way she looked at him afterwards. Sometimes the pep talks and lectures and looks of sadness and disappointment were too much, even if they were all well deserved. Sometimes Daniel wanted her to grin wide and jump into his arms. Sometimes he needed to feel like the hero. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure which time this had been. He knew Betty was a terrific writer and the piece was better suited to her style. But had he done it all to see that look, to see those braces sparkle in the light? Had he done it all to hear her say "thank you"?

Daniel turned back to the street and held his hand out once again trying in vain to get a ride back uptown. He was tired of thinking, the scotch made it harder than it needed to be.

"You were gonna let me go?" he heard Betty say from behind him.

Daniel faced her and shot her a mischievous smirk.

"Word of advice Daniel, when a girl is upset you're supposed to console her, tell her you're sorry."

"When have I not done that?" Daniel asked.

"Mmmm now!"

"Ok, before now?"

Betty sighed. "Never, I guess."

"So what makes you think I wouldn't now? I was just letting you walk off all the crazy."

Betty couldn't help but nod in agreement. She was being crazy, as crazy as talking to herself on the street. Perhaps even more so. Daniel was doing a great thing for her, like the countless great things he had done.

"But Betty, there may be a bit of truth to what you're thinking. I mean…."

Betty cut him off. "No. You were right. You are right," she said. "You're ….." Betty paused as her stomach flipped, a look of pain and disgust on her face.

"What?" Daniel asked, instantly concerned.

"Sorry, I think I threw up in my mouth a bit."

Nothing ends a conversation like that, Daniel thought.

"Maybe I should get you home."

As Daniel tucked her and her giant coat in a cab, pushing himself in beside her Betty felt her head rest on his shoulder.

"Thank you Daniel," she said again, before drifting off to sleep.

Sunlight poured into the window and bathed Betty in a warm, orange glow casting highlights across her dark hair. As she awoke from sleep, Betty couldn't help but snort slightly, the remnants of her night of deep snoring. Rubbing her eyes and stretching long and wide, she yawned and then looked up watching the early morning shadows dance on the ceiling. Sitting up slowly, holding her head as it throbbed in pain, Betty scanned the room to ensure it was hers. It was.

The night before was nearly almost all a blur. She could vaguely remember bananas and music and puffiness and yelling. A lot of yelling. She knew instinctively that the yelling had come from her. She had been mad at Daniel, but for no reason she could remember in the light of day. There was never a really good reason to stay mad at Daniel Meade.

Betty felt sleep take her over again and wondered if it was alright to call in sick. She had only been late three times. What was one sick day? Who could fault her for that?

As Betty reached down to the floor, rummaging about her discarded clothes for her bag and her cell phone she suddenly realized it was a Saturday. No work. The thought made her smile wide, but that only increased the pressure in her head and in turn caused her to wince momentarily in pain. How was it that alcohol made her feel so good while drinking it, but so bad the morning after?

Leaning back up, gently trying to find a new position on the bed that gave her the comfort she so desperately desired Betty's watch caught on an article of clothing from the floor. She reached for it and tried to pry it loose, realizing it was a pair of pants. A pair of pants she did not own. Examining the fabric Betty quickly understood whom it belonged to.

"Daniel?" she called.

At the sound of her voice the blankets next to her began to move and a soft moan could be heard from underneath.

"You sure do snore a lot," she heard him.

Betty knew she might have to miss a few days of work after word of this got out.