The taxi cab took a corner on two wheels and Hayge cursed as she was flung against the side door. "Okay, Casey. Remind me - what is this thing we're going to?"

Casey rolled his eyes. "Do we really have to go through this again? Look, I told you I had to work this one night, just this one night while you were here," he said with some exasperation. "I also told you that you didn't have to come with me."

"Hey," Hayge protested. "It's not that I don't want to go. I'm a good friend, I'm interested in your career and stuff." She braced herself against the door as the cab driver took another corner. "What is it you do again?" she asked, and grinned when Casey elbowed her.

"Honestly, Hayge, if you're not going to be able to behave yourself, I'd rather you not be there," Casey said, but he was smiling.

"Behave? What do you mean, behave?" Hayge asked with mock indignation.

"No, I'm serious. This is my job, and these are people I work for, and I'm trusting you here. No insulting my co-workers, no flirting with my associates, no telling stories about what a dork I was at Harvard." Casey's voice was stern.

Hayge smiled as she watched the city fly by her window, letting her eyes linger on the clean, wide sidewalks, the well-dressed people strolling past the windows. "If they knew what a dork you were, there's no way you'd get invited to a posh, high-class party in New York City."

"It's not that posh," Casey answered absently, and Hayge's eyebrows went up.

"This looks pretty posh to me," she muttered as Central Park came into view. Even in the dark this part of the park and the surrounding buildings looked beautiful. "Like I said, I can't believe a dork like you knows someone who lives in a place like this."

"I'm not a dork. And I don't know him," Casey said with some alarm. "I mean, I know of him, everyone knows of him, but I've never met him. I don't think my boss has even met him. Maybe not even his boss." Casey shifted and Hayge realized he was nervous. "Remember, I told you that the firm I work for is sponsoring that opera fund raiser, and Mr. Salling is hosting this cocktail party, I guess, to thank the firm, and yeah." Hayge watched in growing amusement as Casey brushed at the front of his coat and reached up to his throat to check the knot in his tie. "I would rather not go either," he confessed. "But my boss seemed to think that he was doing me this huge favor including me in the invitation, and I couldn't say no." Now he sounded apologetic. "And I'm sorry. I know a night of watching me do some corporate ass-kissing isn't the way you wanted to spend your vacation."

"It's not a problem," Hayge said breezily. "And it's not really a vacation. I mean, I had to job hunt and get an apartment and stuff."

Casey grinned at her. "I still can't believe you got that job. On the first interview."

Hayge smiled with a completely false modesty. "Oh, I was just lucky," she said, and grinned when Casey laughed.

"Yeah right. Well, we should celebrate tomorrow night, for sure. Go out and do it right."

Hayge nodded. "Yeah, and you know what? I want to go to that club. That one you told me about."

Casey raised his eyebrows. "Oh, that club?" he said, and glanced slyly at Hayge. "Sure. We could do that. I'd imagine that even a dark-haired Amish virgin like you could get some action there." He leaned away as Hayge threw a half-hearted punch.

"Watch it," Hayge threatened. "Be nice to me, or I'll tell your boss about that time you ran naked through the park by Emerson Hall . . ." She trailed off as they pulled up to the front of a gorgeous high rise with a team of real, uniformed doorman. Her smile dropped away. "Well," she continued quietly. "I guess we're going to get a look at how the other half lives, right? Like reverse slumming."

Casey snorted as the door opened and he slid out of the cab behind Hayge. "Yeah, right." He bumped into Hayge as he stood on the curb and they both froze. "Jesus," Casey murmured, and Hayge nodded in silent agreement as they took in the high, well-lit overhang, the spotless marble sidewalks. Another doorman held open the heavy beveled glass door and ushered them into a lobby that looked more like a five-star hotel than an apartment building.

"Damn," Hayge murmured in appreciation as Casey produced his invitation for inspection. "How did you say you know this guy again?" Casey rounded on her and she held up her hands. "Kidding, kidding," she said, and smiled as Casey shook his head.

"I'm wishing I'd just told the boss I had plans tonight," Casey muttered as they were shown toward the gleaming bank of elevators.

"It's kind of intimidating," Hayge murmured back, making an effort to keep her jaw from gaping. The uniformed attendant informed the elevator operator that they were going to the Salling penthouse and they were shown to a separate elevator. They watched in silence as the attendant keyed in a security code and the doors parted silently. For a moment Hayge feared they were going to have to ride up with this strange, uniformed man, and she wondered wildly if they were supposed to give him a tip for letting them in his elevator.

But the man stepped aside without looking either of them in the eye, and they both relaxed as the doors closed behind them and left them alone in the large mirrored elevator. "Just think, a few more years of ninety-hour work weeks in your finance firm, and you'll be the one with your own apartment - uh,penthouse - right here in this building." Hayge grinned as Casey laughed and shook his head.

"Seriously," Casey whispered back. "I don't know if I'd want to live in a place where the elevator attendants are this snooty."

There were no numbers in this elevator but they seemed to climb forever. Hayge couldn't tell when the elevator began to slow; their only warning was a low, subtle chime before the doors slid silently open.

Hayge's first impression was of spacious and cool elegance - the elevator opened directly into a large and high-ceilinged private foyer. Mahogany panelling gleamed with discreet touches of polished brass, the marble floor shined with polish, and glancing up Hayge saw the high ceiling was actually a large, domed skylight. It must be stunning in the daytime, she thought.

Casey's elbow brought her sharply back to the present and Hayge realized they were not alone. A tall thin man - good lord, a butler - had apparently sprung up from the marble floor and was murmuring a greeting. He was actually helping Casey divest himself of his raincoat; Hayge hastened to scramble out of hers before the man could perform the same service for him. He took Hayge's worn but perfectly respectable coat with an air of disdain before directing them down the hallway, where sounds of a large crowd could be heard.

Casey straightened the knot of his tie as they walked and heaved a big sigh even as he pinned a smile to his face and waved to someone at the end of the hallway. "Remember," he muttered at Hayge. "Behave yourself."

"Trust me," Hayge deadpanned, and snickered when Casey rolled his eyes. That was the thing with her, she never misbehaved. The irony of Casey's endless reminder was the humor of it.

The hallway ended with three wide stairs descending into a large room that was stunning in its bright illumination. Hayge felt her mouth open in an O of appreciation as she took in the vaulted ceiling, white walls and two entire walls of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the mostly darkened central park and the lights of the city. The view was amazing. There was a fire crackling warmly in a large marble fireplace across the big room, glittering people in formal wear talking and laughing, uniformed caterers easing discreetly through the crowd with hors d'oeuvres and crystal flutes of champagne. The noise level was considerable, almost drowning out the small string quartet that played in a corner near the window.

"And there's my boss. Here we go," Casey muttered as he moved past Hayge and greeted a tall, distinguished-looking man and his heavyset wife near the bottom of the stairs. For the next half an hour Hayge followed Casey, smiling and shaking hands as she was introduced as Casey's former college roommate, making small talk with Casey's colleagues, speculating on the opera performance that was to be the culmination of the evening. After awhile Hayge quietly extricated herself from a group of people talking enthusiastically about a new proposed federal tax break for nonprofits, and eased her way toward the nearest waiter with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. She was starving.

The caterer was a young, very handsome man, (not that Hayge was staring too much) and it was nothing to charm an entire plateful of finger food from him, along with two napkins and a very flirty smile. Hayge gave him a shy but telling smile in return and moved slowly across the crowded room, taking care not to spill anything from her plate on the immaculate ivory carpet. Her goal was the corner where the two huge walls of windows met, but the crowd seemed thickest there as people congregated to enjoy the view. There was a long balcony outside too, she could see now that she was closer. It was a pity that the rain kept people from going outside to enjoy it.

The room was packed, and it was an effort for Hayge to find an unobtrusive spot in which to get some serious eating done. Her day had been a full one, beginning with the successful job interview in the morning and followed by the complications of securing her cousin's husband's Chelsea sublet in the afternoon. It was an incredible piece of luck that allowed her to get that apartment, but dealing with the paperwork had eaten up her day, and when she'd returned to Casey's apartment there had been just enough time to clean up and change before heading here. Breakfast had been a long time ago.

Hayge gave up trying to find a flat surface on which to set her plate. She scooped up another canapé and stuffed it whole into her mouth, juggling the china plate and the napkin as she chewed hungrily. She would hate to see herself right now. Hayge was mostly in control of her own body expressions, claiming dominance over her strength and weaknesses and how they manifested. But right now, she was famished. And beyond control, that was.

An elegant crystal champagne glass filled with amber liquid appeared in the periphery of her vision and Hayge froze. A voice, low and amused, said, "You know, I'd heard the food here was good, but I didn't think it could be that good."

Her mouth full of hors d'oeuvre, Hayge let her eyes travel slowly from the long, elegant fingers holding the glass, up the arm clothed in impeccable black cloth, to a handsome chiseled face with a full, soft looking mouth and a pair of gorgeous and coolly amused brown eyes. Hayge swallowed his canapé whole and, mortified, felt herself start to cough.

The man transferred the glass to his other hand and gently thumped Hayge on the back as she choked. "Easy, now," he murmured as Hayge drew a deep and tortured breath of air. "Here," he said, and held out the glass to Hayge. "Drink." Those full lips quirked into a half-smile that made Hayge blink.

Because… damn.

Hayge took another deep breath and a healthy gulp of champagne, aware of the other man's brown eyes watching her and (her uncomposed little self) intently. She cleared his throat and tried to speak.

"Thank you," Hayge said, and tried a smile. She hoped the brown-eyed man would smile back.

He did, and it was a smile of astonishing charm, showing a glimpse of teeth under full, soft-looking lips and causing his eyes to scrunch in a way that made Hayge's heart skip a couple of beats. "You're welcome," he murmured, his voice low and encouraging Hayge to move closer. "It wouldn't do to have you keel over on the floor. Might ruin this nice party."

"Oh, we can't have that, now, can we," Hayge commented just as quietly. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the other man's face, the clean and smooth lines of his cheekbones, the close-cropped hair smoothing down along his face. "I don't believe we've met," she said appreciatively, and as a waiter passed by she hastily rid herself of her plate and napkin. She held out her hand and gave the man her finest, slowest, brightest smile. "I'm Hayge."

The man's smile widened a little and he never took his eyes from Hayge's as he reached forward and slid his hand into Hayge's outstretched one. His fingers closed firmly and oh-so-slowly around Hayge's, pressing their palms together. "Mark," he said in response, and when he drew his hand away Hayge's heart was galloping. "And I think you're right. We haven't met."

"I would remember if we had," Hayge murmured, and Mark's smile sparkled with real amusement. Hayge's mind was clamouring for an explanation, though. How the fuck had she become so… relaxed and uh, flirtatious all of a sudden? Was that supposed to be normal behaviour in such a formal setting?

"Is that right?" he said speculatively, and then turned slightly to nod toward the windows overlooking the park and the lights of the city. "It seems you were enjoying the view," Mark commented politely.

Hayge never took her eyes from Mark's face. "Yes. Yes I am," she said firmly, and gulped a little as Mark took the half-empty champagne glass from her fingers and took a long and deep sip. He licked his lips deliberately and Hayge felt her heart stutter again.

"So, are you a fan of the opera, Hayge?" Mark's voice was low and almost lazy, as though his mouth was loving the feel of her name on his lips, and his eyes, when he turned from the window to look at her, were knowing.

"Not at all," Hayge answered forthrightly. "I'm tagging along with my friend Casey. He works for the firm, I'm visiting him from out of town." She watched as Mark took another sip from Hayge's glass and felt her throat go dry. "What about you?"

"Not a big opera fan either," Mark said dismissively. He looked amused. "But the pre-opera parties can sometimes be . . . rewarding."

Hayge grinned, or thought she grinned, because her heart was practically doing an especially complicated somersault, and shifted her feet so she moved a little closer. Okay, what the hell was happening to her? "Well, the hors d'oeuvres are excellent," she said, and was rewarded with a smile. Again, her heart. Galloping. Like a pendulum high on E. Jeez.

"You should try some more of the champagne," Mark said. "It's quite good."

"I plan on it," Hayge said, and tried not to stare at Mark's throat as he deliberately downed the rest of the contents of Hayge's glass and licked his lips. "So, what about you? Do you work with Casey?"

"No, I'm afraid I do not know your friend Casey," Mark said smoothly. "Perhaps you'd like to introduce me?"

"Maybe later," Hayge murmured. She allowed her eyes to travel lingeringly down Mark's figure, elegant in a perfectly fitted black formal suit with a crisp blue shirt and a silk tie that would've cost two weeks' salary at Hayge's new job. Nice, she thought. Her eyes skated back up to Mark's face. Really nice. Then she saw the slightly raised eyebrow, the amused brown eyes, and had the courtesy to fight back a blush. This man was impossible. If it weren't for the perfectly immaculate attire, she would've guessed he was a ruggedly handsome biker, in his biker jackets and biker boots, all in black. Pocket chains and everything.

"Yes, perhaps later," Mark said, and now he was definitely laughing at Hayge. "So," Mark started, and Hayge struggled to concentrate. Converse, damnit, she told herself, and applied her attention to Mark's words. "Are you enjoying yourself here?" He indicated the huge common room with a gesture, and Hayge turned from the window to look.

"It's, ahhh. Well," she started, and snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, handing one to Mark. Another odd gesture coming from a woman, but goddamn if her body was doing odd things at the moment. "It's a very nice party. This place is certainly, uh, big," she said diplomatically, and Mark raised a perfect eyebrow. "And white," Hayge added recklessly. "And really, really empty and cold. Like nobody lives here, or like whoever does live here has no personality whatsoever."

Both of Mark's eyebrows went up this time, and Hayge cursed herself. Why did this man rattle her so much? She'd met gorgeous men before, she'd met gorgeous rich men before, she'd just spent five years in and around Harvard for Christ's sake. Get a grip.

"Really?" Mark asked, his eyes leaving Hayge and narrowing as they traveled around the crowded room. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, there's no comfortable furniture," Hayge pointed out. "Nothing on the walls that tells you anything about the people who live here, no pictures on the fireplace mantle, and," she gestured to the walls, "no books." She shook her head sadly. "How can there be no books? It just seems . . ." She broke off and shrugged. "I guess it's just different from where I grew up," she finished and at last she'd said something right; Mark had turned his attention back to her and this time Hayge was prepared for the effect those caramel-brown eyes had on her central nervous system.

"And where was that?" Mark asked, and he seemed truly interested. Hayge shifted a little farther when Mark moved closer; Hayge caught Mark's eyes flicking down her body, which she didn't think deserved those eyes at all. She let him look and swallowed, trying to ease the pounding of her heart.

"Philippines," she finally answered, exaggerating her drawl just the slightest bit. "But I've been in Cambridge these last few years, though," she added, and Mark glanced slyly at her.

"Ah," he said smoothly. "A Harvard girl, am I right?"

Hayge grinned. "Somewhat. Yeah."

Mark's smile grew and warmed; he lifted his chin and cocked his head a little, his eyes bright and hungry on Hayge's face. "No, I can see that," he murmured agreeably, and Hayge felt herself flush for the hundredth time.

She was gathering her courage for a more direct sally when Mark's attention was caught by something over Hayge's shoulder. Hayge blinked at the rapid change in facial expression, from smiling and, thank god, appreciative, to cold and shuttered. Just like that. Hayge started to turn around to see what had dragged Mark's attention away from her, but was stopped by Mark's hand, stretched out as if to shake hers.

"It's been a real pleasure talking with you, Hayge," he said, and his voice was still low and intimate, sending a rattle of awareness down Hayge's spine. "But if you'll excuse me, I really should see to the rest of my guests." He smiled brilliantly as Hayge froze in horror, squeezed her hand meaningfully, and walked away.

The noise of the party swirled around her and Hayge fought to get her breath back. She couldn't believe she'd just . . . She'd said . . . Why hadn't she thought . . . Oh god, Hayge thought miserably. Oh god, the sexiest man she'd ever met, and in less than five minutes she'd managed to insult him. And the host of this party . . . Hayge closed her eyes for a moment in utter humiliation. Casey was going to kill her.

"Hayge," and right on cue, there was Casey's tense voice and sharp elbow, knocking into Hayge's arm. "Hayge, please tell me you weren't just trying to pick up Mark Salling."

Hayge took a big mouthful of the excellent champagne and opened her eyes, looking blindly out the huge window as she swallowed. "That," she said wryly, "wasn't what I was trying to do."

"Oh for the love of god, Hayge," Casey saw through her, and Hayge sighed. "I thought we had an agreement here. I thought . . ."

"Casey," she said quietly, still staring at the window. "I had no idea who he was. He didn't tell me his last name. Or anything, really," she added. She took another gulp of her champagne, feeling it burn down her throat. "I insulted his taste. Or maybe his decorator's taste," she added morosely.

"Oh god," Casey said quietly. "Hayge, I can't believe . . . Mark Salling is a VP at Antaeus Corp. Everyone knows who he is; he's been on the cover of Business Week," he added. "He's the most ruthless businessman in New York, and his company is our client. And you tried to pick him up and then you insulted him? In his own house?" Casey sounded desperate. Hayge sighed again. "And since when have you learned to socialize with my work people? Or with anybody in two legs for that matter?"

"Hey, I offered to introduce him to you," she offered weakly, and Casey practically snarled at her.

"I can't believe you," he hissed. "You, that's, oh fuck. Hayge."

"Hey, it's not that bad," Hayge said quietly, turning to face Casey. "I mean, yeah, I came on pretty strong, but he wasn't exactly shooting me down." She raised her head and started to scan the room, searching for the slender figure, the head full of dark hair. There, by the fireplace, speaking calmly with two other men in similar formal dress. As Hayge's eyes lit on him Mark raised his head, and Hayge felt the impact of those eyes from all the way across the room.

Her heart was screaming again. "As a matter of fact," Hayge said slowly, staring hard, "As a matter of fact, he approached me first." Their eyes locked across the room and as Hayge watched Mark tilted his head and gave her a very small, speculative smile.

Hayge felt a rush of adrenaline and kept from gasping with an effort. Instead she smiled back and nodded, and felt a surge of sharp anticipation as Mark's eyes lingered on her before he turned back to finish his conversation. Hayge watched as Mark moved away from the two men, greeted another, and headed toward the far corner of the big room, possibly to speak to the musicians. Hayge glanced at the clock; it was getting late, but perhaps all was not lost.

Question was though… why her? There were so many beautiful, model-esque women prancing around the vicinity, with their queenly statures and thousand-dollar dresses. But why her? She barely blended in with her outward and very honest air of "averageness." Hayge mentally rolled her eyes at the poorly-coined word.

"You're leaving," Casey was informing her. "You're leaving right now, you're getting in a cab and going back to my apartment, or to wherever you want to go as long as it isn't here. You are leaving before you ruin my entire career and life. No," he added as Hayge turned a big smile on him. "No, don't even think about it, Hayge. No way."

"Casey," Hayge said distractedly, as if Casey hadn't spoken at all. "Excuse me for a moment."

"Where are you . . . No, Hayge, wait . . ."

Hayge didn't even hear him as she moved away and started working her way slowly across the room. The string quartet had stopped playing and Mark was speaking with one of the musicians, getting interrupted every few seconds by someone shaking his hand and, apparently, saying goodnight. There was a general but very slow exodus of people toward the wide hallway leading to the elevator. Hayge grimaced. It was going to take a while to get two hundred people down to the lobby in one elevator.

A trio of perfectly dressed business men seemed intent on having Mark ride to the Met with them in their limo, and Hayge eased up beside Mark just as he turned away from graciously declining the offer. He was smiling as he came face to face with Hayge, and he casually held out his hand to shake, for all the world as if they'd known each other forever.

"How very nice of you to come tonight, Hayge," Mark said smoothly, and Hayge struggled to keep her composure as he felt that warm palm slide slowly against hers again.

"Thank you for inviting me," she replied with some semblance of composure, and for a moment they grinned at each other before Mark released her hand. "Listen, I want to apologize for what I said earlier, about your place here . . ." Hayge gestured vaguely at the room, and Mark tilted his head slightly, his eyes bright on Hayge's face.

"I don't know, Hayge. The more I think about it, the more I feel as if I've been bitterly insulted." His smile was brilliant, and his eyes intent, and Hayge was caught by them like a deer in the headlights. "Really, I'm not sure that you're capable of making it up to me."

Hayge held his eyes and smiled slowly. She dropped her voice so Mark had to lean closer to hear. "Actually, I think I am. Capable, I mean." She paused, and added, "And I'm sure this place isn't nearly as impersonal when it's not wall-to-wall people." She held her breath and waited for Mark's response.

Mark's facial expression did not change but his smile suddenly seemed sharper, his eyes even browner. "Well, why don't you stick around, and find out," he said lightly, and with a final electric look he turned away to speak with another group of people.

Heart pounding, Hayge stepped aside and moved away as Mark began speaking to a woman in a beautiful burgundy silk gown with a king's ransom of jewels around her throat. Mark held her hand as she spoke, and she was gesticulating with her free hand and tilting her head and exhibiting all sorts of flirtatious behavior. Hayge heard Mark say something about how he was just back from Milan and needed to give the New York office some attention, but of course, he'd definitely call her in a couple of weeks. This was accompanied by a smile so breathtaking that Hayge's throat went dry and it apparently had a similar effect on the woman, who simply nodded and smiled as Mark pressed a kiss to her cheek and turned to smile at an older gentleman who tapped him on the shoulder.

Hayge hung back by the fireplace, making herself inconspicuous as the party attendees moved slowly from the room and to the elevator. She saw Casey moving purposefully toward her and cut him off with a smile.

"Hey," she said quietly as Casey drew near. "Thank you so much for bringing me with you tonight. I think I'll just hang out here for a while." She took another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and sipped at it to hide her grin. "You should feel free to go on to the opera without me."

Casey stared at her as if she'd sprouted another head.

"Yes," Hayge added. "I'm absolutely serious."

"Hayge," Casey murmured seriously. "This isn't you. I know you. You're not the kind of girl who easily agrees to be enticed upon by random rich men, especially who I believe, are relentless business men who have established a reputation and name for themselves. This guy is known for his unforgiving, unmerciful business tactics and I'm sure he's not the kind of guy you'd want to have your first one-night-stand with. He's just… he's… He's Mark Salling."

"And hot."

Again, Casey's pretty blue eyes popped open like saucers. "Hey, listen to me. I promised your mother I'd look after you. We've practically grown up together, even shared the same pillow until highschool."

Hayge regarded him steadily. "What's your point?"

"My point is I can't let you, the only Hayge in my life, commit a spectacular mistake like this and have it on my conscience."

"Mark Salling's not an ex-convict, is he?"

"Not that I know of."

"Then I don't care, Casey." Hayge drained her champagne glass, her eyes on Mark as he bid farewell to another large group of glittering people. Her stomach was fluttering in the best possible way, and she couldn't wipe the smile off her face as she turned back to Casey. "Seriously, babe. I'm single, I'm of age, I have cab fare, and I can take care of myself. Just, you know, go to the opera. And I'll see you later."

Casey frowned sternly at her for a moment, then sighed. "You're right," he said. "You're right, I'm sorry, I don't mean to act like your mother." He straightened up and glanced around. "Okay then, I'm going to take off." He raised an eyebrow and quirked a sly grin at Hayge. "Have fun." And looked down to the floor to mutter something like, "Jesus, I can't believe I just said that."

"You know it," Hayge murmured, and grinned at him as he moved away. The room was thinning out, and Hayge set her glass down and followed a short hallway until she found a large bathroom.

She washed her hands, rinsed out her mouth and anxiously inspected her reflection in the large mirror. She frowned at her almost sad black overall. It was fine, but it was off the rack and nowhere near the quality of Mark's, or most of the people's he'd seen here tonight. She brushed at the hem of the dress and rubbed her hand over her jaw and checked her hair, grateful that it was on its best behaviour that night. She looked fine. She wasn't a Marilyn Monroe but she wasn't as dishevelled as she might've expected. That was good enough.

She waited a decent length of time before returning to the living room. When she emerged from the hallway she blinked in astonishment. Mark's staff was really something - the room had been cleaned and straightened and transformed back into a reasonable sort of living space, complete with furniture, subdued lighting, and Mark, seated on a black leather couch with his suit jacket gone and his tie loosened. His brown eyes examined Hayge intently from over the rim of his champagne glass. Hayge's heart was hammering in her chest and pounded in her ears, and she walked toward Mark on legs that didn't quite feel steady.

As he drew closer Mark set his glass down on a table and rose to his feet to face her. "So," he said quietly. "What do you think now?"

Hayge cast a cursory look around the almost-empty room and smiled. "It's a great room for a big party," she said diplomatically, and felt her pulse accelerate when Mark grinned at her.

"Yes, it is that," he said agreeably. "Maybe you'd like to see some more of the place?"

"I would," Hayge answered, and eased herself closer so that she was just at the edge of Mark's personal space. Mark's eyes grew dark and his smile faded. He took a single, purposeful step that brought his mouth within inches of Hayge's, and Hayge focused on his full, soft-looking lips.

"Well then. Come with me," Mark murmured, and when he turned away Hayge followed in a daze.

He led her down another hallway and up a half flight of stairs, into a huge bedroom that must have been right above the main room they'd been in. Hayge had a confused impression of long windows, wood floors, indirect lighting, thick floor rugs in warm colors and a large bed against the opposite wall, but all she could really focus on was the small smile on Mark's lips and the flush across his cheekbones when he turned to face her.

She was honestly charmed in every possible way.

Hayge wanted to say something, something devastating and cool, something to make Mark look at him with the sort of desperation Hayge was starting to feel. But her heart was pounding so hard, thudding in her ears and beating in her chest and making her hands shake. She couldn't seem to draw enough oxygen. Mark's eyes examined her face closely, and his smile faded. Without a word he leaned in and brought his mouth firmly to Hayge's.

The room seemed to spin and Hayge choked back a moan as Mark's lips smoothed persuasively against her own, warm and soft as they coaxed her to open. Her hands reached blindly forward when he manuevered their bodies against a wall, and found Mark's waist, and the warmth of his skin through the fine cotton shirt made her gasp. She wanted her hands on that smooth and heated skin; she wanted to grip Mark's head in her hands and explore every inch of his mouth; she wanted to scrape her fingertips through Mark's short dark fuzz; she wanted to tear his clothes off and drag him to the floor right where they stood.

But heaven be kind the surrounding was becoming a blur, the smooth glide of Mark's mouth stealing all her focus and making her dizzy with lust. She could her own desperate moans, how her voice tried to form words but failed.

"Easy," Mark murmured against her lips, and Hayge realized that her fingers had tightened desperately on Mark's waist, digging hard into his skin and twisting the cloth. She loosened them and pressed her palms against the warmth, sliding them up to Mark's ribs. Mark made an encouraging noise in the back of his throat and eased a little closer, standing toe to toe with Hayge as their tongues tangled slowly, drawing another low moan from her. Mark's fingers were traveling up and down the front of Hayge's dress, lingering at each button but making no move to undo them as his mouth continued to wreak havoc on Hayge's senses. She didn't even notice that Mark had already unzipped her from behind until she heard the material hit the floor and she opened her eyes helplessly, dazed. Then Mark's mouth moved across her jaw and to the soft skin under her left ear, and Hayge closed her eyes again, lost in the pleasure, in the feeling of it all.

Then she could feel him spread her legs apart, hiking up the skirt, which was the only non-undergarment she had on, up her thighs and his hips pressing into her. Hayge shuddered when she felt the rage between Mark's strong legs and surrendered to the buckle in her knees. She held her head tilted back, letting his lips make sweet love to her neck, her throat, her jaw, and was unable to open her eyes, or even close her mouth. This was too good. This can't be happening to her.

Then his mouth found her lips. And Hayge felt the heat between her own legs at the lazy curl of his tongue against hers. She almost melted right there, against the wall. The haze swirling in her vision wasn't helping at all.

But then her brain snapped into action.

Her fingers shook as she brought them to Mark's throat, stroking the warm skin before fumbling with the knot of his tie. It was already loosened and Hayge pulled it off with a great deal less finesse than Mark had done hers, shaking it loose from Mark's collar and tossing it to the floor. She paused and gulped convulsively, shivering at the feel of Mark's tongue on the thin skin over her collar bone. Then Mark was easing Hayge's skirt down her legs, smiling and murmuring appreciatively as his hands smoothed over the warm skin of her inner thighs and crept up to her back, pulling her hard against his body.

The feel of Mark's fine cotton shirt against the over-sensitized skin of her chest made Hayge close her eyes and groan softly. Her fingers lost all coordination as they fumbled with the buttons on Mark's shirt, and froze completely when Mark's hands moved low on her waist and pulled her hips closer, closer, tight against him until their bodies nestled together in all the right ways. "There, now," Mark whispered in Hayge's ear, his breath warm and making her shiver into a desperate sheet of giant nerve endings as he moved one leg between Hayge's and eased her closer, his hands firm on Hayge's hips. "Better?"

Hayge nodded frantically and squirmed against the delicious friction, her mouth open as she panted for air. Mark's hands were burning the skin at her waist as they slid around and started to slowly work at the waistband of her panties. Hayge leaned forward, her mouth searching blindly for Mark's as her hands scrabbled at his shirt, trying to pull it out of his pants. The tug of pleasure down her belly was painful and almost overwhelming. She twisted slowly against Mark's thigh and made a strangled noise of desperation when Mark lifted his head and gave her a gentle kiss, the contrast to the forceful nudges of his tongue stealing what little concentration Hayge had altogether.

The slow slide of Mark's tongue was driving Hayge to distraction and she struggled to keep focused. She needed to get Mark's clothes off, she needed to get her hands on his skin, she needed to get them both horizontal. Which was all terrifying.

Because Hayge never, ever, ever, ever… wanted a man this much, a stranger, no less, someone she had never even met before. Hayge had barely even had conventional sex with her latest boyfriend, which technically, was her only boyfriend. What was happening to her? And why in God's name was she so frustratedly aroused? She beckoned all the gods to come down and give her a fucking explanation.

She felt like the horniest 14-year-old teenager in the world at the moment.

She wanted to do this suavely, but she didn't quite succeed - at least one button popped off beneath Hayge's impatient fingers - but Mark didn't seem to mind, grinning against Hayge's mouth and chuckling low in his throat in a way that made Hayge want to rip the rest of his clothes off, right now.

"Heels off," Mark murmured, bringing his mouth back to Hayge's, moving hypnotically against her lips. "Now."

Hayge managed to blindly toe her black heels off without breaking contact with Mark's mouth or body. She'd finally gotten Mark's shirt open and was mesmerized by the silky warmth of his perfectly tanned skin; his lean waist and stomach, ridged with muscle; the hints of hair arrowing down toward the waistband of his pants. Mark's hands were busy at the front of Hayge's panties and Hayge pulled her lips away from Mark's gorgeous mouth as she felt her only weapon of protection being pulled slowly down. She panted helplessly, dropping her forehead to Mark's shoulder as Mark touched her thighs with comforting, languid strokes. Hayge trembled so hard her teeth chattered, and Mark crooned sympathetically. She felt the desire pool between her legs to an uncompromising degree as her panties reached her ankles, down to the bottom of her feet.

"That bad, huh?" he whispered, and Hayge lifted her head and opened her eyes in time to see Mark lick his lips and smile. The sight almost made her whimper. Mark pulled Hayge off the wall and slowly pushed her backwards with one finger on the middle of his chest, and even as her body screamed protests at the loss of contact, Hayge obediently shuffled one small step and felt the smooth edge of what she assumed was Mark's bed and sat down.

Mark was still dressed in his shoes and pants, with his dress shirt on but hanging open. Hayge reached her hands out but Mark ignored them, efficiently stripping his underpants and slacks from his body, leaving him naked and all for Hayge's viewing pleasure.

Hayge felt feverish, her body aching and her skin tingling and sensitized. She felt like she couldn't get enough air and she couldn't keep herself from squirming restlessly on Mark's thick comforter. She started to sit up, reaching out to touch Mark and to pull him down on the bed with her, but once again Mark neatly avoided her hands. He leaned down and wrapped his hands around her chest, amazed at the dexterity of his fingers as they unhooked his bra from behind expertly, watching Hayge's face intently as she closed his eyes and groaned, thrashing helplessly when his hands slowly stroked her mounds.

Then Mark slowly, slowly crawled on the bed and placed himself perfectly between Hayge's aching legs. She could feel the hardness pressed right into her thighs, nearing her center. She moaned into his mouth, a frustrated, desperate sound, as though to plead and beg FUCKJUSTDOITALREADY and tried not to collapse under the aching strain in her core.

Her eyes were shut tightly, as if that would give her some sense of control, and her legs clung helplessly around his waist. Mark had to move or she'd shoot herself right in the head.

Then like the Greek god Adonis himself, Mark brushed away all the bangs that formed a mess on Hayge's sweaty forehead and kissed her there. It was such a tender moment that Hayge had to look away.

"Mark…" her voice manage to croak.

"Yes?"

"Please."

Mark placed his mouth against hers to drown out the inevitable cry as he gently slid into her. The pleasure of it slammed through Hayge's body; her heels dug into his skin and her spine twisted, arching right off the bed. Mark's hands travelled down and scooped her slightly from the bed, his arm supporting the broadness of her back, and it wasn't until then that she realized how strong Mark was. Hayge's eyelids were tugging her eyes close from the feel of him, the thickness of him, right inside her. But he was whispering something in her ear.

"Hayge, look at me."

Seriously, now? When my mind is practically shutting down from all this pleasure?

"Hayge, I wanna see your eyes."

Hayge struggled, fought under the heaviness in her eyes and gazed up at him. His brown eyes were now black, pupils dilated from arousal, and his forehead was covered in a sheath of sparkling sweat. Hayge's legs trembled as she felt him slide in deeper, inch by inch.

She managed to keep her eyes open with that one, but it wasn't easy. It was beautiful to see the quiet struggle in his eyes, telling him not to lose control and to do this slowly, and gently. Hayge felt herself crying.

This was gonna be a long night.

~*2*~

Hayge woke slowly, her body stiff and exhausted and her brain numb. There were soft lips and a slick tongue sliding up and down the curve of her neck, and if she wasn't so exhausted she would smile. But this was the third, or possibly the fourth time she'd been woken up this night, in this bed, and her body was already firmly informing her that it had nothing left to give.

"Hayge," a voice whispered in her ear, the soft breath making her shiver. Just like the last time she'd woken from a light doze to find Mark's mouth on her throat and his hand on Hayge's already-awake thighs, and he'd rolled her over so she was facing him and guided their bodies together and it had been so good, so good it had almost hurt Hayge when she'd come for the fourth, or was it the fifth, time that night . . .

"C'mon, Hayge." Mark's voice was so sexy, low and dark and amused, and it did something amazing to her brain because just the sound of it made Hayge's body react in ways she'd thought impossible just moments before. She took a deep breath and prepared to stretch, testing out her soreness factor. She rolled over to her back and opened her eyes, ready to smile.

The room was glowing with the pre-sunrise light, suffusing it with warmth. Mark was naked, the sheets covering him to the waist, one hand propping up his head. His eyes were knowing and intimate, his smile lazy.

"It's time for you to go," he said softly, and Hayge froze before she could smile in return.

Mark gazed steadily at her as his words echoed in her ears.

"Go?" Hayge blinked at him in disbelief. Mark wanted her to leave?

Apparently so: Mark nodded.

It took a moment for this to sink in, and when it did Hayge closed her mouth with an audible snap. She turned away and sat up, hoping to hide her flush of humiliation. She could practically feel Mark's eyes on her back, and Hayge climbed as swiftly from the bed as her stiff body would allow.

Her clothes were still in a heap on the floor and Hayge dressed as quickly as she could, keeping her back turned as she pulled on the clothes from the night before. The silence thudded in her ears and her breath was short. Her face felt like it was on fire. She shoved her feet ruthlessly into her still-tied heels. Gathering her courage, she glanced at the bed.

Mark still reclined against the headboard, his mouth still curved in a small, sated smile. "It was really nice to meet you, Hayge," he said quietly.

"Same here," Hayge said, relieved that her voice came out normally despite her dry throat. "I'll, uh, just have the doorman get me a cab," she added, and bolted for the door without looking back.

~ ~ ~ ~

Ah, the joys of the morning-after walk of shame, Hayge thought as she exited the elevator in her rumpled evening clothes and saw the attendant's impassive face and carefully averted eyes. The gleaming mirrors inside the elevator had told her everything she needed to know: she had red, blurry eyes, a swollen mouth, a sheet-crease on the left side of her face and a lurid hickey at the base of her throat. She lifted her chin and strode directly for the main lobby doors, murmuring in assent when the doorman offered to hail her a cab. Less than a minute later she was safely inside the taxi and giving Casey's address to the driver, and as the cab pulled away Hayge leaned back against the seat with a deep sigh, her body relaxing into bonelessness. She felt numb - she couldn't believe she'd given up her virginity (technically) the night before only to be woken up less than ten minutes ago so she could be tossed out of the building. She closed her eyes and thought about nothing at all.

Twenty minutes later the sun had come up and Hayge was quietly letting herself in to Casey's apartment. She pulled the key gingerly from the lock as the door opened, not wanting to disturb Casey or his roommates, but as luck would have it Casey was sitting at the kitchen counter, eating cereal and reading the newspaper. He stopped in mid-crunch when he saw Hayge come through the door, and his eyebrows shot all the way up to his hairline.

"Jesus Christ," he said, spitting cereal crumbs all over the table. Hayge rubbed a hand over her face and laughed a little.

"No, not this time," she said, her voice sounding raspy even to herself. "It's only me."

Casey stared at him, his forehead wrinkling a little. "Should I ask how you're feeling?" he ventured cautiously. He looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or be concerned.

Hayge closed the door behind her and tossed her raincoat onto a hook by the door. "I don't really know," she admitted, and Casey set his spoon down slowly, his eyes intent. Hayge eased herself gingerly into the chair opposite and pulled the open box of cereal toward her, reaching in for a dry handful. The scene felt so comforting and familiar - she was reminded of college, talking over the previous night's parties on early mornings during the three years he and Casey had shared a dorm and then an apartment.

"Well," Hayge started slowly. "I met this really great guy, smart and very, very hot, and I had a marathon night of the best sex of my entire life. And then," she continued wryly, "I got kicked out before the sun came up, sort of like I was a hooker." She crunched his cereal thoughtfully. "Maybe even a sub-par hooker," she added, and paused to grab another handful of Captain Crunch. "So, I guess I'd say that I was feeling great until, oh, half an hour ago. Now," she summed up, rooting in the cereal box and not meeting Casey's eyes, "now I pretty much feel like shit." She raised his eyes to Casey's and smiled humorlessly around a mouthful of cereal. "And how are you today?"

Casey smiled sympathetically and shook his head. "I told you not to get mixed up with that guy, Hayge. He's not like people in college or back home. He's a rich, ruthless, scary business man, and he's well-known and important and . . . Well, I'm not surprised he treated you like shit." He resumed eating, his eyes sympathetic. "I'm sorry he treated you like shit," he added. "But I'm not surprised." He frowned as Hayge dug into the cereal box again, and pushed the milk carton across the table. "And get a bowl, would you? Jesus."

Hayge rolled her eyes before rising slowly and moving to the kitchen for a bowl and a spoon. Her body ached languidly in half a dozen good and bad ways. She would enjoy each of them if she weren't feeling so fucking humiliated, she thought, and felt a dull sort of resentment against Mark. What a buzz kill.

She didn't want to think about Mark anymore. In fact, she thought determinedly, she didn't want to think about him at all, ever again. Starting right this minute.

"So, how was the opera?" she asked Casey as she walked back to the table, bowl in hand.

"It was pretty good," Casey said, and his blue eyes glinted with mischief. "During intermission I heard Mark Salling's grandfather telling someone that Mark couldn't make the performance because he had a, and I quote, 'very important business conference.'" Casey grinned as Hayge choked on her milk. "Yeah, I was amused."

"A business conference," Hayge murmured, and shook her head. "Well thank god he didn't notice the person who was, uh, actually hanging around waiting for everyone to leave," she said.

"Not that it really matters to you," Casey pointed out. "You're leaving next week anyway."

"Yeah, but I'll be back in a couple of months," Hayge said thoughtfully, and Casey folded his newspaper and set it firmly aside.

"Even then, it's not like you and the Salling family will be running in the same circles," he said sternly. "Unless he's on the cover of some magazine, you'll probably never see him again."

"Yeah, and thank god," Hayge muttered, and sighed.

Casey's sharp eyes watched her closely as he spooned up his cereal. "Best sex of your whole life?" he asked, and smiled as Hayge nodded morosely. Then Casey frowned. "Ahhh, why am I even asking? You should be having a girl friend over to talk to you about these kinds of things."

Hayge felt the will to smile. "But you are my girl friend."

Casey laughed and shook his head. "Too bad that Salling guy is such an ass, huh, or I would've been able to get to know him better."

For a moment she remembered Mark's slow smile and husky, teasing voice, his gentle fingers and warm mouth and the way his body had curved and flexed . . . Hayge's jaw tightened as she thrust the memory aside. "It sure is," she replied casually, and bent to her cereal.

Ain't no way she was gonna cry over this. Ain't no way.

~ *3*~ ~

Mark sat motionless and waited for his grandfather to arrive at the club for lunch, a martini in front of him and a handsome waiter at his side anxiously watching his water glass, eager to fill it at any moment should Mark pick it up and drain it all at once. It was nearly noon, but the lazy, sated heaviness he felt from the previous night continued to linger. Mark closed his eyes, his mouth curving into a small, satisfied smile as he remembered the taste of Hayge's skin, the small of her back, the soft, breathy sounds she'd made just before she came.

As was his usual practice, Mark had kicked her out at the break of dawn - it was both messy and unpleasant to make a one-night stand any longer than one night - but she really had been exquisite, and for just a moment, Mark wished that he'd talked to her a little more, maybe gotten her phone number, seen if they could hook up again. It was a shame that he hadn't, but such was life, and Mark had far too many other things to worry about to waste much time on regret.

The club was always busy during lunch, but this never mattered to the Salling family, who tended to eat their meals in private dining rooms instead of among the throng. For years now Mark had been meeting his grandfather here once a month to discuss work, family, and anything else that came to mind. Most times they ended up talking about work: Mark's grandfather was the single person Mark knew who was more dedicated to Antaeus than he was, and his grandfather loved to bounce ideas off of Mark even though he didn't always take his advice. That was actually fine, because one day, Mark knew, he would be in his grandfather's position - one day, he would make all of the decisions - and when that time came, he could do whatever he wanted with the company. Until that day, however, Mark was content to follow his grandfather's lead. He was old and crotchety, but he was deadly smart. Mark had learned nearly everything he knew about business from him.

Finally, the old man appeared, and Mark frowned as he watched him limping slightly. His knees were probably bothering him again - his grandfather had been an enthusiastic athlete in his own day, and his doctor had told him just last month that he was going to need knee replacement surgery in the next year or so. Mark fought the urge to protectively slide his hands over his own kneecaps, then stood up to greet his grandfather, who hugged him, pounded him on the back, and took a seat.

The new arrival prompted a flurry of action from the silent waiter: a scotch and a bottle of wine were brought to the table, it was quickly confirmed that the two men would eat exactly what they always did, and another glass of water to be watched over was provided. Once he and his grandfather were alone, Mark looked carefully across the table, trying to ascertain his grandfather's mood. All signs veered toward grumpiness, which was absolutely normal and indicated that everything was just fine. Mark took a deep breath and prepared to listen.

"Feelings," Mark's grandfather began in an aggravated, crabby voice, and Mark was very, very careful not to smile. "I'll tell you, young man - I never had a feeling in my life. When I grew up nobody cared how you felt about something - they just wanted you to put your head down, shut up, and get your work done. And we did! That's exactly what we did."

"I know," Mark said, and it was true. His grandfather had worked every day of his life since he was in his teens.

"Yes you do." His grandfather leaned forward and beamed at him with still-brilliant blue eyes. "You're a good boy - you work hard, and you've done a wonderful job. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Grandpa," Mark said. "I -"

"Now, your brother - that's another issue altogether," his grandfather interrupted, and Mark sighed inwardly. His grandfather had some definite opinions about Tyler.

"When you were his age, you were top of the class, big man on campus, all of it. You took your business courses, you got your M.B.A., and you went to Europe to work - you planned it out and you executed it just like a man. And now Tyler - all I hear from him is 'I don't like that major! It doesn't feel right to me!'" His grandfather waved his big hands in the air in a gesture of bewilderment and annoyance. "What the hell, Mark?"

Mark spoke carefully. "He'll figure something out. Not everyone is as - focused as I was, but that could actually be a good thing. You know how smart Tyler is, and you know he'll do well in the end, no matter what he chooses to study."

"Hmph," his grandfather crankily said, then settled back into his chair and relaxed a bit. "That was a nice party you gave last night."

Mark took a sip of wine, put down his glass, and nodded. "Yes. I'm glad you thought so."

"I don't really go in for all that fancy food, or for the ridiculous decorating scheme you've got going in your public rooms. It's like walking through a metal box, very cold and sterile."

Good lord - was everyone a critic? "Grandpa, those are - I paid a designer thousands of dollars to make it look that way, and I like it. I mean, in terms of design alone, it -"

"Yes, yes, I'm quite sure it's all very fabulous," his grandfather brusquely said. "Well, no matter how horrible the decorating, you at least had a few very pretty young ladies there."

"Yes. Definitely." Mark knew exactly what was coming next.

"Yes, lots of pretty young ladies," his grandfather repeated dreamily, and then looked conspiratorially at Mark. "I was going to ask you why I didn't see you at the theater afterward, but I'm pretty sure I've just answered my own question."

Mark thought again of Hayge on her back, the long, gradual curve of her torso in the dim light, her head turning restlessly back and forth on the pillow as Mark had made love to her, had gone in deep and slow and in exactly the right way, over and over again. He thought of the particular pitch Hayge's voice had taken right before she'd given way completely, the lovely, desperate, hungry tenor of it, and -

"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were blushing," his grandfather teased, and Mark really did blush then, ducking his head and fighting desperately for control. Why was he acting like such a fool over a single one-night stand? He really needed to get it together.

"It's all right," his grandfather said magnanimously. "You're young, you're handsome, you're unattached - these things happen. It's perfectly normal. I just hope you realize that this isn't something you can be doing for the rest of your life."

"Oh, no. I -"

"Because at one time or another, Mark, you've got to settle down, devote yourself to family and career just like I did."

Mark smiled faintly and kept his mouth shut as he remembered the wistful looks that had passed over his grandmother's face as she told him that his grandfather would yet again miss dinner, or the movie they'd been planning to see, or a trip to the cabin, or Mark's birthday party. She'd always been so careful to say that he loved them all very much, to let Mark know that while grandpa wanted to spend time with them, he simply couldn't get away. But eventually he'd learned to forgive his grandfather for his many absences. The company demanded his time in ways that family didn't, and that was just how things were.

"But why am I lecturing you? I know you'll come through for me in the end." His grandfather smiled warmly at him. "You always do."

They paused then as the waiter sat down a steak in front of Mark's grandfather - very rare, just the way he liked it - and grilled salmon for Mark. For a few moments they ate silently; then, his grandfather lifted his head, pointed his fork at Mark, and said, "The figures from Europe - you did quite well."

"It was lucrative, yes," Mark acknowledged, because he had done well; he'd worked efficiently and tirelessly and it had paid off: new sources of capital, plans for further acquisitions, a series of deals that Mark knew no one else could have pulled off. He could definitely feel pleased with himself on this count.

"You've got the Salling touch all right," his grandfather said proudly, and then shook his head and grimaced. "I just wish that I had ten of you. New York has been hell as of late."

Mark gave his grandfather a long, steady look. He knew for a fact that all their major holdings in America were doing just fine, and so there was only one thing the old man could be talking about, namely-

" - Phoenix Press," his grandfather was saying. "God knows I love that publishing house, but I'm not sure how much longer I want to keep taking hits with it."

"Grandpa, it's publishing, and it's not a big commercial house. We've known forever that we're not going to turn much of a profit on it." Mark spoke quickly as thoughts of his grandmother and how much she'd loved the press filled his mind. "We knew that from the start, and we decided -"

"I know, I know." His grandfather picked up his knife again and began to slice impatiently at his steak. "But every year their deficit grows, and I'm starting to get sick of it."

"But again, that press was never intended to be a big money-maker. Remember what Grandma always said? There's a mission to that kind of publishing, a higher purpose."

"Yes, well, they're high all right. They're two million dollars high - two million dollars alone last year. And each year it gets worse."

Mark frowned, because that really was a lot. "Well, it's a depressed business. Too many books are published each year and not enough people buy them. But just because the press is in trouble right now -"

"No one reads anymore! What people do these days is play around on the damn Internet! They waste all the time in the world talking into cell phones and writing e-mails!"

"I know, I know," Mark said and then, not at all wanting to hear that particular rant again, quickly added, "But what about Phoenix? What are you planning to do with it?"

"I have an offer from Bertelsmann." His grandfather took a long drink of wine and grunted in approval. "They collect presses like salt shakers."

Mark sat back and thought of his grandmother and tried to conceal the horror he felt at the idea of a giant conglomerate owning the family-based business she had devoted so much of her time to. Takeovers and acquisitions felt very different when you were on the wrong end of them.

"Look, I'm sure it doesn't have to come to that," he said as smoothly and as persuasively as he could. "They just need someone to come in and set them straight. I mean, all they think about is books - I'm sure they don't understand business the way we do."

"Well they should. I'm sick and tired of it, sick of their stupid excuses and their shoddy performance year in and year out. No, I'm quite sure of it - the thing to do is sell."

"But Grandma -" Mark frowned as he watched his grandfather flinch, then went on anyway. "Grandma loved the press so much, remember? You weren't the only one who cared about work."

"Well, no, but her primary responsibility was always toward the family. Publishing was just something she dabbled in."

"You know that's not true - you know how important it was to her," Mark said evenly, ignoring his grandfather's increasingly uncomfortable gestures. "And so I think we should try to save it."

"I'm a businessman, Mark. I'm not about to let my feelings get in the way of business decisions that need to be made, and neither should you. Absolutely not."

For a long, horrible moment, they locked eyes until Mark quietly said, "Two years. Give me two years with it - let me go in there and restructure and I - I'll lower that deficit by half in two years, Grandpa. If I can do that, would you reconsider?"

"Two years? I'm not about to waste you on a useless charity mission for that long." The old man was growing truly irritable now.

"Okay, how about this," Mark proposed, thinking evenly and clearly, trying as always to figure out how to pitch the deal, how to bring home exactly what he wanted. "I work one year intensively, set them up, help them reorganize. During that time I continue with my responsibilities to the Antaeus board of directors - and once it's over, I step back even further, become a consultant to them. And if they're not turned around by then, then we really should sell, because if I can't fix it -"

Mark trailed off, held his breath, and waited for his grandfather to smile, relaxing imperceptibly when it finally came.

"If you can't fix it, my boy, nobody can," his grandfather finished, and laughed.