A/N: This is my first story. I know what I want to develop, but as much as I thoroughly enjoy these two characters, I am having trouble with the dialogue. All CSI fans (and nitpickers), please accept any continuity gaffes as "author liberties". Thank you. This takes place after 'Lady Heather's Box, but before G/S become involved. Feel free to read and review.

Chapter One...Heather's POV

On Mondays the Dominion was closed. Heather had figured out many years ago that she needed one day and one night to herself. It made the business run smoother and she did not get as burned out or rundown when she had one day for herself. Her Internet business ran 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, but that was overseen by three very competent supervisors and she did not need to monitor them continuously.

So every Sunday night at 1100 PM, the process was started to remove all clients by Midnight. This was done in a variety of ways, so as not to interrupt the current mood or scene that was in progress. Shortly after Midnight Heather and the people who worked for her would change out of their leather or lace regalia and have an elegant meal in their casual clothes. Dominant and submissive roles were forgotten as everyone feasted on filet mignon or some other appetizing creation so tasteful it seemed to melt in their mouths. The gentle sounds of Bach, Handel and Mozart could barely be heard over the happy chatter.

The chef was known as Mistress Zelda four nights of the week. Her clients would all agree that she was an extremely difficult Domme to please, but that didn't stop many of them from trying week after week. Prior to coming to the Dominion 'Zelda' had studied at the best culinary schools in Italy and France. It hadn't taken much arm-twisting to convince her to use her skills for one meal a week and Heather compensated her well for her time. It was important to keep clients happy, but just as important was to establish a nuture a rapport with her staff. Heather enjoyed seeing her employees happy and tonight was no different.

"Jane, I think it is another rousing success," said Heather. "Each week you outdo yourself."

Jane smiled good-naturedly. "I have to say these are the most appreciative diners I have ever cooked for," she said. "I would never go back to the misery of a five-star restaurant, but I do like to make this one gourmet meal each week." She squeezed Heather's hand softly and said, "I think you will find your dessert to your liking, Madame." Her eyes twinkled as she said it and Heather gave her an appreciative smile. Jane was always searching for new recipes that would not send her sugar level into astronomical numbers.

By 2:00 AM everyone was contentedly headed to their homes. Their voices faded away into the night. The cleaning crew would be arriving at 4:00 AM and Heather left some lights on for them as she went up to her private residence. She showered and fell asleep reading a book of Robert Frost poetry.

The next morning Heather woke and began her routine. On Mondays she was able to catch up on her personal emails, phone calls and appointments. When she walked through the house at noon, it was spotless and quiet. She stopped to chat with the Internet supervisor and since all was well decided to do some errands before going to the Vegas show she had booked a ticket for a couple of weeks ago.

When she left the house, no one would have recognized her as one of the most well-known dominatrix in Las Vegas. She had tucked her pants into some comfortable boots and was wearing a soft blue tunic shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her makeup was almost nonexistent and her jewelry was minimal.

She went to a few fetish shops in town to purchase her weekly supplies and a few specialty items. With the advent of Internet shopping, she rarely went into the many adult stores located in Vegas anymore. She arrived at the Stratosphere Hotel two hours before the American Superstars show was to begin. She had plenty of time to eat and browse through the various stores.

After the show, as she was walking through the lobby, she was debating whether or not to donate $20.00 to the gambling gods. Heather considered gambling a waste of time, but every once in a blue moon, she felt like being frivolous.

As she turned toward the casino, she bumped into a man. It briefly startled her, but when her mind cleared, she started to apologize effusively, only to stop before the words had left her mouth.

"Miss Kessler," asked CSI Gil Grissom. "Are you hurt?"

"No, not at all, Dr. Grissom." She said. "Good evening and I do apologize for my sudden change in direction."

He looked slightly embarrassed to see her, she noted. He was flushed and his eyes were dilated. His clothes were wrinkled and his wavy hair was unkempt. Heather realized the signs indicated he may have just completed a...private rendezvous at the hotel. She would have thought that out of character for him, but nothing anyone did surprised her anymore. He had grown a beard and moustache and she thought it suited him.

"No harm done, Miss Kessler," he said. He looked away from her and then took a step closer. There was a very uncomfortable silence until he said, "Heather, do you have time for a cup of coffee?" he asked.

Heather felt herself become rigid. "As I recall, Gil, the last time we were together you were seconds away from having me arrested for murder." She turned and began to walk away from him.

He took a few long strides and was standing in front of her again. He had not reached out to grab her or touch her in any demeaning way, but he was blocking her path.

"I wanted to call you. I wanted to see you." He said. "The best apology I can give you is that I did the wrong thing for the right reason. Maybe that isn't what you want to hear, but you know I'm not completely wrong. I would never think of asking you to compromise your occupation, but I am a scientist and a criminologist. When I found out you were diabetic and that detail was a crucial one to the open case, I had no choice but to treat the situation the way I did-otherwise I would have been compromised."

Heather stared at him impassively. She decided not to speak, but she wanted to see what his reaction would be to her silence. It was a trick she had used with many submissive men and their body language usually betrayed whatever nervousness they were trying to hide.

His blue eyes never blinked or wavered from her face. He broke the impasse first: "I was wrong to encourage the personal connection we had before the case had been closed," he said. "For that, I will apologize. I never should have suspected you as the killer and for that I will apologize as well."

He stepped away from her and out of her path. "Excuse me for taking up you time, Miss Kessler. I hope you have a good evening," he said. He turned and started toward the lobby.

Heather felt a tightness in her chest and knew this would be her only opportunity to change the direction of the interaction. It would take a concession on her part, but she felt it was a leap worth taking. She also believed there were no coincidences in life. "Gil, wait-please," she said. "I would very much like a cup of coffee. Is the invitation still good?"