This story takes place after Steele At It in S3 when RS and LH made their agreement not to mix business with pleasure. It picks up on their return from France.

Steele Dating

Vol. 2; Ch. 1

By R.J. Harrington,

Remington watched with disdain as the image flashed across the television screen. He clutched the faux fur in his hand, tightening the grip with every mention of their names. Having his fill of Ch. 11 news, he clicked the TV and tossed the remote onto the couch. He stomped to the kitchen and clanged two wine glasses from the rack.

"Remy, are you OK?"

"Am I what? Oh, yes, fine. What do you say to a smooth Beaujolais and my best smoked salmon with crème fraiche sauce?"

"Sounds wonderful."

With his lips still pressed tightly together in frustration, Remington plunged the opener into the cork and mumbled under his breath. He pinched his finger with a twist. "Damn these blasted contraptions!"

"If you want, we can do this another time."

"No, tonight is perfect." He shifted to a low resentful tone. "If she's not going to sit around and wait, then why should I? He's an absolute prat."

"Who are you talking about Remy?"

"Huh, oh, nothing…no one. Maybe you're right. I'm not feeling well after all," he said as he pulled his collar together with one hand and made a raspy cough. "In the interest of health, I think it best we postpone our evening. Another time, eh?"

Remington held Vanessa's faux fox coat as she slid her arms into the sleeves. He pushed it onto her shoulders and walked her to the door of his condo. Vanessa's deep neckline left little to the imagination, and didn't escape Remington's glare. Her dark hair curled around her shoulders in waves and framed her striking jaw. She had grown up on a Kansas farm, but since moving to L.A. to join a corporate law firm out of Stanford, she'd become quite connected, something Remington surmised would suit him, and the agency, well.

"Fred can take you home tonight, love. I don't want to risk sickness any more than I already have."

"Well, I hope you feel better Remy. Goodnight." She leaned to kiss him. The touch held less passion than previous encounters. Something was definitely amiss.

Remington closed the door and returned to the couch where he slouched into the corner and rested his feet on the table. He pulled a pillow against his chest and flipped on the news, turning to a different channel.

"…And we'll have the latest on Brock Bradford's campaign and L.A.'s new interest in his private life. Does bachelor Brock have a new girlfriend? That's all coming up next on News Channel 4."

"That's all coming up next," Remington mocked.

"What kind of name is Brock, anyway? Surely, she can do better."

Good lord ol' chap what has she done to you? You're jealous.

Remington pushed from the couch and headed for the kitchen. He pulled fraiche, lemons and a handful of ingredients from the refrigerator and tiny toasts from the pantry.

Maybe Daniel was right; you are positively domesticated.

He piled sliced salmon onto the toasts and dripped cream across its folds. He balanced the platter and red wine in one hand and flipped the light with the other. He set the salmon on the living room table and fell onto the couch. After finishing what he could of his meal, Remington leaned against the cushions and locked his hands behind his head. Thoughts of Laura betrayed him as he struggled to focus.

"I need to put a halt to this once and for all."

Remington slid to the edge of the couch and lifted the receiver. He dialed and sat back, rubbing his hand over his mouth and through his hair.

"Hi, Vanessa? It's Remington. My apologies for my behavior earlier this evening. Perhaps we can take another stab at it? … Wonderful. I'm on my way."

**********

Brock Bradford stepped from the rear door of his government-issued black Cadillac and popped open the umbrella. Laura squeezed under the edge, sliding her hand between his arm and side to avoid the large drops that plunked against the pavement. She never was much for politics, but the lavish state dinners, campaign fundraisers and paparazzi had made for an exciting two weeks.

The two ducked into the side door of Matzo's Italian Eatery and followed the Maître D to Brock's "usual table."

After removing her wrap, they slid into the corner booth.

"You look lovely tonight, Laura."

"Thank you," she said with a sly smile.

"No, thank you. Anyone who can put up with the rags from the 43rd precinct gets my vote for Woman of the Year. Are you sure you never dipped into politics?"

"No," she laughed, "Just a lot of practice making people believe in something that's not there."

"Sounds interesting," he smiled.

As Brock sipped his white wine and ordered their meals, Laura watched his lips, the way he talked with his hands and his perfect white smile. He was a lovely man, ruggedly handsome with hazel eyes and sandy blonde hair. She'd agreed to their first date out of pity, really, when he found himself alone at the head table as the high-society types cleared the ballroom. She'd attended the gala with a potential client, who wanted to hire Remington Steele Investigations to look into the questionable practices of his business partner.

When the waiter left, Brock turned and slid his hand under hers.

"This has been the best two weeks of the campaign so far, and it's not because I now have an eight-point lead."

"It has been fun," Laura replied, uncommitted to his true meaning.

Unlike other men she'd dated in the last few years -- who were few and far between -- Brock didn't pressure or repeat his advance. Laura appreciated the leeway and closed her hand around his.

"You know there's a Help the Whales event coming up that I'm attending. You are welcome to come along."

"I don't want to get in the way," Laura said as she lowered her eyes, "but it may be good for the agency. That is if you don't mind me mixing business with pleasure."

She couldn't believe she said it. Thank goodness he didn't understand the meaning.

"No problem. I'll make sure to have two tickets delivered to your office so you can bring Mr. Steele along as well."

"Thank you."

They finished their meal and dressed to leave.

"Laura, don't take this the wrong way, but you live on the other side of town, which is at least an hour's drive in this downpour, and I have to be at Ch. 11 in five hours for an interview. Would you mind staying in my guest room tonight and Michael can drop you off at your car in the morning?"

Laura's gut said absolutely not, but her heart felt the genuine request and agreed.

The next morning, Laura called Remington from the Cadillac as they headed for Century City.

"Good morning, Mr. Steele."

"Laura, you know I'm not good with mornings. Is a conversation at this hour truly necessary?"

"Mr. Steele, the whales need you. Pick me up in an hour."

After Michael dropped her at the Century Towers, Laura hopped in the Rabbit and drove home in the same outfit as the day before, switching the radio station to her favorite morning show. After parking the Rabbit on the side of the building, she got out and headed around the corner. She swung her arms like a school girl and floated up the stairs where she was met by a mime. After a kiss and a bow, she unlocked her loft and found an unexpected visitor.

To Be Continued

BONUS: Here's the link for the Salmon recipe!! .?action=displayRecipe&recipe_id=524111