Bernard scraped a fragment of congealed sleep goo from the corner of his eye, before gazing blearily at the grimy desk in front of him, eventually dragging his eyes up the soft curvature of the wine glass that sat in front of him. Empty. But... clean. Manny had clearly been here.

"Did I fall asleep again?" He managed to slur, tipping his head back slightly without tearing his eyes off of the glass, hoping there was someone in the vicinity to hear him.

"Yes." Manny's irritated grumble came through from the kitchen, closely followed by the hairy berk himself. "You should see a doctor about it, Bernard, it's not healthy."

"No, no. No. No doctors with their lies, their high-tech foolery." He ran a hand through the shaggy mess of hair atop his head, and blinked slightly as the world moved the opposite way to him. "I have no time to be dealing with some under-funded, milk-sap student who still needs help with the big words in his text books." He spat slightly, but maintained an air of determination under Manny's disappointed gaze.

"Bernard, you're clearly not well. I'm worried..."

"Don't worry, I don't need it. And I wish you'd stop moping around my shop, acting like my mother. It's disconcerting." Manny said nothing, but continued bustling around the shop, being despicably able at such an intolerable hour of the morning. That was a point...

"Manny, what time is it?"

"It's a quarter to three in the afternoon."

"Ah. Well then, that explains it. My blood alcohol level must be out of balance." Bernard stumbled to his feet, and mashed at the buttons on the till in random combinations, hoping one of them would open it.

"Yes, I've been meaning to talk to you about that." Manny raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Do you not think your ratio of blood to alcohol needs a little levelling? As in, you really need more blood than alcohol in your veins?"

"Oh, see, this is what I'm talking about." Bernard scowled at him, before screwing up his face and adopting a high pitched, wavering voice. "Bernard, you shouldn't drink so much. Bernard, smoking gives you cancer. Bernard, you need to put on trousers before you go into the shop." He dropped the impression, and resumed his practiced scowl. The till drawer sprang open and Bernard looked inside with bleary silence.

"Manny... isn't there usually money in this thing?"

Manny stood at Bernard's shoulder and observed that, indeed, the till was empty. Except for one second class stamp, a broken cigarette lighter and a stack of "I.O.U" notes, half in Bernard's wobbly scrawl and half in Fran's illegible, looping hand.

"Ah."

"Ah."

There was a long silence.

"Manny..." Bernard slowly stood up straight, blinking at his inept assistant. "Is it my imagination, or did I not tell you to do the accounts a few days ago?"

"Uh, it was the day before yesterday." Manny agreed, oblivious to the underlying tone of menace in Bernard's despairing voice.

"I see. And did you realise we were a little... strapped... in the financial department?"

"Uh... yes, actually, I remember thinking it was a bit bad."

"I see." Bernard turned to fully face Manny, casually picking up a hardback from the desk. "And why, may I ask, did you not think to TELL ME?!" Bernard yelled, bringing the book down on Manny's back, glaring as the bearded idiot stumbled away from him.

"You were unconscious, that's why." Manny straightened up, shooting him a hurt look. "What are we going to do, Bernard? We can't keep the shop open if trade carries on like this."

"Alright, alright." Bernard rubbed his forehead, sitting down again and leaning on the desk. "I'll think of something. I..."

At that moment (and in the kind of convenient manner Bernard often observed occurring at episodes throughout his life), a tall yet portly man with hair a similar brown to his leather shoes, crisp blue jeans, a plain white shirt and a black blazer entered the shop, looking around in admiration.

"Hey man, this is really something." His broad, foppish accent told Bernard all he needed to know.

"Manny, serve the ponce will you?" He sneered. He was too hung-over to deal with this stuff. "I'm going to make myself some breakfast." And with a surly rattle of curtain hooks, Bernard had disappeared to the kitchen. Manny shot a nervy smile at the man, before clearing his throat and beginning the sales pitch.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm just admiring this shop." The man shot him a self-assured smile, before gesturing at the room around him. "It's perfect."

Manny waited for the punch line, but as he stood there in awkward silence, there didn't seem to be one. Perfect? A grotty hole, perhaps, but perfect?

"I'm Eric Meyers, by the way." The man shot Manny another smile. "I'm in TV, and this shop is just perfect for something I'm working on."

"Oh?" Manny smiled politely, wondering what hellish drivel would be set in a hovel like Black Books.

"Yes... in fact..." Eric began to look Manny up and down, shrewd calculation in his eyes. "We're looking for people to take part, if you're interested. It'll be a reality TV show called "Working hours", we install some hidden cameras in a shop, give the staff a diary camera, then broadcast the footage live along with constant commentary and interviews on it."

"Uhh... wow." Manny hazarded, repressing the instinct to cringe.

"You wouldn't be interested in taking part, would you?" Eric gave a sly smile, and, worryingly, his predatory grin didn't waver when Manny shook his head, chuckling to himself.

"Oh, no no no. No, I don't think the owner would be too impressed. He... well, he likes his privacy; he's a bit of a grouch."

"Shame." Eric continued to smile, slowly turning as if to leave. "All contestants get paid two and a half thousand pounds just for signing up, and if the viewers vote your shop as the most interesting work place, you can win anywhere up to half a million. But..." He gave a smooth, nonchalant shrug. "If you're not interested..."

Manny's eyes were wide. He bit his lip, and slowly collected his thoughts.

"Umm... could you just... wait there for a moment, please?" He gave a nervous smile, before almost tripping over his own sandals as he ran into the kitchen, yelling for Bernard.

"So... let me get this straight." Bernard grumbled as he took a drag from the cigarette in his left hand, and drummed his fingers on the wine glass in his right. He watched Mr Meyers carefully as the sat around the coffee table, Manny making tea in the background. "You... want to put us... on TV."

"Yes." The TV executive flashed another charming smile.

"And we don't have to do anything other than what we normally do."

"Not at all. In fact, it would be worse if you did."

"And... and we get paid, do we? For partaking in this... this folderol?"

"Of course." Eric smiled another predatory grin, reclining in his chair. "It's entirely up to you."

"Well..." Bernard glanced around the shop, a little unsure. "People really want to see what happens in a place like this?"

"Oh yes, it'll make compelling viewing. Especially if we highlight how you're struggling against competition." He gestured in the direction of Goliath Books, with a conspiratorial glance. "People love the story of an underdog."

"I see. And just how many cameras are we talking?"

"Well... I'd say four or five in the main shop, just to get some different angles, maybe two in here, and maybe a few upstairs..."

"Oh no." Bernard shook his head, eager to find fault with this idea. "No. No cameras upstairs, it's an invasion of privacy. I refuse. I absolutely-"

"Hey, no problem." Eric held his hands up in a gesture of openness. "You don't want cameras upstairs, we don't put cameras upstairs. It's all on your terms."

"Well..." Bernard mumbled, caught off guard by the interruption. "Well then. Yes. Well. I... I shall have to think about this, you understand. I..."

Bernard was cut off as the door to the shop slammed, and Fran's voice drifted through into the kitchen.

"Bernard? Manny? Come on, it's pub time!" Fran poked her head through the curtains, and her words were lost as she saw Eric, who stood as she entered. She flustered for a moment, before smiling sweetly and fluttering her eyelashes.

"Eric, this is Fran. She doesn't work here but we can't get rid of her." Bernard drawled, with a preoccupied wave of his cigarette. "Fran, this is Eric Meyers, he wants to put us on some reality TV show shite, but we'll get paid for doing it."

"Fran, hello." Eric smiled, extending his hand. "I hope we'll be seeing you on our cameras. I know our viewers will find your beauty intoxicating." Fran gave a sort of strangled laugh which sounded reminiscent of a sheep going through a blender, her eyes fixed on his, and her hand staying awkwardly locked in the handshake.

"I-I-I-it's a pleasure to meet you. I hope we'll meet again sometime soon. Really soon. Not that... you know..." She gave the same strangled laugh, making Bernard and Manny both flinch. Eric's phone rang, and he took it from his pocket, flashing his charming smile around the room again. "Excuse me, will you, I have to take this." Fran gave a broad smile, watching him leave, before turning on Bernard.

"Bernard, you have to agree to this TV thing."
"What?" He gave her a crazed look, before taking another puff on his cigarette. "Are you nuts? He wants to film us, twenty-four seven. Do you have any idea how dull it'd be?"

"We do need the money." Manny chimed in, to agitated nods from Fran.

"Yes, but if I was going to violate my own privacy for the amusement of total strangers just so I could fund my questionable habits, there would be far easier ways of going about it."

"Oh Bernard, no one wants you to prostitute yourself." Fran sighed, kneeling down beside his chair. "It's really very simple..." and so saying she grabbed his ear with one hand, pinching him in the waist with the other.

"Aaaauuughhaaa...." Bernard struggled against her, but the woman had a surprisingly fierce grip.

"If you mess up my chance of seeing him again, I'll hurt you in so many ways you can't imagine!"

"Alright, alright!" Bernard managed to struggle free, standing up and glaring at her as if she were a mad woman. "Mother of god, no wonder your ex-boyfriends run when they see you coming..." He shot one more parting glare and went back into the shop, just in time to see Eric hanging up his phone.

"Bernard!" He smiled. "Look, if you want to think about it, I can come back."

"No need." Bernard cleared his throat, rubbing his ear delicately. "I've thought about it... and it looks like we're in agreement."

"Oh, really? That's great!" Eric smiled again, reaching into his blazer pocket. "It just so happens that I have the contracts right here, if you want to sign."

"Right... ok..." Bernard found a pen amidst the piles of paper on his desk, and began to scribble his name where Eric pointed. He smiled with relief when Eric told him the £2,500 would be arriving tomorrow, along with the cameras and a crew to install them. It was done. Sorted. They stayed for the next three months and then, if enough people call in, they could win even more money. Simple. How could it possibly go wrong?