Author's Note: This actually has nothing to do with the song –I have used one line towards the end, though- since writing a one-shot based on a song with lyrics revolving around extreme promiscuity and drinking is not the easiest thing to do.

Day 3, A Song that Makes You Happy: Party All Day by Steel Panther is my favourite song in the world despite its ridiculous lyrics, and I always put it on if I could do with some cheering up.

Disclaimer:I don't own a thing.

What, he wonders as he stares absentmindedly across the bull pen, is so special about Jacqueline Reid. Damned if he knows, but there is something to her, her sheer confidence and her quiet knowledge that is ultimately enthralling and remarkably, is far more alluring than such trivial qualities would be if they were possessed by any other woman.

She is so uninterested in anything that anyone may think or have to say about her, and consequently this greatly appeals to much of the opposite gender. It is no secret that a high percentage of the squad room has felt at the very least some desire for the pretty brunette, and Robbie Ross is no exception to her understated allure.

But, of course, she is with Michael. She always, in a curiously endearing way has been just as he knows that she always will be. It won't matter if the two were to break up or to accept jobs at opposite ends of the country; a small part of Michael Jardine will always be with her.

And it kills him. It absolutely destroys him to see her smiling demurely across the room at him, or to hear the couple quietly discussing dinner reservations when they think no one is listening. He is, without a semblance of doubt, entirely caught up on Jackie Reid.

And it crushes him to know that he will never have her. Even if she is ever to get over Michael, he is certainly not the sort of man that she could ever be happy with due to his, as she once so aptly put it, constant need for smoking, drinking and screwing.

He looks back at her for a brief moment before he tosses a new packet of Mayfair into the wastepaper basket with only the slightest of pangs. Well, God loves a trier.

Thank you for reading :)