CC Babcock sat at Maxwell Sheffield's desk, her posture impeccable, one long leg draped over the other. She held the telephone to her ear with one hand and tapped the elegantly manicured nails of the other in a staccato rhythm against the burnished wood.
"Tell him," she said, "that if I don't have a signed contract in my hand by three o'clock, he can forget about this role." She paused to listen to the agent's response. "No, I'm finished negotiating. The salary and benefits won't be changing."
CC rolled her eyes. "No, as I've repeated to you people several times, we are not prepared at this time to change his billing. What we are prepared to do is recast. Mind the three o'clock deadline," she finished crisply, and hung up the phone, effectively silencing the complaints of the agent of the current—but only just—male lead of Sheffield Productions' newest venture: a reimagining of West Side Story.
CC stood, biting out a "Fucking playboy actors" as she straightened her skirt. Where George Winston had gotten the idea that his salary offer was going to increase exponentially, she had no idea.
A little voice called out from near the door, "Fucking pwayboy actors," and CC nearly tripped on the edge of the Persian rug as the sound broke through her disgruntled musings.
The youngest Sheffield toddled into the room, dragging a blue afghan in one hand and a well-loved bear in the other. She smiled toothily up at CC and repeated in her baby voice, "Fucking pwayboy actors," and bobbed her head, waiting for the grownup to praise her new words.
CC lifted her hand to her temple, feeling a headache beginning to pound there. Sara still hadn't forgiven her for, ah, expanding B… Bax… the boy's vocabulary, and now the littlest one just had to be in the room for the granddaddy of all curse words.
The child began to repeat the phrase again, but CC cut her off, kneeling awkwardly on the floor beside her and reaching for her toy. "May I see your nice bear?" CC had never managed baby talk in her life, but this kid seemed to respond to her more than the other two ever had.
Nodding solemnly, Grace held the stuffed animal out to her, and said loudly, "Fucking bear!" Her grin lit her face, and CC couldn't help smiling back as she took the toy.
At that moment, the butler entered the office, and raised an eyebrow both at Miss Grace's exclamation and Miss Babcock's extremely unlikely location on the floor near the child. "Your handiwork, I presume? For shame, Miss Babcock, do you want everyone to think she's being raised in a barn like you were?"
"I'm sure you'd know something about spending too much time around farm animals, wouldn't you, Niles?" CC sniffed.
He leaned over to collect the child, who squirmed in his arms and began whimpering. "Yes, unfortunately, I've known you for about five decades now." Turning his attention to the baby, he asked, tenderness coloring his tone, "What is it, Miss Grace? Do you want mean old Miss Babcock to return your bear?"
Grace reached towards CC, who tried to hand her the toy. The little girl let it fall from her grasp, and continued stretching her arms out towards the tall blonde woman.
CC raised an eyebrow. "What does she want?" She asked Niles, unsure what to do.
"Poor little thing, it seems that she wants you. There's a first time for everything, I suppose." The other two children had never made a sign of approaching Babcock, so even the unflappable Niles found this new development somewhat astonishing.
"You're kidding, right? I'm wearing Chanel," CC explained, gesturing to her pristine ivory suit.
"Ah, yes. Much more important that a living, breathing child," Niles nodded, entirely unsurprised by her reaction. He turned to go, running a soothing hand over the baby's back.
CC shrugged. It wasn't like that living, breathing child didn't have a houseful of adults catering to her every whim. Quirking her lips into something like a smile, CC picked up the bear and placed it on the green leather sofa. It was kind of nice to be wanted, even by a sticky, incomprehensible little creature.