A/N: As you might have noticed, I really enjoy writing collaborations! It challenges me, keeps me excited about the fandom, and lets me learn from other writers. I asked Nerwen Aldarion to write this one with me because I found out on Twitter that she LOVES Doris Day/Rock Hudson movies from the late 50's/early 60's, so when I threw out this idea on Twitter, she was so enthusiastic that I knew she would put her whole heart into this fic (as she does all her great stories—check them out!). Anyway, if you've seen and loved "Pillow Talk," "Lover, Come Back," or "Send Me No Flowers," you will recognize that we are stealing (lovingly) some of the basic premises of these romantic comedies, but you don't have to be a fan of them to get what we're doing here.

It is AU, of course, set in the same timeframe of those old movies, and to stay believable for the time, our beloved characters' actions and reactions might at times seem out of character. Also, it was a different time, when women in particular were not as respected in the workplace (note also the shades of "Mad Men"). I hope you will allow these minor instances of OOC and enjoy what we create. Jane in particular might at first seem slightly off, but we are using the Jane from "Fugue in Red," or from his fake psychic days, or an exaggeration of the current show when he is at his most infuriating. You know the times I mean.

So, we hope you enjoy this fluffy, romantic romp. Thanks for taking the chance on another of my crazy experiments!

Double Talk

Chapter 1: Everything but the Oink

Sacramento, California, 1963

"Mr. Jane," came the disembodied voice of his secretary, Grace, from the intercom on his desk.

"Yes, dear," he replied absently.

"Sorry to bother you, sir, but Mr. Mashburn requests your presence in his office right away. He said he's been trying to call you directly for a half-hour, but you aren't answering your phone."

There was a hesitation. "Tell him I'm busy."

"He's not going to like that for a minute. It seems pretty urgent."

"Everything's urgent with him. He called me urgently into his office last week to ask my opinion on which yacht he should by. Tell Mr. Moneybags I'm trying to buy him a couple more yachts by landing that hot dog account."

"But, sir—"
"Look, Grace, perfection takes time and limited interruptions. You know how hard it is to sell a hot dog called Frank's Franks? I know it seems like the name should sell itself, but trust me—"

"Sir—" her voice had gone to an insistent whisper.

"Have you tasted these things, Grace? They're terrible. Talk about everything but the oink…"

"Sir?"

"As a matter of fact, I think they must have gone ahead and added the oink. They have an oddly oinky flavor that's nearly impossible to describe, let alone—that's it, Grace! Eureka!"

"Mr. Jane!" Grace said, her voice suddenly overly cheerful. "Mr. Mashburn is here to see you."

"Here? Outside my office?"

"Yes, sir."

Jane sighed in defeat. "Well I guess I can't hide now. He knows I'm in here."

"Yes, sir," she replied almost glumly. Both her bosses always managed to put her between a rock and a hard place, and it just wasn't fair. She buzzed open Jane's door.

"You can go in now, Mr. Mashburn."

Walter Mashburn reached out a hand over her desk to caress the redhead's peaches and cream cheek.

"Thanks, doll. Someday I'm gonna steal you away from that taskmaster in there, show you what it means to be truly appreciated for all your—"his eyes roamed to her pleasing bosom, modestly filling out her pink cashmere sweater—"finer assets."

Grace blushed. "Thank you sir, but I couldn't begin to take Madeline's place."

"Yes, there is that." He sighed wistfully. "This company wouldn't run without her."

"Yes, sir."

Jane's door suddenly opened and in walked the tall, dark, Italian-suited owner and CEO of Mashburn Advertising Agency. Jane didn't even rise from his desk when his boss came in, so intent was he on writing down the brilliant new slogan he'd just thought of. A cluttered, free-standing bulletin board was set up behind him, covered with newspaper clippings, drawings, marketing graphs and other odd things meant to inspire the office's occupant. Mashburn barely spared it a glance; it was usually indecipherable anyway, much like the workings of the man's ingenious mind.

"Patrick, nice to see you working so hard on—"

Jane held up his hand to forestall Mashburn's opening speech while he finished jotting down the last three words. Mashburn frowned. Sometimes Jane needed to be reminded who was boss around here.

"Now, look Patrick, we need to get something straight. I'm your boss. No, not just your boss, The Boss. That means when I call you, or tell your secretary you should get your ass to my office, you drop everything and get your ass—"

"Frank's Franks," Jane interrupted, in his best announcer's voice. "So good, we even added the oink."

"That's terrible," said Mashburn with a frown. "Upton Sinclair isn't the sort of allusion we want for a meat product."

Jane sighed, running a hand through his disheveled blonde curls, effectively ruining the careful coif he'd achieved that morning with double the Brylcreem. (He had to use so much, he was probably singlehandedly cornering sales in the California market alone.) Jane grimaced, crumbling up his sheet of paper and tossing it over his desk. He missed the shot and it rolled to join the other small paper wads surrounding the wastebasket. He'd never been good at sports.

"You're right, Walter. That stinks worse than Frank's Franks."

"Don't worry, old sport, you'll get it. I have every confidence in you. But that's not why I'm here. Aside from the fact that you so insubordinately refuse to come when called, I thought I'd bring the mountain to you."

Jane grinned, then sat back in his leather chair. "Okay, Mohammed. Shoot."

"As you know, I just got back from the Chicago Advertiser's Convention—"

"You were gone?"

Mashburn frowned and went over to Jane's liquor cart. He poured himself two fingers of scotch, swirling it around in his glass. He didn't offer any to Jane, who rarely drank the stuff himself. He said it fogged the brain. Instead, he drank hot tea like an old woman. A small pot of it rested even now on his desk in a tea cozy of all things. If the man wasn't such a genius…

"Christ, Patrick, I told you last week I was going to this thing, but you didn't want to come, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. That. So, how's tricks in the windy city?"

"Windier than ever. But boy did I land us a prized fish, my friend. Aw, 'she doth teach the torches to burn bright—'"he said, dreamily paraphrasing the Bard.

"She?"

Mashburn laughed in secret triumph, sipping his whiskey. He moved to look out Jane's window at the distant Tower Bridge, the Sacramento River rolling lazily beneath it. "Yes, our fish is of the feminine variety. Brains and beauty—a dangerous combination."

Jane lazily swiveled his chair back and forth. "You brought back a woman, eh? Wife number—what is it now—four?"

"No, no, no, Patrick—"

"Five then. Hmm. There was Susan, then Betty, then that French debutante, Sophia, right? Who am I missing?"

"No, God help me, not another wife. I'm still paying for the last three. No, she's much better than a wife. She's…Teresa Lisbon!"

By the way Mashburn announced her, Jane knew he was supposed to have been impressed with the name, but he was at a total loss.

"Teresa Lisbon," Mashburn attempted again. At Jane's blank expression, Mashburn sighed in frustration. "Aren't you aware of anything that goes on outside of Sacramento? Teresa Lisbon is responsible for the Dental-Brite commercials."

Jane's eyes widened. "You're kidding me."

"Not at all! And I got her!"

"A woman wrote those ads?" said Jane in disbelief.

A vivid image of the campaign flashed through his mind.

Christopher Columbus steps onto dry land, smiling broadly, an animated sparkle appearing on his teeth. The announcer says, in his newsreel voice: "America is discovered, and Dental-Brite is there." Flash forward in time, George Washington at the bow of his rowboat crossing the Delaware, false teeth sparkling. "Our founding fathers discover democracy, and Dental-Brite is there." An apple falls on Isaac Newton's head as he sits beneath a tree. "Gravity is discovered, and Dental-Brite is there." Now, zoom in on a handsome, modern-day young man, brushing his teeth in his t-shirt before his bathroom mirror. "For your next big accomplishment, let Dental-Brite be there for you." Then we see him in the boardroom of a big city business, wearing a suit and smiling broadly as he shakes hands with a big wig.

It had been a brilliant campaign, Jane marveled. Funny. Classy. Successful. But, a woman?

"Yes, a woman," said Mashburn, annoyed. "But that's not what matters. Are you listening to me, Patrick? The biggest, most award-winning, money-making campaign of last year, and the genius behind it is now working for me!"

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"Well, Walter, Sacramento isn't exactly known for being the center of advertising. Why did she decide to come here rather than to say, New York City? Or hell, Chicago would have even been preferable to this backwater town."

"Because I gave her an offer she couldn't refuse, that's why. Teresa Lisbon is now the new Creative Director, second in command to only me."

Jane looked at his boss and friend in shock. Rarely did things take him by surprise, but this... "But I'm the Creative Director," he sputtered.

"Of course you are," said Mashburn with more than a hint of condescension. He was inordinately pleased to have shaken up the unshakeable Patrick Jane for a change. "But now there are co-Directors. Isn't that inspired?" He downed the rest of his drink.

"That's ridiculous," protested Jane, rising angrily to his feet. "Haven't I put this firm on the map, not only in the state of California, but with five national ad campaigns? When we first started this business ten years ago, we were making print ads for local funeral parlors and used car lots. Now, we're doing major magazines and television, having to turn away business, we're so successful. And it's mostly due to my brilliance, Walter, mine, not some Chicago floozy on a lucky streak."

Mashburn chuckled. "She's no floozy, believe me. But I want Sacramento to become the Madison Avenue of the West Coast. I want companies to speak of us with the same breath they speak of Sterling Cooper in New York. With Teresa Lisbon, I can see that actually happening. You might have the brains for writing slogans and jingles, but I'm the one with the head for business. Teresa Lisbon is a huge asset, and you'd better not do anything to undermine her, you hear me? I'm deadly serious about this, Patrick. I know how you are when you're feeling like your back's against the wall. But she's no threat to you, I promise. Work with her. She's very easy-going and good-natured. I expect you'll hit it off immediately."

Jane sincerely doubted it. "Walter—"

"No, you're not manipulating me into changing my mind for once. You gotta trust me on this, okay? And with all the new business she's going to pull in, you'll need the extra help." He walked over to Jane and patted the shorter man on the back in encouragement.

"Ha," scoffed Jane. Then a thought occurred to him, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What does this Teresa Lisbon look like, Walter?"

Mashburn noticeably tensed. Bingo. "What difference does that make?" he said casually. Too casually.

"Ah-ha, just what I thought. She's a looker, isn't she? Tall, blonde? Broad where a broad should be? Isn't that your usual type?"

"She's a brunette if you must know, and I'd be surprised if she could see over the steering wheel of my new convertible. But that's neither here nor there. I hired her for her talent. Oh, and her spunk."

Jane grinned, his perfect teeth sparkling white. He used Dental-Brite himself, after all. Well, Teresa Lisbon would never have the satisfaction of knowing that, that's for sure, he thought.

"Spunk?" he repeated aloud. "You mean she won't let you have your way as easily as your other conquests? Oh, I get it now. She played hard-to-get so you devised a way to get her into your bed another way—dangling a different kind of carrot before her." Jane laughed at his own vulgar pun. Then his face fell with sudden realization. "How much are you paying her, Walter?"

"Come on, Patrick. Money is not the issue here," he said evasively, stepping back toward the half-empty carafe.

"Of course it is. Money is always the issue with guys like you. So, spill. You owe me that much, after all my years of loyalty to this company."

Both of them remembered the offers that had come pouring in from Madison Avenue after his first and then subsequent national campaigns. He'd refused them all, choosing to stay with Mashburn out of friendship and his love of California weather.

"Twenty-five thousand," he replied sheepishly.

"What?" That was five thousand more than Jane made. He thought about it a moment, his ire extinguishing somewhat. "Well I can see what price you put on our friendship, Walter. I want a raise."

"Let me guess, a five-thousand dollar raise?"

"Five thousand and one," Jane countered. "Or I call Sterling Cooper right now."

"You're serious?"

"Yep."

"But you hate New York."

"Take it or leave it, Walter."

Mashburn sighed. "Fine. But you'd better pick things up a bit, come up to Miss Lisbon's level of fresh creativity, or you'll be out on your ear regardless of our friendship."

"And what if Miss Lisbon doesn't measure up?" Jane asked. "What if Dental-Brite was just a flash in the pan? A one-time thing?"

"Then she'll be gone. This is business, Patrick, nothing more." Not wanting to leave things so tense between them, Mashburn smiled. "Now, get back to work. Make the magic happen with Frank's Franks; I have no doubt you will. You're still my number one guy."

"But you also have a number one girl now, don't you? If this is just business, then I expect you to be professional about this too, especially where Miss Lisbon is concerned. Let her get ahead on her own merits, Walter, not by giving in to your salacious invitations. She's already prostituted herself by coming here—"

"Hey! Don't besmirch the lady's honor. Very ungentlemanly of you."

Jane noted how strongly he was defending her. It was almost…chivalrous. This Miss Lisbon must really be something to have struck such a protective chord in the perpetual playboy.

"All right, I'll reserve judgment. And I'll try to work with the lady, but I make no promises above that."

"Fair enough. She'll be coming in sometime today, so behave yourself and give her a warm welcome, will ya?"

"Today? Gee, Walter, thanks for the timely head's-up."

"Patrick—"

"All right, all right. You can count on me, Boss." He gave a mocking, two-finger salute.

Mashburn rolled his eyes, opened the door, and left Jane to his brooding.

Alone, Jane's face became grim. There was no way in hell he was working with some Chicago cast-off that had likely slept her way to a Clio Award. Friendship or not, Mashburn was obviously trying to get him to stop resting (all right, sleeping) on his laurels. Well, he was plenty awake now, and Teresa Lisbon would have no idea what hit her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Being a Chicago girl, Teresa Lisbon was completely unimpressed with Sacramento, and as the taxi pulled up in front of Mashburn Advertising Agency, she felt her heart sink even further. Instead of the beautiful high-rise office building she'd been used to at her last firm, this beige brick structure seemed to be no more than four stories high, and looked more like a government building than one of the top ad agencies on the West Coast.

What have you gotten yourself into, Teresa? she asked herself.

Still, when she'd met Walter Mashburn at the Chicago Advertising Convention, he'd stood above (quite literally—he was very tall) most of the other ad executives who'd tried to wine and dine her away from her comfortable Michigan Avenue firm. For one thing, he actually seemed ready to put his money where his mouth was. And with three younger brothers to put through college, she needed all the help she could get.

Besides, no other firm was willing to offer a directorship to a young former copywriter such as herself, Clio Award or no. From the whispers she'd heard, most of the male executives figured she'd become successful by working on her back, or that her national campaign had been a fluke. Sure, they'd hire someone with her prestige to add to the cachet of their firm, but no way would they make a woman boss within the male-dominated industry.

That is, until Walter Mashburn.

But Teresa hadn't been born yesterday. She knew he was romantically interested in her, and when she'd politely refused to come back to his hotel room for a nightcap after the expensive meal he'd bought her, he'd figured there was only one other way to entice her. He'd offered her a job, and he'd had no qualms giving a supervisory position to a woman. She'd wondered if he figured she would feel obligated to return the favor in some lascivious way, but by the end of the conference, he'd produced a legal contract, and a lawyer friend of hers had confirmed its validity. She'd signed it, and hadn't looked back. Well, until now.

So, here she was at last, Creative Director of a major California ad firm at the ripe old age of twenty-nine. Her office wouldn't overlook the Magnificent Mile, but the pretty golden bridge and the river beneath it seemed lovely. She heard the weather here was nice, though somewhat hot in the summer. She sighed. Who was she kidding? This place was as inspiring as a pile of bricks.

She paid the cab driver and got out to enter the building, stopping at reception to have them direct her to the right office. The interior was encouragingly more modern than the exterior, and she rode up the elevator to the third floor, adjusting her smart green suit and matching pillbox hat. She patted down her dark hair, hoping it still looked fresh and that all of her wavy wisps were still in a neat bun at the back of her head.

When the elevator door slid open, she walked down the hall to a secretary who protectively guarded a door marked in gold letters, Walter Mashburn, CEO. A beautiful woman about Teresa's age, with dark skin and beautiful golden-brown eyes, greeted her kindly.

"Miss Lisbon? Mr. Mashburn is expecting you. And may I say how wonderful it is to have you here at MAA."

"Thank you," said Teresa.

"You're welcome. I'm Madeline Hightower. If there's anything you need, you let me know. Mr. Mashburn said he would show you to your new office himself."

She obviously meant Teresa to feel honored by this personalized service.

"That's very kind of him," she said politely.

Madeline buzzed her in, and Lisbon opened the door to a beautiful office with the finest office furniture money could buy. It was all rich mahogany and leather, the carpet a deep red. Her expectations lifted a notch.

Mashburn rose from behind his desk to come forward and greet her warmly.

"Miss Lisbon! How nice to see you here at last! How was your flight? Would you like a drink?" His enthusiasm was certainly flattering.

"Thank you! Everyone here is so welcoming, I must say. My flight was thankfully uneventful, and no, I generally don't have a drink before noon."

Mashburn smirked, his eyes going to the crucifix hanging around her pale neck. Good Catholic girl, he figured.

"Well, I feel like celebrating." He poured himself his second scotch of the day.

"I was just talking about you with your co-Director," said Mashburn, indicating she sit in one of the dark leather chairs across his desk.

"Co-director?" she said, startled. Red flags rose before her eyes.

"Why, yes. Patrick Jane. I'm sure I spoke to you about him in Chicago."

"Yes, but—well, you never mentioned I would be my partner."

Mashburn chuckled. "Didn't I? Well, my apologies for the oversight. He's our star executive. That is, until you joined us."

She'd certainly heard of the famous Patrick Jane. Everyone had seen his last national ad for Duradrive Tires. Who didn't love a chimpanzee in a business suit driving his monkey family around in a golf cart? At Duradrive, we don't monkey around with our tires. It was insightful and amusing, and she'd admired his work immensely. It was a clear contender for the next Clio Award.

Teresa had been eager to work with Jane, but she never considered she'd be in a partnership with him. She figured he was some upper level executive, far above her pay grade. Things had just gotten a bit more interesting.

"I'm sure you're eager to see your new office. You have a similar view to mine," he said proudly. He inclined his head over his shoulder, where a plate glass window gave a pretty view of the bridge Teresa had admired earlier.

"Yes, that would be lovely."

They walked past Madeline, who nodded and smiled at them, and Mashburn escorted her down the hall, past a pretty red-headed secretary to another office. Her heart pounded when she saw her name and new position had already been added to the door in gold letters similar to Mashburn's.

"I had that installed the day after you signed," he said proudly. "Please, come in and have a look."

He opened the door for her and she gasped at the luxury awaiting her. Her desk was like Mashburn's, only on a much smaller scale, but her furniture was a pristine, winter white leather, from the chair behind her desk, to the couch against her wall. The carpet here was the same red shag. Back in Chicago, she'd had to share a cold cubicle with another man, who'd been resentful to be paired with a woman. She couldn't believe this was all hers, and she said so. He gave a small, knowing smile, pleased that she was pleased.

"Why, nothing but the best for you, Miss Lisbon."

He moved closer to her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. "You don't know how excited I am to finally be working with you."

She tried to ignore his hand, but found herself walking away uncomfortably in the guise of looking out the window. He followed her. He was charming, she told herself, and it wasn't as if he had made a pass at her.

"Likewise, Mr. Mashburn. The view is very nice," Teresa said, too brightly.

"Yes, isn't it? And call me Walter, if you don't mind…Teresa." She hesitated, but saw little harm in that small concession.

"If you insist. But before we go any further, uh, Walter, I must insist that we remain completely professional. I don't believe in dating my boss."

There, she'd said it, and if he wanted to fire her—

"Oh, no, Teresa, I hope I haven't given you the wrong impression. You see, I'm genuinely impressed by your talent, and hopeful you will be a profitable addition to this firm. But we aren't too formal of a lot around here, so I'm sorry if you're unaccustomed to our lack of decorum."

"No, it's quite all right. Things were much different in Chicago," she hedged.

"Well," he said with a smile, "this is California."

Just then, the redhead from Mr. Jane's office knocked lightly on the open door.

"Excuse me, Mr. Mashburn. Sorry to interrupt, but Madeline just called my desk to tell you you're needed to take an overseas phone call in your office."

"Oh! Thank you, Grace. Excuse me, Teresa, but I have to take this call. I'll catch up with you later. Grace here will see to your needs, including connecting you with the steno pool so you can conduct interviews for a new secretary."

"Thank you, Mr.—"
"Walter," he corrected.

"Thank you, Walter. I'll see you later."

When he'd left, Grace was still hovering around Teresa's new office door.

"Well," said Teresa. "Is he always that…enthusiastic?"

Grace chuckled. "Yes. I don't know where he gets his energy. I'm Grace Van Pelt, by the way, Mr. Jane's secretary." The women shook hands.

"Nice to meet you, Grace. I'm Teresa Lisbon."

"Do you need anything?"

"No, nothing at the moment, except for the steno pool information Mr. Mashburn suggested."

"I'll make some calls and arrange for the likeliest candidates. Any preferences for the type of girl you want, the skills she should have?"

"I would just like the most skilled typist you can find and one who has good telephone manners. Other than that, I can't think of a thing."

"Very well. Would you like a cup of coffee or tea?"

"Not right now, thanks. But you can show me where the coffee room is. I like to fix my own."

Grace smiled. "You sound like Mr. Jane. I've been working for him for two years, and he still won't let me fix his tea."

"Really?" she said curiously. Odd outside of England for a man to drink hot tea.

"Oh, yes. Apparently I don't get the water hot enough, and I always forget to pour the cream in first."

Lisbon smiled and followed Grace to the executive coffee room.

"So, what's he like?" Teresa asked casually.

"Who? Mr. Jane?"
"Yes."

"Well…he's a very good boss, as far as that goes. He's firm, but fair. And he has a very wicked sense of humor." She smiled just thinking about it.

"Vulgar?" Teresa asked, her mouth turning down in disapproval.

"Well, there is some innuendo, but that comes with the territory. You are the only woman executive, so I'm sure you will hear a lot of off-color remarks. I've just learned not to be too sensitive about it. I don't want to make waves, if you know what I mean."

They'd reached the small kitchenette, equipped with an electric stove, coffee and tea accoutrement, and even a small refrigerator. "We're allowed to keep our lunches from home in here if we want. By we, I mean the secretaries, of course. Usually the executives go out to eat at lunchtime. Working lunches, they call them."

"Sounds expensive to me," said Teresa. She'd certainly bring her lunch most days if she could help it.

Grace seemed to hesitate after she'd shown Teresa the contents of the cupboards. "You know, Miss Lisbon, I just want to say how thrilled I am to see a woman with some real power in this business. You must be very proud."

Teresa blushed a little. "I admit I can't believe I've made it this far. Just three years ago, I was a copywriter in the advertising department of a small city paper. It's very humbling."

"Well, maybe there's hope for me yet," said Grace.

"Of course there is. It just takes hard work and patience. Lots and lots of patience."

"That's actually what Mr. Jane says to me," Grace said, as they walked back down the hall to Teresa's new office.

Teresa glanced at the Patrick Jane's closed door. "You don't suppose I could meet him now, do you?"

"I'm sorry, but he says he doesn't wish to be disturbed. He's working on a big campaign and needs complete focus."

"Oh?" she said curiously. "What product?"

"Hot dogs, I think," replied Grace. "Frank's Franks."

Teresa smiled. "Wow! I wonder if he'd like some help. I'm pretty good with thinking up slogans," she said modestly.

Grace rapidly shook her head. "I wouldn't even try it if I were you. He doesn't exactly like to share…"

At that moment, two men, a tall, lanky fellow and a much shorter, muscular one, strode down the hall and stopped at Grace's desk.

"Hi, Grace," said the tall man shyly. "Mr. Jane just called down to the bullpen and asked that we come up right away."

"Really?" said Grace, mystified. She glanced at Teresa. "He must have had a breakthrough. I'll buzz you and Kimball in, Wayne. Oh, Miss Lisbon, these two gentlemen are Wayne Rigsby and Kimball Cho, up from the Creative lab downstairs. They call it the bullpen, because, well, I'm sure you can figure it out, especially after you get to know these two." She gave the two men a teasing smile, and Rigsby flushed at her attention. "Wayne, Kimball, this is Miss Lisbon, Mr. Jane's new co-Director."

Both men's eyebrows shot up in surprised unison. They recovered quickly, however, and shook her proffered hand.

"A pleasure, ma'am."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Lisbon."

"Thank you," said Teresa.

Grace spoke into the intercom. "Mr. Jane, Cho and Rigsby are here."

"Send them in," said a harried voice through the intercom.

"Oh, and since you have broken your isolation, Miss Lisbon is here as well to meet with you if you like."

Grace smiled at Teresa.

"Hell, no, Grace. I'm in the middle of a breakthrough of Biblical proportions. I don't have time to make nice with Mashburn's latest squeeze."

Grace gasped. "Uh, Mr. Jane, I think you should be aware that Miss Lisbon is actually standing right here. Within earshot."

Sorry, Grace mouthed, mortified.

She avoided Teresa's infuriated eyes, while Rigsby and Cho rushed inside Jane's office, closing the door quickly behind them.

Impulsively, Teresa went around Grace's desk and pressed the call button on her desk phone.

"May I?" she asked, but didn't wait for permission.

Jane picked up after four rings.

"Excuse me, Mr. Jane. This is Teresa Lisbon. I'd really like to take this opportunity to—"
"Don't you speak English, woman? Or are you deaf? I said, now is not a good time."

"But I really would like to—"

"Don't call me, sweetheart; I'll call you."

"Now, listen, Mr. Jane, this tone you're taking with me is completely uncalled for. I wonder how Mr. Mashburn would—"

He chuckled wryly. "It's starting already. Every time you feel slighted, you'll run to your Sugar Daddy, I just know it. Just goes to show a woman shouldn't work in a man's world."

"Look, we're supposed to be partners. I wouldn't think—"

"That's the problem with you, Miss Lisbon, apparently thinking is not your strongest suit. When a man says no, he means no. Teresa, I don't think you're in Kansas anymore."

"That's Chicago," she ground out.

"Whatever," said Jane. "Now you're wasting my time, honey. Why don't you go sit in your plush new office and file your nails like a good girl. Let the men do the heavy lifting."

"Why you ill-bread, conceited…"

She was so mad she was at a complete loss for words.

"Cad? Scoundrel? Degenerate?" he supplied helpfully.

"I was going to say pig!"

"Well, if you're going for simplicity, pig does have a certain mid-western charm."

"Ohhhh!" she sputtered.

"If you're through berating me, could you put Grace on, if you please?"

Lisbon shoved the phone to Grace almost violently.

"Grace, get her away from my office before I decide to fire you."

"Yes, sir," Grace replied with a gulp. She gently put the phone back in its cradle.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Lisbon. I've never known him to be this rude before. I think he's been having a hard time with this hot dog campaign."

"Working hard, I can understand, but clearly he has neither manners nor tact. It's not your fault, Grace. Some men are just pigs!" She said the last loudly enough that he was certain to have heard it through the heavy door.

"I'm sure he'll be in a better mood tomorrow," said Grace hopefully.

"I won't hold my breath."

Xxxxxxxxxxx

It was a good thing she didn't. Teresa tried twice more in the next two days to make peace with the man, but he was having none of it. He refused to speak with her, and she could never quite catch him entering or exiting that damnable office of his. The third day, however, another woman emerged from his office, a beautiful brunette in a form-fitting sheath dress and sexy black pumps. She paused outside Jane's door to retouch her lipstick with an expensive compact.

She smiled at Teresa, straightened her dress, and nodding to Grace, sashayed her ample hips toward the elevator.

Grace shrugged apologetically. If Miss Lisbon could only meet her boss, she would understand why the women were drawn to him like flies to honey.

"Well, I know he hasn't been too busy with actual work," huffed Teresa. "Buzz him, if you please, Grace."

"Really, Miss Lisbon, I don't think that's a good idea. He's probably napping."

"Napping? It's two o'clock in the afternoon!"

She blushed a little as she glanced in the direction the mysterious woman had gone.

Teresa grew red with her own dawning understanding, and bypassing Grace, marched determinedly over to his door. She pounded it hard enough to wake the dead. No chance he could have slept through that.

"Mr. Jane! I demand that you open this door and talk to me like a civilized person!"

"Go away," came his distant, rather groggy reply. "I'm sleeping."

"Ohh! I give up!" She threw up her hands in defeat.

"Finally," said Jane from within, pulling the blanket from the back of the brown leather couch more snuggly around himself. Loretta's weekly visits always wore him out. He grinned and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep like a baby.

Meanwhile, Teresa stormed off to her office past Sarah, her new secretary, and slammed the door behind her. The young woman gaped at the disappearing whirlwind, then caught Grace's eye a little ways down the hall. Grace waved and gave a sympathetic smile, as if to say, welcome to my world.

"Creative types," Sarah muttered to herself.

The next day, Teresa found a memo that Sarah had laid on her desk.

Interoffice Memorandum

From: Patrick Jane, Creative Director

Attention: Creative Department Employees

It has come to my attention that certain female employees, specifically newly acquired ones, are uncertain as to the manner in which professionals conduct themselves in this company. I feel it is my obligation as Creative Director to direct said employees to MAA's official Employee Handbook, specifically Section 5, Item C. I'm certain complete knowledge and understanding of said Handbook regulations, and indeed, the entire Handbook would be most beneficial in helping certain females to adapt to the ways of the male executives…

It droned on and on for another page and a half, until at last Teresa Lisbon growled under her breath, rose from her desk, and walked briskly to Grace. She made herself control her temper—this was not Grace's doing, after all—and held the offending memo before the secretary.

"What…is this?"

Grace winced. "I'm sorry. He made me take the dictation—"

"Oh, I don't blame you. Who else did he send this to?"

Grace looked down guiltily. "Just you," she said, barely above a whisper.

"Well, this is the last straw," she said calmly. "I refuse to work under these exasperating conditions. Mr. Jane's lucky Mr. Mashburn has been on that business trip all week, or I'd have given our boss a piece of my mind. But Mr. Jane's gone too far this time. I am pushed to take drastic measures."

She reached around Grace and pushed the buzzer to open the door.

"No, Miss Lisbon—" said Grace, getting quickly to her feet, but not faster than
Teresa, who was by then turning the knob and pushing open the door.

"Mr. Jane," she began. "I insist you…"

But he wasn't there. She walked into the washroom adjoining his office (she didn't have one of those), but there was no sign of the infuriating man. She even looked under his desk, just in case the coward was hiding. Instead, she now stood in an office on par with her own (except for the washroom), but the furniture wasn't stark white or mahogany. It was decorated in masculine shades of muted brown, including the well-worn leather couch against one wall. Framed posters of his ad campaigns hung upon the walls, along with a shelf of several advertising plaques and trophies, including the familiar Clio Award.

So, he had one too.

A busy planning board with multiple pictures of hot dogs and slogans stood behind his desk.

A cluttered work space was clearly a sign of a cluttered mind, she thought unkindly.

"I'm sorry, but he's in a meeting with Frank's Franks," said Grace from the doorway. "I'll tell him you came by."

"Don't bother," she said. Then her lips formed a tight smile. "I'll just leave my calling card."

She walked over to his desk and flipped open a leather-bound notebook. Taking the fancy fountain pen from its stand, she drew a simple, though completely recognizable image of a very fat pig. Then she took the memo and shredded it into thin strips, laying it beneath the pig as if it were white hay.

Wiping her hands of the whole mess, literally and figuratively, she walked past Grace and walked with head held high back to her office.

"If the pig wants war, then by heaven, he's got one."

A/N: Now, I shall toss the next chapter to Nerwen's capable hands. Please let us know if you like this. We're anxious to find out if it's working for you as a reader!