A/N: For Wond-rwait, who tempted me over to the dark side with her fabulous fics. Thanks to Tayryn and Searider-Falcon, who read bits of this as I wrote, even if I do ship CC/everybody.

What Would Happen

Chapter 1

One late afternoon in October, CC Babcock sat at the kitchen table in Maxwell Sheffield's house, taking a moment to skim the Times and have a cup of coffee before heading to the theater. Their new play opened in two weeks, and the set designer found himself in need of CC's particular brand of encouragement. She looked forward to obliging him.

"CC, darling," Sara Sheffield called, her voice warm and friendly as she came down the back staircase. "Tell me, have you found a date for the opening night party?"

CC curled her lip in disdain at the question. Sara, her business associate's wife, had long tried to force what CC knew would never happen: a friendship between the two women. Both blonde and willowy and from families with more money than some sovereign nations, the similarities ended there. CC could not understand for the life of her why Sara continued to seek her out as a friend. The question she had just asked pointed to perhaps the biggest difference between them. Unlike most women of her age and social set, CC's main interest in life was not, in fact, finding a suitable husband, much to her mother's and apparently Sara's chagrin. Nor was she interested in settling down with the aforementioned man and breeding a passel of weepy, needy children.

CC pasted a smile on her face and turned to look at Sara, who at the moment held her youngest—Greta?—in her arms, soothing the sniffling child. "Sara dear, I haven't even had time to glance through my address book, with all the work at the theater these past few weeks." She said it sweetly, as she made all her excuses when Sara inquired about her love life. CC suspected that Maxwell's wife would not approve if she told her that lately, the few dates she had had time for consisted of picking up men in bars and having her way with them in anonymous hotel rooms. No emotions, no commitment, just pleasure. So she kept it to herself and tried to avoid conversations like these.

"You're not getting any younger," Sara teased, shifting the kid from one arm to the other, attempting in vain to quiet the sniffles that had turned into wails.

CC tried, she really did, to bite her tongue. Conflict with Maxwell's wife never led anyplace good, but how much was she supposed to endure? She said lightly, "We can't all be as lucky as you, three darling children before the age of 30." She couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice, and Sara was not a stupid woman. CC had had to speak more loudly with each word, as the little monster reached her crescendo. "I'll leave you to it," CC finished with a smirk. Abandoning her mug and the disordered newspaper for the butler to deal with, she breezed out the door, unmoved by the hurt expression on Sara's face.

The organized chaos at the theater was a breath of fresh air after her brief encounter with Sara Sheffield and her screaming baby. CC glanced around, looking for the set designer. Her eyes finally landed on him and narrowed immediately. He was arguing with Maxwell. CC strode down the aisle, her heels clicking a rapid tattoo in spite of the thin carpeting.

Maxwell heard her coming and looked up, an expression of pure relief on his face. "CC! Just the woman I wanted to see!" He extended his palm towards her in welcome, and CC grasped it briefly before Maxwell wrapped his arm around her waist. "I was just telling Dave here that you have some ideas for the second act."

CC craned her neck slightly to watch Maxwell as he spoke. He looked tired, he needed a shave, and his eyes were sleepy in spite of his concentration on the subject at hand. She turned her gaze to Dave. "Yes, Dave, Maxwell is right." She honeyed her tone, but the designer jerked his head to look at her suspiciously.

CC stepped away from Maxwell, her lower back suddenly cool without his arm across it. "Max, why don't you leave this to me? I saw the caterer bringing in some fresh coffee as I arrived."

He shot her a grateful look. "Come find me later?"

"Of course," she smiled, then turned to Dave, her expression growing significantly less friendly.

Twenty minutes later, CC walked into the backstage office, where Maxwell was nursing his second cup of coffee. Her cheeks were flushed with victory. The set designer had finally agreed to her demands, of course he had, but not without a little browbeating. Browbeating just happened to be one of CC's favorite activities, and she had to admit, she would have been disappointed if Dave had caved too easily.

Maxwell looked up at her and beamed. "All taken care of, if your expression is any indication?"

CC returned his grin. "Piece of cake," she said glibly, pushing a stack of papers across the desk to make a spot to lean against it.

Maxwell scooted his chair over to give her room. "Thank you," he said. "I was making a bit of a flub of it before you got here," he said ruefully.

"Nonsense. Dave just responds better to a bully," she said, steepling her fingers and peering over them mock-malevolently, one eyebrow raised.

Maxwell laughed. "Say, do you want to grab a quick bite to eat? We could discuss that last contract we need to finish."

She shrugged, sliding off the desk. "Sure, I don't have plans."

Maxwell leaned to the other side of the desk, where CC had left her sweater the previous day. He walked to where she stood, holding the sweater so she could slip it on. "It's getting colder out, isn't it?" He murmured near her ear as he brought the garment up around her shoulders, letting his hands linger a few seconds longer than CC felt was strictly necessary.

She kept from shivering at his touch, or at his voice, or at just his proximity, but it was a near thing. She would never. But that didn't make him any less attractive, or that voice of his any less seductive, even when he was talking about something as banal as the weather.

At that moment, the phone on the desk rang.

With one last squeeze of her arms, Maxwell picked the receiver up and propped it between his ear and his shoulder as he struggled into his own light jacket. CC stepped over to help, holding one sleeve for him. She couldn't resist tracing his arm with her fingertips as he settled into the jacket, and he tossed a smile over his shoulder and mouthed "Sara."

CC managed not to scowl till she had shifted so that her back was to him. She could hear the kid making a racket through the phone. And Sara thought she should want that life? Clearly the woman was delusional.

"Yes, dear, I'll be right there; I was just leaving. Do you think we should call the pediatrician?" Maxwell paused and listened to Sara's response. "You hold tight, and ask Niles to warm some milk for her, okay? I'll only be a few minutes."

Hanging up the phone, Maxwell turned and put a tentative hand on CC's shoulder. "I'm sorry; I'm sure you heard. Grace won't stop crying, poor thing."

She could hear the frustration in his voice, and it was only that that prevented her from lashing out at him. She moved to face him, careful to strip the annoyance from her features. "It's fine. I'll take the contract home with me and have it ready tomorrow."

His expression softened. "You spoil me," he said, squeezing her shoulder.

She raised an eyebrow. "And don't you forget it." She lifted her hand halfway to his stubbled cheek but pulled back before touching him, clenching her fingers and dropping her hand to her side.

Maxwell reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. "Thank you," he said. "Good night, CC."

CC knew she must be imagining it, but it sounded like a caress. She pulled her hand back gently and almost managed to make her "Night, Max," sound flippant as she walked out of the office without a backwards glance.