A/N: Here's a Sunday chapter that will hopefully help get your through until tonight's episode. There's a touch of "M" in this chapter, so be warned. Thanks for your continuing support of this fic. Nerwen and I greatly appreciate it!
Chapter 7: Best Laid Plans
Two days passed, with Jane continually trying to see or talk to Teresa, but she refused all his calls, refused to see him. Her secretary, Sarah, once impressed by his charm, was now coldly immune, guarding her boss's office like it contained the Holy Grail. He supposed he couldn't blame her; certainly he couldn't blame Teresa. But now, Jane was surprised to find the Sea Mist account no longer mattered. Nothing mattered to him anymore but that he'd lost Teresa.
Walter was avoiding him too, and except for the brief glimpse of the company namesake, sporting one hell of a shiner and yelling a curse at him across the parking lot before getting into a black limousine, Jane had been denied access to his boss's office, as well. Walter's black eye seemed promising, however. Maybe Teresa had seen through Walter too, figured out that he had only lured her to his company to get into her pants. There was some comfort in that thought. Jane certainly knew she packed quite a punch for such a small person. He smiled for the first time since Teresa had found out the truth, touching his sore nose gingerly.
To make matters worse, Jane had been cut completely out of the Sea Mist account, having received a terse memo from Walter that he was expected to be present during the formal presentation with Jack King in the MAA conference room, but then his position should be considered terminated. Walter had even made his attendance linked to any severance pay, so Jane would have no choice but to show up, tail between his legs at the presentation or risk losing thousands of dollars he might need until he found another job.
All of this was driving him a little crazy, he knew. He hadn't shaved in two days, and hadn't even bothered wearing a tie into work. He'd barricaded himself in his office, feeling sorry for himself and trying every half-hour to call Teresa both at her apartment and her office. He was sure Sarah had gotten tired of hearing his voice. He kept reliving every moment with Teresa torturing himself with the memory of her soft skin beneath his hands, the feel of her trembling lips as he kissed her.
Now, normally in a situation like this, he'd develop a plan to win her back, and several options had floated around in his head, but none of them would work if he'd been denied access to her office, and even to her apartment building, whose protective doormen had obviously been given a description of him. How could such a small woman inspire so much protectiveness? Jane sighed. He knew the answer to that. She was a wonderful human being, while he—he was in fact the swine she'd so often accused him of. He didn't like admitting that to himself, but it was true—especially where women were concerned.
The morning of the presentation, he could stand no more. He arrived an hour earlier than even the secretaries did, and he stood at Teresa's office door, looking around cautiously before expertly picking the lock and slipping inside. He looked at the beautiful picture boards on display of the Sea Mist presentation, longing slamming into him. If he hadn't been such an ass, things might have turned out so differently. They worked well together, and it wasn't just their brief time in the bedroom. Teresa was truly brilliant at what she did, a near-equal match to his own creativity, and had he not been so territorial, so narrow-minded in his desire to be MAA's only Creative Director, they could have brought this firm to national prominence, just like Walter had dreamed.
The way he saw it, this was his last chance to get to Teresa before he would be denied access to the company itself, escorted out of the building after the meeting like a common criminal. He made himself comfortable on her white leather couch to wait, the two nights of sleeplessness finally catching up with him. So, with the lingering scent of her perfume in his nostrils (the damn place even smelled like her!), Jane adjusted the throw pillow more comfortably beneath his head and drifted off to sleep.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Teresa had kept herself busy with work the past two days, and with the constant battle of purposefully avoiding a very persistent Patrick Jane. She only allowed herself to cry when she lay down in bed, not even the sips of sherry hastening her oblivion. She loved the bastard, and he'd betrayed her in every way possible. The revenge she'd planned comforted her somewhat, but it would be cold comfort, for in the end, all she would have left would be her job. How sad that that used to be enough for her.
The morning of the final presentation to the real Jack King found her attempting the second phase of her vengeance, the first phase already in the works down in the Creative Lab, with her new allies, Rigsby and Cho. This second phase would be the most difficult, for she must look the great conman himself, Patrick Jane, in the eyes and lie. Lying had never been her strong suit—and normally that would be a good quality to cultivate. But today, she called to the devil on her shoulder to make her a better actress.
She stopped before Grace's desk, the younger woman immediately smiling in sympathy. By now everyone knew the story of how Jane had deceived Teresa, stealing her ideas and passing them off as his own. Only Grace and Sarah knew that he'd tricked her on an even more personal level, and the three women had allied themselves immediately against the resident pig in his office sty.
"He's not in yet," Grace told her.
She also knew, by way of Rigsby, that Miss Lisbon had cooked up a special parting gift for her soon-to-be-former boss, and Grace had applauded the chutzpah of the female executive. About time these male chauvinists got what was coming to them.
"What?" said Teresa, taken aback. She glanced at her watch. It was past nine. She had to meet with him before one or her whole plan would fall apart.
"Has he called?"
"No," she said. "I'll let you know when he gets in."
"Yes, thanks, Grace."
Disheartened, Teresa walked down the hall to her own secretary, Sarah smiling in warm greeting.
"This is the big day," she told her boss brightly.
"Yes, it is," said Lisbon morosely. "Please patch in any calls from Grace to me right away."
"Yes, Miss Lisbon," Sarah replied, noting with concern the dark shadows that not even makeup could hide. Poor dear.
Teresa unlocked her door and went inside, sighing as her first view was the one of a beautiful Sacramento morning outside her bay window. She took off her beige suit jacket and hat and hung them on the coat rack, then, clad in her matching skirt and chocolate silk blouse, she walked toward her desk. She stopped short, nearly gasping aloud when she saw that a very unexpected Goldilocks was sleeping on her couch.
She paused to look at him a moment—she couldn't help it—he was so angelic in sleep, fully belying his decidedly devilish side when awake. Love washed over her so violently that it almost brought her to her knees. Tears sprung to her eyes, but she angrily dashed them away and marched loudly over to her couch. She kicked the cushion right beneath his head, enormously satisfied when he jerked awake, momentarily disoriented.
"Hey! Wake up!"
He blinked a moment up at her, and in that brief, off-guard moment, she saw on his face a flash of something that had her heart leaping, but she resolutely tamped down the feeling. No way he was going to charm his way out of this one, beguiling looks or no.
"Hi," he said warily.
"How'd you get in here?"
"I picked the lock."
Her eyes widened. "That's probably the first truth you've told me since we met. Now get the hell out."
She pointed a dainty alabaster finger toward the door, and Jane had to suppress a smile. In that moment, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was madly in love with her. He would wager a million bucks she felt the same, but she was in no mood to exchange words of love, so he would have to resort to some sexual subterfuge.
He straightened his shirt and suit coat and allowed himself his most charming grin. "No," he replied. "I've been trying to talk to you for two days, and this was the only way I could think of to make it happen."
"I don't need or want any explanations. I wouldn't believe another word out of your mouth anyway, so you may as well leave before I call security."
She moved quickly toward her desk to do just that, but he was up, as stealthy and quick as a cat, to stay her hand on the telephone.
She tensed at his touch, at the warmth of his body pressing against her back. He clasped her reaching hand in his, and whispered near her ear.
"Teresa, please. Give me a chance to explain."
Her mind was racing. He was actually right where she wanted him, wasn't he? Contrite and willing to do anything to get back in her good graces. This was the time to set him up for the surprise she'd planned for him this afternoon. She forced herself to relax, and, properly encouraged, his hands came up to rest on her shoulders, turning her around to face him.
"I'm sorry," he began, his mint tea scented breath soft on her heated cheeks. "Truly, I am." His eyes were unguarded and imploring, and she desperately wanted to believe him. But, fool me twice…
"All right," she said, stepping a safe distance from his embrace. "You have exactly"—she glanced at her watch for effect—"three minutes, and then after the presentation, I never want to see you again."
"Three minutes, eh?" he said, amused at the arbitrary time limit.
"Two minutes and forty-five seconds," she shot back coldly.
He sighed. She was so damn stubborn he wanted nothing more than to kiss her into submission. That will come later, Patrick old boy.
"Fine. I admitted the other day that at first I resented you, wanted to steal your ideas and make you look the fool."
"Well, congratulations," she spat, "you succeeded brilliantly."
"Does that outburst count against my three minutes?"
She clamped her mouth shut, and he continued, undaunted. "But the more I got to know you, the more I realized that I wanted to work with you. That we really would make a good team, but I was so deep into the lie, I didn't know how to dig my way out. I knew you hated Patrick Jane, but you were obviously falling for Jack King. How the hell was I going to convince you that my feelings were true, when everything else was false?"
"The moment you put on that fake accent and called yourself Jack, there was no turning back, Mr. Jane. Even if—if I could forgive you, I could never trust you again. Don't you see that? You used me. And I nearly let you—" She swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat. "But that was the past," she amended, remembering herself. "I-I do want to get on with things. I hate holding grudges. And that's why I came up with a way to make peace with everything that happened between us."
He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "Really?"
Her sudden shift in emotions was almost startling, and he wasn't buying it for a minute. He'd humor her, though. If she wanted to find some passive aggressive way to get back at him, why, he'd let her, and then maybe they'd be even, and he might have a chance to get back in her good graces.
"What do you propose?" he asked, genuinely curious.
He didn't miss her small sigh of relief.
"I want you to be the one to give the presentation to Mr. King. You were right when you said that you've been the one to develop the relationship with the client; it would make sense that you be the one to tie things up at the end."
"You want me to present your work, pass it off as my own," he stated in disbelief. Yes, something was definitely up.
"Well, yes. You've already done as much already. Bringing me in at the last minute would be too confusing, too suspicious. Walter already fired you, so I don't see the harm. You are very talented, Mr. Jane, from what I've seen of your actual work, and I don't think I could send you in good conscience back out into the work force with this cloud of embarrassment hanging over your head."
"Uh-huh," he said, skeptical to say the least.
"We could leave this relationship on a professional note, and then go our separate ways."
He regarded her a moment, noting the heightened color in her cheeks. She was lying her little heart out, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what she intended. Vengeance, no doubt, but it wouldn't hurt to give her something to help her reconsider. He stepped closer to her, and she backed away until her hips pressed against the desk.
"Is that what you really want, Teresa?" he asked, his hands coming to rest on the desk on either side of her as he bend forward. His face was only inches from hers, and he watched her green eyes widen in something akin to fear—not that he would harm her, but that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
"You want me out of your life?"
"Yes," she breathed. "Please."
"Let's make sure, shall we?"
And then he kissed her. She couldn't resist him as he devoured her lips, savoring their sweetness before slipping his tongue inside to taste the silken interior of her mouth. She whimpered, unable to fight the passion he stirred within her. He lifted her up slightly to sit on the edge of the desk, her skirt riding up as he stepped between her legs. His hands found the garters where her stockings ended, and the satiny texture of her bare skin inflamed him, his heartbeat racing, his hands shaking a little as he caressed her inner thighs.
His lips left hers to trace her jawbone to the shell of her ear, and she trembled and gasped, one hand coming up to caress his stubbly cheeks. She felt his warm hand on the bow at her throat, deftly untying it, then unbuttoning her blouse until he could slip his hand inside to cup her breast. His other hand was still beneath her skirt, and when he found her heated core, she came to her senses and her hands came down to stop his sensual progress.
"Stop," she panted. "Please—I-I can't!"
She pushed him away and hopped down from the desk, both of them wobbling a bit at the sudden shift in their positions. As her quivering fingers moved to make herself decent, she watched him warily beneath her eyelashes, noting how his chest rose and fell quickly as he ran a frustrated hand through his already disheveled hair.
"You can't deny what's happening between us," he said softly. "You want this—you want me."
"Yes," she replied. "But that doesn't change anything. It doesn't change what you did to me."
He took another step closer. "It could change everything, if you let it."
"No. Let's end this amicably, like I said before. It's best…for both of us."
"I don't believe that. But I get it. I've hurt you. But if you'd give me ano—"
This time she met his eyes straight on, and there was a conviction there that made his heart drop into his stomach. "I can't do that. I won't. I'd like to think I have a little more self respect than that. I want you to leave now. Please."
He wanted nothing more than to go to her, convince her to take him back with more kisses. He could do it; he had no doubt. But he realized he'd already disrespected her so much in the past, that he felt abashed as the guilt of his former ruse suffused him now.
"If that's what you want," he said.
She held up her chin, and he loved her all the more. "It is."
He left her then, striding past a wide-eyed Sarah, and Teresa stumbled to the couch before she lost her tenuous hold on her emotions. She cried into the pillow that smelled like him.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Jane took the time to go home and shower and shave before his farewell presentation. This would be his last chance to improve Teresa's opinion of him, and maybe impress Walter and Jack King enough that they would decide to keep him. If he could be in close proximity to Teresa, day in and day out, working beside her, he'd be more easily able to finagle his way back into her good graces (and other places). But if he left the company, his chances of winning her back would drop dramatically. Oh, he was still determined to try no matter what, but he was somewhat disheartened at her determination to push him away.
Teresa was in the conference room when he arrived, and she looked up at him, flushing first, then forcing her expression to go blank. Jane admired her attempt, but she was just as bad at hiding her emotions as she was at lying. He disconcerted her, but he liked her like that.
"Good afternoon," he said in amusement.
He gave her his most nonthreatening smile, but she looked away, mumbling a polite reply. She tried calming her nerves by rearranging the tray of hors d'oeuvre and pastries in the center of the long conference table. There was a teapot and one with coffee as well, along with a pitcher of ice water. Jane poured himself a cup of tea and sat across from her, his eyes taking in every detail of her familiar beige suit and contrasting dark hair, tantalizingly gathered into a neat bun at her pale nape. He wanted nothing more than to mess up her tidy appearance, preferably by rolling around with her in a nice warm bed. Jane shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
She felt his eyes on her and risked a glance that she regretted immediately. He was so damn handsome that her mouth went dry, and the memory of their earlier kisses in her office flashed through her mind, heightening her nervousness. Could she really go through with this? She poured herself some water and took a fortifying gulp.
At the head of the table was an easel with large picture boards, covered by a cloth no doubt intended to build up King's anticipation before the dramatic reveal. Jane noticed that she was purposefully avoiding looking in that direction almost as much as she was avoiding him. He rose to see what she was hiding just as Walter Mashburn and Jack King entered the conference room.
"Paddy!" King exclaimed, walking confidently to Jane and shaking his hand warmly.
"Jack," said Jane with a smile.
Across the table, Teresa rose as well, and Mashburn turned to her, the rosiness of his complexion heightening when he saw her cringe at his two black eyes nestled within his fading sunburn. He knew he looked a sight, and embarrassment suffused him.
She'd yelled decidedly unladylike curses at the boxer at the restaurant that night, calling for the waiter to bring Mashburn an ice pack at the same time. She'd made even a hardened fighter ashamed, and Owens had tossed several bills on the table to cover the cost of their meal, scurrying quickly away, tail between his legs. Teresa could summon the perfect air of a reproving nun when she chose, and no man—not even a prize fighter-could escape the feelings of contrition she engendered.
Despite his jealousy where her feelings for Jane were concerned, Walter's smile showed genuine admiration.
"Jack, meet Miss Teresa Lisbon. We were able to bring her back on board to help finesse the final presentation."
Teresa came to him, extending her hand with a confidence she wasn't feeling.
"Well, aren't you prettier than a little speckled pup," he said, his heavy accent a painful reminder of Jane's subterfuge. She forced herself to smile.
"Why, thank you, Mr. King. It's nice to finally meet you at last."
"You were holding out on me, Mash," said the surfboard mogul, not immediately releasing her hand. "I see what this was now. You were afraid I'd steal her away from you and smuggle her home in my steamer trunk."
"You caught me," said Mashburn, and the three men chuckled, but each for different reasons. "Please, Jack, won't you sit down and help yourself to some refreshments. Miss Lisbon and Jane have something very impressive for you."
"Well, if the preliminaries Paddy showed me were any indication, I'm impressed already."
The big man settled into the chair closest to the head of the table and reached for a canapé, while Teresa offered to pour their client a cup of coffee.
"Thanks, sweetheart," he said, noting her pleasing form beneath her silk blouse.
Across the table, Jane frowned. He didn't like the way the Australian was ogling his lady. If there was any ogling to be done, it would be by Jane, himself.
"Teresa," said Mashburn, nodding toward the easel. "Will you do the honors?"
"Actually, Walter, since Mr. Jane has been our point man on this, I think he's just the man for the job. After all, this was his dream from the very beginning."
Mashburn's eyes narrowed. "You sure about this, Teresa?"
She smiled. "Absolutely. Take it away, Mr. Jane."
Jane moved into position beside the picture boards, his suspicions in high gear at Teresa's magnanimity, but it was too late. Whatever she was planning was about to fall down squarely upon his head, and he knew he'd have to suck it up for the sake of any future relationship. He took a deep breath.
"Surfing," he began, "is not just a sport or a challenging pastime. It is a way to get in touch with nature, with the ocean, to become not just a traveler upon its wave"- here he pulled off the cloth covering the display—"but to feel like you are a part of the ocean itself…"
In their high-backed leather chairs, both King and Mashburn gasped audibly. With a sinking heart, Jane turned his head to look at the picture he'd revealed.
On the top of an exaggerated wave, a Sea Mist surfboard was poised, ridden by a wobbly, cartoonish kangaroo in an old-fashioned striped bathing suit, its large feet hanging ten over the edge of the board. Its furry arms were stretched out, trying in vain to keep its balance. To add insult to injury, the name Jack was emblazoned upon the kangaroo's tank top. Beneath the illustration was the slogan:
Sea Mist: Australian for Surf Boards
"What the bloody hell is this?" roared King. "This is not at all what I agreed to earlier, Jane! It's a mockery of my good name!"
Mashburn had turned white beneath his sunburn. "Jane," he hissed,
"where are the other boards? The other campaign?"
Jane shrugged, his eyes on Teresa.
"What kind of stereotypical claptrap are you peddling, Mashburn?" King was ranting. "It's been nothing but bait and switch since I agreed to come to California!"
"Look, Jack, I had no idea—"
"Wait," said Teresa, reaching calmly beneath the table. "I was afraid Mr. Jane might pull something like this, so I took the liberty of bringing my own campaign. May I, gentlemen?" She stood and set a picture board on the table before her, the illustration beautifully familiar.
Mashburn let out his held breath in relief. "Please, Miss Lisbon, for the love of God, proceed."
Jane had to hand it to her. As far as paybacks went, this took the prize. After his embarrassing failure, she would be the one to swoop in like some sort of Supergirl or Joan of Arc and save the day. But this was Jane's very reputation at stake now, and, love or no, he wasn't just going to stand by and let her ruin his career this way. He stepped back to the table, pretending to look at Teresa's board in surprise. In fact, he leaned over so far that he "accidentally" knocked over the teapot, spilling its steaming contents all over Cho and Rigsby's painstaking artistry and splashing onto Teresa's pretty little suit.
Teresa let out a cry of surprise and stepped away from the table, while Jane leaped into action.
"Oops," he said casually, reaching for a cloth napkin. Instead of blotting up the tea, however, he rubbed it in even more, hopelessly smearing the picture to the point of tearing a wet hole in the center of the illustrated sea.
"What the hell kind of business are you running here?" said King in disgust. A bit of tea had splashed on his suit coat, and he grabbed a napkin, dabbing at it furiously. He got up from the dripping table and tossed the napkin on the plate of sodden pastries. "I should have known better than to entrust my surfboards with some third tier ad company. You've wasted a week of my valuable time, Mashburn."
"Look, Jack, there's been some sort of misunderstanding. Let's reschedule another presentation—"
"Ha! That'll be the day. I'm off to New York and Sterling Cooper. As far as I'm concerned, you and your unprofessional…yahoos can forget the whole damn thing!"
He stormed from the room, while Teresa stood there, in shock by how completely her plan had fallen apart.
"You're fired," Mashburn practically spat at Jane, who wisely refrained from pointing out that this was old news. But then Mashburn turned on Teresa in equal fury. "Both of you!"
Their former boss dashed out of the room in pursuit of Jack King, hoping against hope he could repair the damage his wayward co-Creative Directors had wrought.
"That went well," said Jane dryly, when they were alone.
Teresa rounded on him with all the frigidity of the Arctic Circle. "I loathe you," she growled, and threw a balled up, wet napkin in his general direction. He neatly sidestepped it, and watched her stomp from the room as fast as her shapely legs could carry her.
Well, he thought, with unreasonable optimism, love and hate are two sides of the same coin, after all.
He grabbed a canapé that wasn't soaked in tea and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. He studied the kangaroo on the surfboard in delayed amusement, shaking his head at the brilliance of Teresa's now failed plan. Then, with a self-deprecating grin, he grabbed another handful of hors d'oeuvres and put them in his suit coat pocket for later.
He was out of a job. Who knew where his next meal might come from?
A/N: The ball is back in Nerwen's court! Please log in and review if you liked this chapter. Now, as for tonight's episode, hold onto your teabags, folks. I'm so excited about the upcoming Jisbon, I can barely contain myself…
