Many apologies, the skeleton of this chapter has been sitting on my computer since late last year.

It's a bit short but it's setting up for the next chapter which I thoroughly enjoyed writing.

Again, thanks eternally for all the reviews, alerts, etc. I value your opinion, good or bad!

"I get the impression you've kind of been avoiding me."

Christine tried to school her expression into something that didn't resemble 'deer in the headlights' but wasn't entirely sure she succeeded. He was absolutely right – she had been avoiding him – but it wasn't something she was prepared to admit. It had been nearly ten days since 'the incident' and for ten days she had been ignoring Meg's constant demands to pick up the phone and call the man involved.

And now he had taken the initiative and showed up at their apartment.

"Of course I haven't been avoiding you!" she replied but she had to withhold the wince at the way her voice rose in the middle of the sentence. Lying wasn't exactly one of her greatest talents. "It's just been a bit ... busy." She finished lamely.

"I see," Richard answered in a way that clearly suggested he didn't believe her, "how about right now? I'm free for lunch. Can I come inside?"

There wasn't any polite way to say no (and she had no ready excuse to suggest why he couldn't come in) so she watched helplessly as he made his way inside the apartment. By the time she had shut the door and stood for a few moments, trying to gather her thoughts, he had seated himself at one of the bar stools at the kitchen bench.

"Want a sandwich?" she asked. If they were going to discuss what had happened, she preferred to be doing something constructive at the same time.

"I'd love a sandwich," he replied, and she busied herself raiding the refrigerator for edible products.

"You have been avoiding me, Christine."

"Avoid is a strong word," she called as she delved into the crisper for salad, "it's more like I neglected to deal with the situation right away."

"I'm pretty sure that amounts to the same thing," he said dryly.

She returned to the bench with an armful of ingredients, busying herself getting everything ready.

"Christine?" he prompted.

She sighed, stopping her movements to look at him. "I'm sorry. I was going to call you, go and see you but every time I thought about it I'd get all confused as to what I was going to say."

"The ever eloquent Christine?" he asked. "I don't believe that. You've always been good with words."

"Not always," she countered, eyeing the ingredients in front of her and deciding which one to cut up first.

Richard slid off the chair and moved into the kitchen area, just as Christine picked up the tomato for slicing. "Put the tomato down, Christine."

"Well yeah," she started, waving the offending object in the air, "but if you want it on your sandwich I'm gonna have to cut it up because I'm pretty sure that you're not going to want the whole thing on –"

He leant down and kissed her.

"I really don't think that was necessary," she said after a moment of silence, "you interrupted my sandwich making."

"It's the only thing that shuts you up when you get started."

"It is not," she mumbled, embarrassed and trying to hide it by returning to the sandwiches.

"I like you, Christine," he said softly, halting her moments by grabbing her hand, "and I enjoy spending time with you. I'd like us to be more than friends. But if you don't want to, that's fine, but I'd prefer to know rather than to hang around waiting for you to make up your mind."

She shot him an apologetic look, opening her mouth and then closing it again when she realised she didn't actually have anything to say.

"I'm sorry," he added, "that may have come out a bit harsh. I just, I guess I don't like not knowing what's going on in my life."

"No, that's only fair. I guess I just thought if I put it off I wouldn't ever have to deal with it." Christine explained. "I do that, sometimes, with problems I don't know how to solve readily."

"I'm not saying we have to rush into anything," Richard said hopefully, "I mean, we can just take it slow, see how things go."

And in that moment, looking up at his hopeful face and thinking about the time they had spent together in the last couple of weeks, she made up her mind. "I'd like that."

"Excellent," Richard positively beamed, "now, shall I help you with these sandwiches?"

They were seated in the living room, enjoying the sandwiches which had taken twice as long as usual to make with all the laughing and joking going on.

"I saw you at Destler's place," Christine said, picking up the second half of her ham and salad sandwich, "you were arguing with Destler."

A dark expression came over his face and she wondered what exactly they had been fighting about. "Yes," he murmured, "arguing with him is not something I enjoy."

"Arguing with Destler is not something anyone enjoys," Christine laughed, wiping crumbs from her hands to the plate.

"Except that this –" Richard stopped suddenly, despite Christine's enquiring look, "never mind, it's nothing."

"Being his graphic designer is bad enough," she said, "I can only imagine what being his lawyer is like! Are you at his beck and call all the time?"

"Something like that," he grinned, "well, I suppose I better get back to work."

They put their plates on the sink and she walked him to the door. He stood at the doorstep a moment longer. "Is there any chance we could so something this week?"

Christine pondered the question for a moment, trying to remember precisely what she had scheduled for the rest of the week. "Well, I'm going to watch Meg perform on Saturday night. There's still some tickets left if you wanted to come?"

Happy that she was inviting him somewhere, and not to mention to something that was important to her, he immediately agreed. "I'd love to come along. But I can't come to any celebratory drinks after, though. My brother is picking me up early on Sunday and we're heading out to do some fishing."

"I usually don't like to intrude on the first night of a show," Christine said, "most of the time it's just the cast and crew, so that's fine. I didn't know you were a fishing fan."

"Ah well, I'm not really," he started and had to grin at Christine's laugh, "but my brother loves it and I haven't seen him for so long. How can I say no?"

"Family is family," she agreed, "but knowing your brother's tendencies when you were younger, I'd definitely be putting on my life jacket before getting in the boat with him."

"Got it covered," he said with a smile, "I told him the only way I'd agree to go is if I got to steer the boat."

She laughed and leaned against the door way, watching him as he got into his car and drove away.

Returning home from a couple of hours at the office, she eyeballed the small gray Yaris parked on the street as she parked in the driveway, She had a sneaking suspicion as to who owned it and her suspicions were proved correct as she opened the door to see a familiar figure standing in the kitchen.

"Other mum!" Christine cried, her arms opening as the older woman swept her into a hug. "Where precisely have you been hiding?"

Anne merely smiled her secretive smile. "Here, there, everywhere."

"You're like Batman," Christine complained, "except without the annoying husky voice."

"Nonsense," Anne waved off the complaint, "now, come sit down and tell me what's been going on. I've just put some muffins in the oven and they should be ready in fifteen minutes or so."

Christine silently cheered, Anne's muffins were pretty legendary. They entered the lounge room whereupon Meg's mum bombarded her with questions about what she had been doing since the last time they saw each other.

"Megan tells me you've been dealing with Erik Destler."

"Yeah," she replied, "that's been a fun couple of months, I can tell you."

"But he hasn't fired you."

She shrugged. "Not so far. Guess I just haven't annoyed him enough yet."

"Megan tells me you're actually on quite reasonable terms."

"Is there anything Meg doesn't tell you?" Christine asked, raising her eyebrow.

"I'm just curious," Anne defended. "especially considering it's Destler. He doesn't exactly have the best reputation."

"You know him?" she asked, curious.

"Of him," Anne amended but Christine wasn't so sure the woman was telling the entire truth.

The oven timer beeped, signalling the time was up. "I'm just saying, Christine," Anne said as she stood up to get to the muffins, "please be careful. Destler didn't get where he is by a charming personality and sheer good luck."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked. "And Destler's personality is about as charming as a rock."

"He's dangerous, Christine," Anne called from the kitchen, "so just do your job, get it done fast and get as far away from him as you can."

Christine sat there for a moment longer, contemplating what her surrogate mother had just said. The general consensus of people who had met, and dealt with, Destler was that he was someone not to be trifled with. And although she could see their point of view (she had been blackmailed by the man, after all) she had never really felt scared of the man, regardless of his menacing ways.

But then she smelt the muffins and all thoughts of Destler were gone.

"Your mum is here!" Christine called as the door opened, half a muffin still lying on the plate in front of her.

"You don't say," a voice called back and a few moments later Meg appeared in the kitchen.

"Dress rehearsal?" Christine queried, noticing the leotard.

"Dress rehearsal." She confirmed. "Hey mum, nice to see you."

Mother and daughter hugged, with Anne kissing Meg on the cheek. "Getting excited about Saturday?"

"Excited, nervewrackingly spew-worthy nervous," Meg shrugged, "it's all about the same."

Christine laughed. "Would the offer of a muffin help?"

"Sweet," Meg cried, slipping into the other chair, "Mum, I love it when you come to visit. Can you do it more often?"

"I don't exist solely to cook for you, Megan," the older woman said severely, pointing the wooden spoon she was washing up at her daughter, "you could come visit me once in a while."

"You're always off gallivanting somewhere!" Meg defended.

Christine smiled, content to watch the mother and daughter bicker happily between themselves.

Richard's office was impressive.

Not Destler impressive, but she imagined that his was probably hard to top. However, she thought she rather preferred Richard's. It was smaller but she liked the light and airy colours and she enjoyed the fact that he had several pictures up on his wall – he and his family, a few awards, his practicing certificate – and that his desk was cluttered with files.

She had called him the day before, asking if he was free for lunch. He apologised, indicating that he was going to eat in, having a short lunch so he could leave early and so she had offered to bring lunch in to him.

"Ignore the mess," he said hurriedly, dumping some folders on the floor next to the desk to clear some space, "it's not usually like this."

"You've seen me at my worst. I'm not going to pass judgment."

Richard grinned, motioning for her to sit at one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. "Now, don't be expecting this every day," Christine warned, "and if you get food poisoning then it's your own fault for eating it."

The man laughed as she busied herself removing plastic containers from one of her bags, setting down one in front of both of them. "You didn't have to do this, Christine. I mean, I don't want you to think that you have to."

"Don't be too grateful, you haven't tasted the food yet."

"Regardless, I really appreciate this."

She shrugged, embarrassed. "I had some time on my hands and it seemed like an appropriate 'I'm sorry I didn't call you back after you kissed me' gesture."

They spent an enjoyable forty minutes making their way through lunch (a variety of caesar salad) followed by cupcakes that Meg had made the day before.

"Thanks, Christine."

"Anytime," she smiled warmly, and stepped on her tip toes to give him a quick kiss, "I'll let you get back to pretending to do some work."

"Get out of it!" he called but he was laughing.

She said farewell to his secretary and made her way out to reception to wait for the elevator. But as the machine pinged to announce its arrival on the required level and the doors shot open, she met a familiar face.

Waiting to exit was none other than Destler.

"Miss Day," and she thought that was the first time she had ever seen him mildly surprised.

"Mr Destler."

"And you are here because?"

"I want to be," she supplied, giving him a smile. If his personal life was none of her business then her personal life was certainly none of his business.

"I see."

"The print run is already for Friday," she said, slipping past him and into the elevator, "so let me know what you think after the weekend."

The elevator doors shut and she was shunted down to ground level.

Not that Christine would ever consider them friends but she had, in the last couple of weeks, retained an easy manner with Destler that had resulted in no (serious) arguments or downright nastiness. And although it was always difficult to tell tone through electronical means, she rather thought that Destler's email indicated that he was angry with her.

Miss Day,

A meeting is required regarding the problems with the ad run.

You will be at my office tomorrow at 12.00pm

D.

To be fair, one newspaper had messed up the ad run on the Friday but she had called immediately after seeing the problem to make sure that it was rectified for the next two days. As much as she could plan everything down to the last minute dot on the paper, there was always the risk that a third party would mess everything up. But she had sent Destler an email on Friday telling him of the problem and her assurance that she had made sure it would corrected for the following two days.

The response indicated that he wasn't impressed (but she had expected that) and there had been no blatant hostility. He had merely said that he would contact her after the weekend to discuss how the print run had gone.

Her fears were proved correct when she arrived at Destler's building for her appointment on the Tuesday

"You're to go right through, Miss Day," the receptionist said before she had even opened her mouth, "and, well, just be careful. He's in a bit of a bad mood."

And Christine rather thought it was going to be a very pleasant meeting if even the usually silent and surly receptionist was telling her to watch her back. She thanked the woman, took a deep breath and made her way through to Destler's office.

She knocked on the door.

"What?"

"It's Christine Day."

"Enter."

She slipped into the office, shutting the door quietly behind her. She would have liked an easy exit strategy but figured if the man was going to kill her, he wouldn't be able to do it today. There had been too many witnesses see her walk into his office. He was at his desk, his head bent as he wrote something on a pad in front of him.

"Sit."

She did so and it was a minute or two before he finished writing and looked up at her. "So. The problem with the print run. What have you got to say?"

"Well," she said, a little taken aback, "I'm sorry it happened. My directions were clear to the newspaper but someone must have messed up over there. They apologised when I rang up and grilled them on Friday afternoon and have agreed to waive the fee for the Friday ad."

"That's beside the point."

"Yes, I understand that it – "

"I expected better,"

"I'm sorry but – "

"I've paid money for a certain quality of work."

There was a silence. While she could sort of see his point of view, she rather thought he was taking it all a little too far. Yes, as a paying client he had a right to get the best services that she could offer but that's what he had gotten. Moreover, once she had recognised that a problem had occurred in one of the papers she had taken immediate action to make sure it would be rectified.

"I'm really sorry the error occurred, Mr Destler," she said shrugging her shoulders helplessly, "but I'm not really sure what more you want from me. It wasn't an error on my behalf and I made sure that the newspaper was aware of the problem. What more could I do?"

"Your job?" he demanded.

And despite telling herself it was not worth it, that it was childish, irresponsible and completely immature, she couldn't help herself. She snapped.

"So what?" she demanded. "The only reason you called me in here was to chew me out about something that's not my fault? Because – "

" – I wouldn't have to 'chew you out' if you did your job properly –"

" – that's got to be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard – "

" – in the first place and simply – "

" – I did my job properly? What the hell does that mean! I'm perfectly capable –"

" – perfectly capable? I've no doubt that monkeys could do a better job – "

"Monkeys? What do monkeys have to do with – "

"Enough!"

They glared at each other across the table and in the silence she was amazed at the sheer childishness of the whole situation. Destler was such an intelligent man, despite his moodiness, and although she would never admit it, she had often enjoyed arguing with him. But when he got in one of his moods, it was like trying to deal with a child and inevitably, she was always unable to stop herself from being dragged down to his level.

"This is ridiculous," she stated, dumping everything into her bag, "I can see this is just a useless meeting. Please let me know when you've got a problem I can actually do something about."

She marched out the door, steadfastedly ignoring the curious and wide-eyed looks she received on the way out.

It was ridiculous, he thought, standing at the window.

True, he had been annoyed (rightly so, too!) about the problem with the print run. He liked perfection and refused to accept anything less than that but he knew that the problem hadn't been caused by Christine and that she had done everything in her power to make sure that it didn't happen again.

And so he couldn't quite say why he'd gotten so unreasonably angry about the whole situation, especially with someone he had increasingly come to respect. It certainly wasn't because he had seen her at Richard Channel's office or because she had refused to explain why she was there.

Because it was becoming increasingly obvious that he enjoyed Christine's company in a way that certainly wasn't professional.

He sat down at his desk and picked up the phone. "Khan, there is something I need you to do..."

On Saturday evening, Christine and Richard met Anne in the foyer of the theatre and introductions were made. Christine didn't think much of it, merely assuming Anne wouldn't mind that someone else had come along to watch her daughter, but Richard made sure he was on his best behaviour. As the only other constant person in her life, apart from Meg, he figured it would be in his interests to make a good impression.

Although he engaged Anne in conversation (the general; where are you from; what do you do; your daughter is simply marvellous when she's not about to puke in my car), he found it difficult to get anything from the usually cheery Christine.

He shot a questioning look at Anne, tilting his head in Christine's direction to see if the other woman knew anything but all he got was a shrug.

"Is something wrong?" he asked eventually, concerned that she had perhaps regretted inviting him to the night.

"No," she replied instantly, turning to the conversation with an apologetic look on her face, "no, I'm sorry. I just had a blow up with Destler yesterday and it has put me in a bad mood ever since."

"Destler could've put Mother Therese in a bad mood," Richard quipped, putting his arm around her shoulder, "don't let him get you down."

"I know, I know," she smiled at the two of them, "besides, tonight is not about me it's about Meg."

The seating opened early and as some of the first guests there, they made their way down to the front section. "It's a bit of a tradition," Christine explained to Richard as they entered the front row, "ever since she got into ballet. We always said we'd be front and centre cheering her on."

As they sat down and got themselves settled, Richard flicked through the program. "How many times have you guys seen a variety of Swan Lake?"

"Four," both women answered unanimously, and then laughed.

"But to be fair," Anne said, "Swan Lake is my favourite of the performances and I'd never get sick of watching my daughter dance."

The lights dimmed and they settled back to watch the stage.

Watching her friend on stage was always something she enjoyed, not only because she was required to as a friend but simply because Meg was an amazing dancer. It was as if she became another person when she got on stage, flawless, perfect and determined. Christine had high hopes (as she knew Anne did) that Meg would go on to bigger and better things.

"A bunch of roses for the star," Christine grinned at her friend as she presented the flowers at the stage door.

"And they're from all of us," Richard added, "don't let her tell you otherwise."

Christine elbowed him in the stomach but Meg merely laughed. "Thanks guys, I really appreciate you coming along!"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. You were, of course, fantastic."

"She's my daughter," Anne interjected, "of course she was fantastic."

They all laughed while Meg did a curtsey. "Why thank you!"

"Heading out with the rest of the crew?" Christine asked, motioning to the activity behind the door.

"I am, but I'll be home tonight. You know you guys are always more than welcome to come along."

"What makes you think I want to be out partying to all hours at my age?" Anne asked.

"It's okay, Richard has an early morning tomorrow and the last time I came to one of your after show parties one of the male dancers tried to convince me that he could teach me how to do the splits."

"Oh yeah," Meg nodded, a grin forming on her face, "I remember that. As I recall, it didn't end well."

They waved their farewells to Meg as she thanked them profusely before slipping backstage. Richard and Christine said goodbye to Anne at the edge of the car park. Meg's mother had refused their offers to stay at the apartment and was instead staying at one of the local motels.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye. Thanks for inviting me."

"Thanks for coming, I know it probably wasn't your cup of tea," Christine started.

"It was great – Meg was fantastic. Besides, you clearly enjoyed it and that's all that matters."

He enveloped her in a hug and gave her a quick kiss before getting into his car and driving off home.

She stood there for a moment, a silly grin on her face before laughing at herself and getting into her own car to head home.

There was a surprise awaiting her when she got home.

Sitting on her doorstep, illuminated by the sensor light she had just triggered, were a bunch of bright yellow sunflowers. She stared at them for a few moments, as if deciding whether they were actually real, before reaching down and scooping them up on her way inside the door. She assumed Richard had sent them but when she was finally able to set everything down and open the card, she was proved decidedly wrong.

It simply read: Apologies. D

In the next five seconds, only three thoughts flashed through her mind:

Good lord, Destler has sent me flowers, was the first.

How the hell does he know sunflowers are my favourite flower? was the second.

And what the hell does this mean? was the third.

NEXT: we meet Richard's brother; Christine has a startling meeting with Destler; Meg enjoys dancing; Richard is put in a tight spot and Christine wonders how her life suddenly became so interesting.