And I'm back from the dead yet again with another update!

A special thanks (once again!) to RedRose102 who gently reminded me that another update was due. :)

"What's the matter?"

Richard quirked a smile at the woman before him. "How can you tell there's something wrong in the first place?"

"You've sighed at least three times since we walked through the doors," she gave him a grin, "and you've got that universal 'something is up' look on your face. What's wrong?"

Richard had asked to meet her at the cafe near his work and she had readily agreed, consistently enjoying the time she spent with the man. Now, looking at him, with a slightly downtrodden look on his face, she wondered whether the meeting was going to end well.

"You know how I went out fishing with my brother?" he asked, and continued at her nod. "Well, he's decided to hang around town for a bit."

"You're not keen on bunking with your brother?" she asked, raising her eyebrow as she thanked the woman who brought her a hot beverage. (Although privately she kind of resented paying an arm and a leg for a hot chocolate that was neither no better nor worse than she could make herself).

"No!" he said immediately. "As much as we fight, I do love him. But he found out that I was seeing you and he's decided that he simply has to meet you. He wants us to go out for dinner."

"That's your problem?" she asked, amusement creeping on her face. "Good lord, from the expression on your face, I expected nothing but the worst. What's wrong with going out for dinner with your brother?"

They were interrupted by the arrival of Richard's flat white and Christine noted with some amusement that the waitress, the same girl who had served them on the first occasion they had been there, was still distinctly nicer to her male companion than she.

"The fact that it's Philip?" he answered as the girl left. "It's just, every time he decides to invite himself along to dinner with someone that I've been seeing, it's ended badly."

"I'm a big girl, Richard," she said, patting his arm, "don't look so dejected. I'd love for Philip to come along to dinner."

"All right," he conceded, "but you're not allowed to hold it against me if he makes a total ass out of himself."

She grinned, blowing on the top of her mug to cool it. "Wouldn't dream of it, Richard."

"Did you get my apology?"

His mouth quirked at the startled expression that formed on her face. "I, uh," she started, as she shoved things into her bag, "yes, I did. Thanks, by the way. It wasn't necessary."

They had successfully made it through the entire meeting without the flowers being mentioned and Christine felt awkward now that he had brought it up. She had been content to ignore the issue, accepting his apology in whatever form it took, and had hoped that Destler felt the same. When he had made no mention of it as she entered his office an hour earlier, she thought she was out clear.

Apparently not.

"You deserved it," he said, pushing his chair out and standing up, "I have the unfortunate ability of letting my temper get the better of me."

"You don't say," the woman gave him a wry grin, "I never would have guessed, Mr Destler."

"I do hope the sunflowers were appropriate," he continued, "they seemed more akin to your personality."

"You picked well," she answered honestly; "they're my favourite."

"I'm pleased to hear that. Apologies are not my forte, as you will understand, but you did not deserve to be treated that way."

"Really," she said shrugging, "it's part of my job. I shouldn't have let my temper get the better of me either, it's remarkably unprofessional. We should both shoulder the blame, if you like."

"Nonsense," he waved her off, "I shoulder the full blame and will attempt to reign in my temper from now on."

"Now Mr Destler," she teased, "don't make promises you can't keep."

They shared a smile as she said her goodbyes and Christine was surprised to find herself still smiling as she got in her car.

In the end, Richard was proved wrong.

Philip and Christine got along like a house on fire and, if there was anything wrong with the night, Richard rather felt that it was they got along too well – he spent most of the night listening to his brother tell the woman funny stories of his teenage years. It was gratifying to know that Philip hadn't scared off another prospective love interest but he had hardly had a chance to speak to Christine all night.

" – and so there he is, passed out on the floor and his friends have left him in only his undies, sprayed him in whipped cream," was what he heard as he entered the conversation again, "the poor bastard didn't live it down for a month."

"Is that why you didn't want whipped cream on your cake the last time we went out?" Christine teased him as he rolled his eyes.

The restaurant had been chosen by Philip and Christine had noted upon entrance that the brothers had much the same tastes when it came to dining out. A little bit self-conscious in her dress, she had made up for her uneasiness in the formal setting by making sure that the night ended with Philip having at least a decent opinion about her.

"I'm sure Christine was more than thrilled to hear you tell every single embarrassing story you have on me, Philip," he sighed, "but I'm sure we can find more interesting things to talk about."

Philip shot Christine a wink as they were interrupted by the main meal. "He's just saying that because he doesn't want me to tell the story of when he was thirteen and – "

" – yes, Philip, you're very amusing. How about you stop boring Christine and we talk about something a bit more mature?"

"I've got stories from when Richard was 23; if that's a bit more mature for you, Christine."

Christine wisely held her laughter as Richard berated his brother, turning to her meal of spaghetti bolognaise while the brothers argued between themselves.

"All right, all right," Philip conceded eventually, "so tell me how someone as lovely as you managed to convince my brother to go out with him."

This time Christine did laugh while Richard grumbled good-naturedly. She told him the story of how they had bumped into each other; Richard adding in bits and pieces as he saw fit and the conversation turned around as they all finished their main meal.

"Any chance I can convince you to come to Melbourne and work down there?" Philip asked. "If you managed to charm over Destler, I think you're pretty much equipped to handle anyone."

"As much as I do love Melbourne, I think I may have to turn you down. I'm pretty settled where I am, thanks."

The three talked well into the night, discussing everything from Philip's job to the pets they had once had as kids. The conversation became stilted only once – when the brothers moved on to the topic of their father – and although it was easily glossed over, Christine had to wonder what the deal was there.

Although they were certainly not the last to leave the restaurant, most of the tables were empty by the time they decided to call it a night. Christine saw this as a success, although Philip had teased her on more than one occasion throughout the night there was no outright hostility and he seemed to have taken a liking to her.

The two brothers took care of the bill, no matter how much she protested and attempted to pass over money. "You're a lovely lady, and it is our pleasure to treat you to dinner," Philip said as they escorted her out of the restaurant and out into the street, "your payment is spending an entire night with us and not piking once."

"You are a charmer, aren't you?" Christine said dryly as they wandered towards the car park. "I bet you had fun going out with him to bars when you were younger, Richard."

"Eventually I had to ban him from coming with me," the man responded, "there just wasn't enough room for me, the other patrons, Philip and his ego. It's enormous."

Philip denied all allegations that his ego was as large as his head and wished the couple a good night, getting in his car (something sleek and shiny, Christine noted in appreciation despite the fact she didn't have a clue as to its model) and speeding off into the night. Opening the door for her, Richard informed her that she'd never want to get in a car with his brother – former passengers had gotten whiplash from mere acceleration at a set of lights.

He turned the engine off as he parked the car in front of her apartment. "Thanks for coming tonight. Even if my brother has a tendency to talk your ear off, I'm glad you two get along."

"Your brother is lovely, Richard," she said shaking her head, "I don't know what you were worried about. I had a lovely time."

"I feel like I didn't get to talk to you at all."

"And funnily enough, I feel like I know you better than I ever did!"

"Philip thinks it's amusing to humiliate me in any way possible," he groaned, "no matter how old I get, he still thinks about twelve years old."

Christine laughed. "Regardless, I think it would be nice to have a brother."

"He's all yours if you want him."

She moved her hand to cover a yawn and apologised as Richard smiled. "I just wish that I could ignore the fact that I have work tomorrow. I know my work doesn't seem very strenuous but dealing with Destler really saps my energy sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Richard echoed. "Every time I have a meeting with him I feel like I've just run a 50km marathon. That man is hard work! Nothing you do is ever good enough for him."

"I know what you mean."

"You don't think he's a bit easier on you, now at least?"

"Hell no!" was the instantaneous reply. "What makes you think that?"

"It's just – " he turned to the woman, who was listening intently, "don't you feel as though Destler treats you differently than anyone else?"

"I don't really have a basis for comparison," she answered, shrugging her shoulders, "apart from you. Besides, we've had some pretty spectacular arguments. I know he likes me more than he did at the beginning of this job, but I'm not sure we'd be what you call bosom friends – or acquaintances."

Richard sighed.

"What's the problem?" Christine asked, curious. "He's just a client and I'm more than sure he'll be glad to see the back end of me when we're finally done."

Although Christine was sure that he was going to say something else, Richard merely gave her a smile and exited the car. Shrugging it off, she exited too and they made their way up to her apartment.

"You're very enthusiastic over these, Miss Day," Destler said, looking at the beaming woman dubiously, "are you this excited every time you get signs done?"

"Oh come on, it's not in the least bit exciting to see your logo presented in final form where everyone will see it?" she countered.

The samples had arrived and while Christine had been over the moon (rightly so, she had justified to her boss because it was the culmination of considerable work, patience and downright perseverance), Destler had been nothing but bemused about her desire to show them to him right away.

"I believe you may be confusing satisfaction with excitement," was the reply as he rifled through his drawers for something, a frown appearing when it didn't seem to be where he wanted.

"Well as long as you are happy with the samples, I've organised for the contractors to come in next Thursday to put them up."

"That quickly?"

"You want more time?" Christine asked.

"No, I just wasn't aware you could get contractors to do a job so quick," the man answered as he exited his seat and moved to the filing cabinets on the far wall, "if they can come in next week, and they are competent at their job, I see no difficulties. I'll let my staff know what to expect."

"Excellent. Do you want the samples or should I take them with me?" she queried, pulling the covers for the smaller signs out of her bag.

"Leave them by the door, would you?" he called, flipping through files. "I appreciate you expediency with the matter, even if your enthusiasm scares me slightly."

His reply was a laugh and a goodbye as she deposited the signs against the wall and exited the room, unaware her bag was missing one rather important item.

"Goddamn it," she muttered standing before her car, rummaging around in her bag for the keys, "where are my keys?"

After dumping everything in her bag on the bonnet of her car and then shoving it all back in after no keys were discovered, she resigned herself to the fact that she would have to go back into the building to see if someone had picked them up. Muttering in annoyance, she started back up the footpath to the building.

To her surprise, Destler was standing just outside the glass doors, an amused expression on his face as he slowly held up her car keys into view. "Missing something, Miss Day?"

"Oh, you're enjoying yourself far too much, Mr Destler," she said, narrowing her eyes as she walked to him to get her keys.

He held them just out of her reach. "I was curious as to how long it would take you to realise that you did not have them on you. I've been standing here for close on five minutes."

"You have not," she retorted, refusing to give him the satisfaction of trying to lunge for the metal objects, "now, are you going to give them to me or am I going to have to call the police?"

He handed over the keys with a laugh. "I would expect a little more gratitude, Miss Day."

"Thanks for finding them and bringing them down," she conceded, "although I'm more inclined to believe that you only brought them down because you knew I'd come back up and pester you until they were found."

"Perhaps," shrugged but there was a smile on his face, "and I'm not at all surprised to see that your car is a blinding bright green colour."

She moved closer to the building so the passing pedestrians were not blocked by her. "I'd say more like a natural, pleasing to the eye green but I'm only the one who drives it."

"While the rest of us have to look at it," Destler said, leaning against the wall.

And much to her amusement the conversation continued as they discussed the pros and cons of the various cars they had owned. Although she felt Destler had somewhat warmed to her in the time they had worked together, he had never been particularly chatty.

"So basically you've been through a number of cars, all worth more than my annual pay check, because you have inability to drive well?" she said in disbelief.

"To be honest, I feel as though the number of cars I have been through is a reflection on how badly other car-owners drive. I'm perfectly capable of driving; they merely get in my way."

She laughed, mostly because it was something she expected to hear coming out of his mouth but also because she could hear the teasing tone in his voice. "But of course. I think I will stick to the small cars, not only because they're the only ones in my price range, but because I think spending an exorbitant amount of money on object that goes from a to b is ridiculous."

"So says the person who has never driven a Porsche."

She laughed, startling a man walking past. "Says the person who will never drive a Porsche!"

So into the conversation was Christine, it was some moments before she realised that they had an audience.

Richard stood there with a 'just precisely what is happening here' expression on his face and she instantaneously realised just how odd it must look that Destler was standing outside his own building door, on the street, idly chatting.

"Mr Channel," Destler said before she could make her mouth work properly, "what can we do for you?"

"I was coming to see you, actually," was the reply after a moment's silence as he glanced between the two, "the paperwork from the other side has come in and I knew you wanted to see it urgently."

"Indeed I do," he agreed readily, "shall we go up to my office?"

Richard nodded wordless, and entered the building as Destler gestured with his hand.

"Good day," Destler said to Christine, "do keep a close eye on your keys from now on."

Before she could deliver a suitably nasty retort – or, in the alternative, talk to Richard – they had both disappeared into the building.

"Don't look so disappointed, Richard," Meg said as she let him through the door, "I'm fairly good company when I'm not vomiting all over the place."

"I never said you weren't!" the man defended, as he followed her into the apartment. "I was just hoping Christine would be home, that's all."

"She's at the office, as far as I know."

"Does she ever answer her phone?"

"Richard, her phone is permanently on silent and she still hasn't quite worked out how to set a background on the thing. What do you think your chances are of getting a return call?" she asked as they reached the kitchen.

Her response was a muted grunt and Meg frowned. "Is something wrong? Her Boss doesn't like personal calls but if it's urgent, I'm sure she won't mind."

"No, nothing like that. I was just hoping to have a chat with her." He noticed the bunch of flowers sitting off to the side on the bench. "Further adulations of your excellence on the stage?"

"Well no," Meg blinked, "they're Christine's. I thought you gave them to her."

"No," he said slowly, "no, I didn't."

They looked at each other, both with the same thought running through their mind: then who gave them to her?

"Oh," Meg said in an effort to dispel the tension in the room, "they're probably from her boss for dealing with Destler for so long, right?"

(Privately, however, she was kicking herself for putting her foot in it and cursing Christine for not telling her the truth about who the flowers had come from).

"Sure," the man said, clearly unconvinced, "look, if you see Christine, can you tell her to give me a call?"

"No worries, Richard. Did you want to stay for lunch, see if she comes home early?"

He was silent as he considered the possibility. "I better not; I have to get back to work."

Meg watched him leave the apartment, getting into his car and driving off down the street. Turning to go back inside, she wondered why her friend had lied to her so blatantly when she had never done so before.

Christine entered her apartment three and a half hours later with the sole intention of sitting on the couch, watching tv and possibly working up enough energy to consider cooking dinner.

She only got to do number one on her list before being accosted by an inquisitive roommate.

"Christine!" Meg said, slipping into the lounge room.

"Hey Meg," her friend smiled flopping on one of the chairs and slipping off her shoes, "I'm just gonna watch some tv, you want to put on a movie or something?"

"Sure," her friend readily agreed, "but first you've got to answer a few questions."

Christine raised her eyebrow at her friend as she rifled through the papers on the coffee table for the remote. "I'm sure we can do both at the same time."

Meg snatched the remote from its position on the two seater near the wall and held it in the air victoriously. "Questions first, tv later."

"I can just go turn it on manually, you know," was the amused reply, "but since it's important enough for you to hold the television hostage, what's up?

The dancer eyed her friend seriously. "Richard was here earlier. He seemed a bit out of sorts."

"And?"

"And he thought the flowers in the kitchen were for me and I thought the flowers were from him to you," was the exasperated reply, as if the answer should have been obvious, "a fact which, by the way, you led me to believe was true. Clearly it isn't."

"I never specifically told you who the flowers were from."

"But you never discouraged the belief they were from Richard. Who are they from?"

"What?" Christine asked. "You think I've got a man on the side?"

"Have you?"

"Oh come on, Meg!" the woman retorted, annoyed that her friend could even consider the possibility. "You know that's not true. If you really must know – and I'm inclined to remind you that I'm not required to tell you everything about my life – they're from Destler. As an apology for being a jerk the other week."

"And if it is no big deal, why didn't you tell me who they were from?"

"They're just flowers, Meg," Christine reasoned, unwilling to explain to her friend her uneasiness with admitting the fact that she had received flowers from a man who could roast an incompetent employee with merely an angry stare, "nothing more, and nothing less."

"I'm sure Richard doesn't feel as though they're just flowers."

"Getting flowers from someone else isn't a precursor to having a man on the side," Christine said, her annoyance slowly turning into anger, "if Richard thinks that is the case then perhaps he ought to grow up."

"Perhaps you need to call him and explain the situation then."

"If Richard believes I'm seeing someone else, that's his problem. All I want to do is sit down and watch some tv and not think of anything that has to do with work or boyfriends!"

"Fine!" Meg dropped the remote back on the couch and exited the room.

Christine groaned loudly, lying back in the chair and closing her eyes. Fights were not uncommon between the two friends but they were usually small and insignificant (the last massive fight had been a year and half earlier, the core of the problem being Meg's inability to clean up after herself in the kitchen and Christine finally snapping).

Eventually she would have to make it up to her; apologise for getting snappy and defensive but as she turned on the television first and resolved to at least have an hour of no fights, no flowers, no boyfriends and no Destler.

"I'm sorry I got so defensive," Christine said, standing in Meg's doorway as the girl lay sprawled out on the bed reading a book.

"They're just stupid flowers," the other girl conceded, closing her book and getting to her feet, "and I was pretending to be angry on Richard's behalf but I was just a little hurt that you hadn't told me the truth. I know you like to have your secrets but I do tell you everything."

Christine's reply was to wrap her friend in a hug and tell her she was taking her out for ice-cream, a suggestion that was always put forward when they argued. Although they nearly always made up quickly when they got into an argument, the argument could be rehashed over ice-cream cones in a far more civilised conversation.

Ten minutes later saw them getting into the car, and as Christine shifted the gears into reverse, Meg couldn't help but add: "You are going to have to call him; you know that, don't you?"

Rolling her eyes and navigating her way out of the driveway she concurred with her friend. "Yes, I'm well aware I'm going to have to call him."

"And it's not like I'm pressuring you or anything, but I kind of like Richard so if you could make up, that'd be great."

Laughing Christine turned the car left at the intersection and told her passenger that she would see what she could do on that account.

Eventually she did call and they agreed to meet during Richard's lunchtime at Ellis Park, a five minute walk for Richard from his office and a twenty minute drive from Christine's apartment.

"Meg said you seemed out of sorts when you dropped in, is something wrong?" she said as they wandered around the outside of the park. It was a pleasant place, despite the fact it was popular with the mums with younger than school age kids.

"You didn't tell me about the flowers."

"That's what you're mad about?" she asked in disbelief, unwilling to believe that both her best friend and her boyfriend were unreasonably upset about something as stupid as flowers.

"You don't think it is reasonable for me to be even the slightest bit annoyed that you got flowers from another guy?"

"Considering they're from Destler, I think it is a bit unreasonable, yes. They were just an apology for being a jackass. No offense, Richard, but you're kind of making a big deal about nothing."

"It's not just about the flowers!" he erupted, but took a breath and lowered his voice, "look, Destler is not a nice human being and I'm not the only one with that view. He is someone to be avoided at all costs. Everything he does is to benefit him and for no other reason. In other words, he doesn't just send flowers to apologise."

"So what?" she demanded, getting steadily angrier at the man's words despite her intent to enter the conversation with a civil tongue. "He sent them to me for the sole purpose of trying to get into my pants? The man doesn't even like me, Richard!"

"Who sends flowers to a girl they don't like?"

"It was just an apology!"

"Oh for christ sakes, Christine, wake up. The guy is interested in you!"

"Bullshit," she retorted, "and even if that were the case, why is that such a big deal? I'm seeing you. What do you think I'm going to do, jump his bones the first chance I get?"

"I think Destler is going to get the wrong idea and you're going to be in a situation you don't know how to get out of. Why must you be so oblivious?"

"Because Destler doesn't like me like that!" she argued as they came around full circle, Christine frustrated that Richard couldn't seem to grasp the material point and Richard angry that Christine had missed the point entirely.

They were interrupted by Richard's ringtone and he answered it curtly. It was clearly a conversation he didn't enjoy and he was frowning as he hung up. "That was the office, something urgent has come up. Damn it, nothing has gone right today."

"Come on," she said gently, understanding that for now, at least, their argument was at a standstill, "I'll drop you back at work. We can talk about this later."

"Nothing has been resolved," he said as they walked back towards the car-park, "and it doesn't look like you're going to change your mind at any time."

"Probably because I don't think I should have to," she retorted and then sighed, "look, let's just put it to the side for the moment, okay? We can deal with it when you're not so busy."

And so the rest of the car ride saw only silence and as Richard got out of the car with a perfunctory 'thanks', Christine wondered how they had gotten to this point – especially when the cause of the argument had been so trivial to begin with.

She arrived bright and early on Thursday; and he watched as she stumbled out of her car and blinked blearily into the morning sun. While having many qualities, he much suspected that being a morning person was not one of them.

It was a few minutes later and she was shown into his office.

"There was hardly any need for you to arrive this early, Miss Day," he said, hiding a smile as she tried to hide a yawn behind her foam cup, "the men know precisely what they're doing."

"I know," she defended, "but I wanted to make sure. Besides, the smaller signs are going up around the building and I can at least make sure that those are put up properly."

"You're not going to terrorise them, are you?"

He expected a likewise retort, something along the lines of And you wouldn't? or That's the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think? but instead all he got was a muted grin. The following conversation for the next ten minutes was much the same and he wondered if it was merely the fact it was early or there was something wrong.

"You seem a bit out of sorts," he ventured eventually, "not that I don't appreciate the fact you're not bouncing off the walls, I confess I've gotten used to a general standard of saccharine cheeriness from you."

There was a moment of hesitation and he knew instantly she was going to lie to him. "I'm not keen to admit it but my cheeriness takes a beating when I'm up this early. I wouldn't worry; I'll be annoyingly chirpy in no time."

He was forced to accept her explanation as the contractors arrived and she disappeared to make sure everything happened according to plan.

It was several hours later, and he was surprised to see she was still hanging around, but a much happier Christine Day entered his office to let him know that the majority of the signs had officially been put up and it had all occurred with the smallest of hiccups.

"I will, of course, inspect for myself later today but at the present I'm willing to take your word for it."

"Thanks," she said dryly, "they're still working on some of the larger ones and if they're not finished by five, they said they would be back tomorrow. I told them to let you know if they finished early so you could inspect before they went."

"Thank you," he replied, "does this mean you're heading home for the day?"

"Pretty much, but one last thing," she said, withdrawing something out of her bag, "when I was going through the order with the supplier, he gave me a catalogue to look through. When I saw it, I thought it was just right for your desk."

She handed it over, complete with bubble wrap, and he unwrapped the object dubiously. Considering the woman had once tried to convince him orange and green were two colours that went together, he was a little concerned as to what he would find inside.

Instead, he found himself pleasantly surprised. It was a nameplate, complete with his name engraved and logo on the side. Simplistic, tasteful and much to his liking, he found himself looking at the woman in wonder.

"What do you think?" she asked, head slightly to one side as she tried to work out his reaction. The gift had been an afterthought, and she had been somewhat uncertain as to whether to give it to him after the fight with Richard. But she had reasoned that it was hardly a personal gift and more like a useful work item and therefore not likely to be taken the wrong way.

"I think it's perfect," was the answer and he was rewarded with the beaming grin once more. "and I thank you, Christine. This will look excellent on my desk."

"No worries," she waved it off, either ignoring the fact that he had used her first name or not realising that fact all, "and so we're basically at the end of the job, Mr Destler. We've got a few administration items to clear up but that will be it."

"I'm pleased to hear that."

"Looking forward to the day you can toast to my disappearance from your life?" she teased as she packed her things.

"I'm ordering the most expensive bottle on the menu." He retorted, moving out from the desk as she stood up. She laughed in response, hauling her bag over her shoulder and moving to open the door.

"Christine."

The smile turned into a curious frown and this time, at least, he knew she recognised the use of her first name. In a few short steps he was towering over her and even though he knew he shouldn't, he knew it was oh-so-wrong and twisted, before she could protest, he had leant down and stolen her mouth for a kiss.

"I do apologise," he murmured as he pulled back, "the mask does make it so much more of a hindrance than it ought to be."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, and he watched her try to process just precisely what had happened.

"I, uh – " she cleared her throat, as she readjusted her bag and looked everywhere else but at him directly, "well, I should probably go."

"Christine," he started but before he could finish she was out the door.

And another chapter bites the dust; hope you enjoyed.

NEXT: we deal with the aftermath of the kiss!