Preston Tucci stood in his closet, trying to find the best suit-and-tie combination for the night's wear. He knew better than to ask his housemate, Antoine, for advice. On one hand Antoine would confess that he wasn't much of a fashionista. On the other, he'd tell Preston anything looked sharp. Very complimentary, but not always objective or helpful.

The Harvest Ball. A fancy fundraiser dinner that happened every October. There'd by the typical events: a banquet, silent auction, probably a raffle. The Plateau City Nuclear Plant had made a contribution. Preston, naturally, was expected to attend. He had the option of bringing a "plus one" on his ticket, an offer Antoine politely declined.

That fancy-pants stuff's not really my bag, Antoine confessed. Preston understood. He felt the same way about Antoine's mountain biking invites. If he could politely avoid it, then he would graciously decline.

On more than one occasion he'd had Riley make a call from his Rolodex of so-called companions of the female persuasion: beautiful women who offered their company in exchange for a lovely fee. It was well worth it to Preston. It allowed him to maintain his public image, and avoid hangers-on. Preston rolled his eyes as he buttoned his coat. That "Most Eligible Bachelor" article in the society pages his first year as CEO had set the tone for most of his public career.

Now you've gone from shy Mister Eligible to a player, with a baller car! Antoine laughed.

Well, be that as it may, the Harvest Ball was at the Windforth Hotel, and that would be a nightmare to drive to. It was located downtown, where parking was a precious commodity indeed.

Preston was taking the bus.

He gave himself a final check in the mirror, and added a bit more gel to his hair, ruffling it up in a way that looked both natural, and chic. He had opted for a red and gold tie, one that went well with the ring on his left hand. The ring Antoine had proposed with.

It didn't look like a traditional engagement ring, or even a wedding band for that matter. Antoine, ever suave, had made sure the piece was designed to look as much like a fashion ring as anything. So, you know, people don't have to know anything until we decide to tell 'em, Antoine explained, holding up his own naked hand. And that's why I'm going au natural for now. Because you know the day I show up with a ring, Sharon's going to be all over that!

Preston tugged his jacket down, straightening the line at his shoulders, gave Antoine a kiss, and said his goodbyes.

It wasn't a long walk to the bus stop. Antoine lived on a side road that eventually looped into a neighborhood. The main road was part of the red line. Easy enough. He'd be able to get a ride in and back without much effort. Preston glanced at his watch as he sat down in the covered stop. Plenty of time.

Windforth Hotel was like so many other urban hotels that hosted both guests and events. It wasn't one of the most ornate, but there was still that sense of upscale decor, the modern minimalist statement accented by clean lines, dark wood, and granite tiles.

Preston followed the signs to the Hudson Room, a large banquet hall attached to a bar. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and silver drapery at the corners of the room broke up the sense of edges. White supports, molded to look like grooved pillars framed the space.

A slightly elevated presentation floor graced the far wall. It wasn't a stage, more a set of three wide steps, tiers that led to a raised and carpeted level. A presentation screen dominated the back of the alcove. A podium stood off to the side. Mounted on the podium was the name of the event, the hosting organization, and major donors.

Preston had to confess it all ran together. Charities. It certainly seemed like there were a lot of them.

He stopped at the check in, received his seating assignment and a place holder with his name printed in gold ink. Table eight, more or less center of the room. Several other guests were already there, seated and chatting amount each other. Preston made his way over and sat down. He promised himself he wouldn't look at his watch. In a few minutes, after he'd made enough small talk to be polite, he'd go get himself a drink.

Preston laughed, and hoped it sounded natural. The woman took his arm and escorted him back to their table. "It's not often I find a man with a sense of humour such as yours, and developed so young!"

"Yes, well, they always did tell me I had a dry wit," Preston replied, holding the chair for the elderly lady, then sitting down himself. What luck that the seat next to me would've not been claimed, he thought sarcastically. And just his luck again that this person would've decided to latch on to him so.

Preston's polite attempts to excuse himself had failed each and every time, to the point that she'd decided to join him at his table, rather than stay at her own.

The woman introduced herself as Margo. She was very forward, dressed in this elaborate cheetah-print coat over an elegant black dress, with matching cheetah hat. Her jewelry was all in tones of gold, and black. Around her throat a necklace of heavy pearls, multiple strands that poured down the front of her dress. Her ear rings were huge hammered gold disks, curving slightly towards her neck.

Both wrists and fingers were adorned with gold and black jewelry. On her right hand she wore a statement piece, an amber ring nearly as long as her finger, and twice as wide.

Her makeup was not overdone, though her lips were that intense shade of red Preston suspected was reserved only for little old ladies. Barely coming midway up his chest, she had a mischievous twinkle in her faded brown eyes. Despite the lines on her face, she moved with a spry bounce to her step, managing easily to keep up with Preston's younger and longer stride.

His attempts at distancing himself all evening had failed. At this point, Margo's companionship was unavoidable.

Preston broke his own rule to steal a quick peak at his watch over dinner. Dessert, then two more hours, and he'd be free.

He put on his most charming smile, and braced himself.

"Well you see, Honey," Margo continued over yet another glass of wine she was rapidly emptying, "I know for a fact you're here by yourself. The night's still young, don't tell me you turn in to a pumpkin at midnight."

"No, no, nothing like that," Preston replied, shifting uncomfortably as the server placed a cup of coffee in front of him.

Coffee, the universal signal that the evening was drawing to a close, and soon would be time for the guests to start seeing themselves out.

"Well," Margo replied, curling her long fingers around Preston's arm, "it would be positively rude for a young man to deprive an old lady such as myself of such fine and handsome company so early. You wouldn't want to be rude, would you?" There was a slight edge to her voice Preston hadn't noticed before, a certain warning tone.

"Ah, no, wouldn't want that at all," he agreed, hastily turning his attention to his coffee.

"There's my smart fellow," she said, giving his arm a squeeze. "Oh, my lord, your muscles are amazing! I'd best you have the most wonderful pectorals too. Dear, my wine appears to have run dry." She glanced around for a server. "Excuse me a moment, and don't you even think about going anywhere. I promise you I'll be right back."

Preston took a moment to snap a quick picture of her with his phone, and text Antoine.

This crazy old lady won't leave me alone! She keeps hitting on me!

A few seconds later Antoine's reply buzzed in.

Prep, that's Margo Rimbauer-Hallisy!

Who?

Jeez! Heir to Rimbauer fortune. Crazy rich. Known for getting what she wants.

Great. She's coming back. Got to go.

Good luck!

Margo, glass of wine in hand, slid into the chair beside Preston, inching ever so much closer as she did. Preston could smell the faint scent of the her facial powder. A combination of talc and roses. Definitely an old lady smell. He tried not to shy away.

"Well, Margo, I wanted to say thank you for the pleasure of you company this evening. I'd love to stay longer, but I think they're about to start kicking us out any minute. I should be going." He started to push his chair back.

Margo traced a finger down the side of his jaw. "Oh, why would you want to do that? The night's still young, and this is a hotel, darling. You honestly think I'd be traveling at this hour? No. I've the most beautiful suite on the top floor. Too much room for little me, but perfect for two." She winked.

Preston twitched slightly.

"I see." He licked his lips, and wondered whether it was the caffeine or pure fear that was making his heart race. "Excuse me a minute, my phone just buzzed."

Margo smiled, her expression deceptively sleepy. "Of course, darling."

Preston turned his back to her and hunched over his phone. I need your help! He typed frantically. Get me out of here!

He pocketed his phone, not waiting to see Antoine's reply. Putting on his most charming smile he stood, and offered a hand to Margo. The lobby has the most beautiful gas fireplace. Care to sit for a few minutes then, if you are in hurry?

Margo slipped one arm around his waist. "Ah, a romantic I see," she purred, letting him lead.

Rigel Vought, "Riley" to her friends was sitting in her small apartment, already in her pajamas, binge watching one of her favorite shows when her phone rang.

A quick glance at the screen revealed the caller. Rigel groaned, but answered.

"Hello?"

"Riley! Hey, it's me! What are you wearing?"

Rigel bit back the snappy reply a split second before it left her lips. "What's it to you, Antoine?"

"Look, we gotta go extract our boy! Preston's corned by this rich lady at Windforth. You know Margo Rimbauer?"

It was a name Rigel had heard before, and knew from reading her tabloid magazines. Margo's exploits, and her fondness for 'pretty young men' were well known. "Oh, good lord, her?"

"Yeah! We gotta get Preston out of there before the unspeakable happens! So put on something super nice! I'll pick you up."

Rigel wondered what on earth she was agreeing to, but before she'd even thought it through she'd said yes, and disconnected. Someone owes me big for this, she decided.

It took her very little time to throw on a red dress and some makeup.

Rigel was at the front steps of her apartment when a familiar black Cadillac CT6 pulled up. She recognized it at once as Preston's, and was more than a little surprised when Antoine pushed the passenger door open. "Come on," he urged. "Get in!"

"Why are you driving Preston's car?" she asked as she slid into the passenger seat.

"That's not the issue right now," Antoine replied. He shifted into gear and started towards town. "So, let's go over this. I get there, you go in, pull the jealous girlfriend shtick or improv something. Then you grab our boy, and we go!"

"What about you?" Rigel asked, setting her purse by her feet. "Where do you fit in to all this."

"Me? I'm the getaway driver!"

Rigel gave a humorless laugh. "I don't think so, Radson. You're coming with me."

Antoine gestured to his Hawaiian shirt and camouflage printed cargo shorts. "I can't go into a swanky joint looking like this."

Rigel smiled smugly. "You should've thought of that beforehand. If I go in, you go in. We're in this together."

Antoine pursed his lips, brow furrowing. He looked on the verge of arguing, then thought better of it. "Fine," he said with a huff. "Fine."

Antoine dropped the car with the Valet and followed Rigel. She moved with a grace and style that fit the mood. Red dress swirling about her legs, purse slung over her shoulder, she swept into the elegant lobby of the Windforth Hotel as if she were a queen. It took only a second for her eyes to latch onto Preston, sitting on the hearth of a gas fireplace with Madam Rimbauer-Hallisy on his arm.

She gave gave Antoine's sleeve a tug. "Let me to the talking," she whispered. "Now follow me."

Antoine nodded. "Not a problem, Riley. Not a problem at all."

Rigel strode up to Preston without preamble, or salutation. "There you are! I've been trying to reach you for the past hour! Did your phone die or something!?"

Preston's initial surprise at Rigel was genuine, then he saw Antoine slouching alone behind her. The light dawned.

He pulled out his phone and pretended to look at it. "Yes, dead as a doorknob. What's wrong?"

"It's mom, she's in the hospital. We need to get over there!"

Preston clapped a hand to his mouth. "Oh my god, it's not serious, is it?"

Rigel put her hands on her hips, the stance of annoyance. "Serious enough that they took her to the ER. They're running tests now, they still don't know what happened."

Margo Rimbauer looked up at Rigel, eyes wide. "I didn't know you had a sister," she remarked, regarding Preston up and down.

Preston opened his mouth to reply, but Margo cut him off, pointing to Antoine. "And who is that fellow there?"

Rigel glanced over her shoulder, and gave Antoine a faint smirk unseen by the old woman, but not missed by Preston. "That's our idiot brother. We don't talk about him much," she replied.

She reached down and grabbed Preston by the wrist. "Come on, Preston! We have to go. Terribly sorry to interrupt your evening," she added, giving Margo a little bow. "Truly I am."

Preston barely had time to say goodbye to the elderly lady as Rigel shepherded him towards the door.

"'Idiot brother?'" Antoine whispered, clearly annoyed. "I thought we'd agreed to go with the jealous girlfriend thing!"

"'Or improv,'" Rigel whispered as she hauled Preston through the double doors before releasing him. "You said 'jealous girlfriend' or improvise. I chose the latter."

Antoine gave a snort of annoyance and folded his arms across his chest while they waited for the car.

Preston removed his tie and set it next to him on the back seat. He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, leaning back. "Rigel, thank you. I owe you a debt of gratitude for that. I will replay you, believe me."

Rigel smiled innocently. "Oh, it was worth it in its own way, but thank you sir. It is my job, after all."

Preston rested an arm across the seat back. "Not that part, Miss Vought. Tonight, you went above and beyond. And it is truly, deeply appreciated."

He shifted his focus, looked into the rear view mirror, meeting Antoine's eyes. "Do you mind putting on some music, Antoine? It feels too quiet in here."

Antoine glanced back. "Awww, your music's all pop modern," he whined, but he didn't refuse. "S'cuse me, Riley," he said, reaching across her seat and opening the glovebox. He pulled out an MP3 player and connected it to a cable. One hand on the wheel, one hand on the player, and his attention darting between the two he quickly scrolled the the playlists.

"Okay, we're going to listen to this one," he decided.

"Which one?" Preston asked from the back seat.

"It's called 'Work Mix.' That sounds safe enough."

Rigel said nothing, but Preston noted the way her eyes darted between him and Antoine, pausing a second to linger on his left hand. She was subtle as she scanned Antoine's hand, but not enough that it escaped Preston's attention.

Antoine pulled up in front of her apartment building, and threw the car in park. Rigel bade them both goodnight and started to get out of the car.

Antoine reached up, lightly touching her hand.

"Hey, Riley?"

She froze, and looked down at him. "Yes, Antoine?"

Antoine paused, struggled with words for a second. "Yeah, I just wanted to say that was really awesome what you did for us tonight, and I couldn't have done it without you. I know we didn't start off on a good note, but, yeah, I really appreciate what you did tonight. And keeping this guy on task too! Because lord knows your a lot better at it than I ever was. So, I don't know if it means anything to ya, but thank you!"

Rigel smiled. She couldn't help it. The slight and genuine curve of her lips as she looked into Antoine's honest eyes. "You're welcome, Antoine... and Mister Tucci, sir. I'm glad to help."

With that, she shut the door, and left without a backward glance.

Antoine heard Preston shift his weight in the back seat.

"Do you think she knows?" Preston asked.

"Knows about what?" Antoine asked, a bit perplexed.

"About us," Preston replied.

Antoine shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "You know her better than I do. I guess it doesn't really matter. She knows we carpool sometimes, but me driving your car might raise a few more questions. Ah well, whatever. At least you're not stuck in the penthouse suite with Mrs. Rimbauer, eh?"

Preston shuddered, then laughed. "That would've been rough."

"And hard to get out of!" Antoine added. "Maybe you shouldn't go to these things solo anymore."

He pulled into their driveway, and waited for the garage door to open.

Preston gave Antoine's shoulder a squeeze. "Who are you suggesting I bring along?" The tone was playful, flirty.

Antoine grinned. "I dunno! Probably not me, but hey, who knows? We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, eh, Mister Tucci?" He turned off the engine and hopped out, holding the door for Preston.

"That we will, Mister Radson," Preston replied.

Antoine tilted his head. "Oh! There's an idea!"

"Huh? What's that?"

Antoine held up his hands, as if pantomiming a banner. "Radson-Tucci! That's got an aristocratic ring to it, eh? Like Rimbauer-Hallisy, but better! Preston and Antoine Radson-Tucci! What do you think? Because Preston Radson just sounds weird, though I guess Antoine Tucci could work, but I'm not sure."

"You're already thinking of last names?" Preston asked as he followed Antoine inside.

"Hey, we gotta start sometime. But yeah, honestly I've been thinking about it for a while. Like about the time I decided I wanted to marry you. A guy can dream, right?" He leaned over, and ruffled Preston's hair affectionately.

"This is better than a dream," Preston replied. "For the record, I like the way that sounds too. Thanks again for coming to my rescue. If I'd been unable to escape, well, that would've been a nightmare."

Antoine gave Preston a jab with his elbow. "A nightmare for some, but I have a feeling for you it would've been a fate worse than death. But don't worry, that's what I'm here for. And Riley too. We got your back, Prep! You're our boy! And I'm never letting you go. Ever. Because for me, that would be my own fate worse than death right there."