NOTE TO READERS: Please forgive me for any errors. I hope you like the story, and if you would like to give constructive criticism and comments they're welcomed. I also must say the characters pertaining to the story are borrowed, though their personalities are bit my own. Almost a crossover, but not, I only added Fred because I liked her character, still it's mostly a CHARMED FANFIC. So sit back and relax, and let the story begin.

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Fred grimaced as she drank her coffee. She had a foul taste in her mouth

and her head throbbed with pain. Maybe she shouldn't have been out all night

drinking, but she was upset. She had her first real interview since leaving Los

Angles for San Francisco, and she was turned down for a girl with blonde hair and a

Yale degree. Supposedly, Harvard and Princeton were second rate these days.

Resting her head on her arms, she hoped she could get focus before her meeting

with Phoebe Halliwell. Hopefully, the waiter wouldn't interrupt her little nap.

Someone tapped her on her shoulders. Fred groaned and was about to tell

the waiter she was fine, but was shocked to see it wasn't the waiter, but a tall dark-

haired man.

"Hi," he said. "Are you okay?"

Speechless, Fred was absolutely speechless. Her face turned beet red as she nodded.

"I'm Chris. I thought you looked sick. Did you need some help?"

Finally, she found her voice. "Oh, no sorry, just had a rough night that's all."

Chris smiled. "Well, don't fall asleep here, there's a lot of crazy people in this

city, wouldn't want to see you hurt."

"I won't," said Fred as the waiter came over and handed her a note.

"Well, I'll be seeing you," Chris waved as he hailed a cab, and disappeared

down the busy street.

"Yeah," whispered Fred, unaware of the note in her hand.

"Miss are you alright?" asked the waiter, who had been standing beside her

for a few minutes.

Rapidly blinking the daydream from her eyes, Fred smiled. "I'm fine, I'm just

going."

The waiter bowed and went back inside. Fred laid a five dollar on the counter;

she swung her bag over her shoulder, and started walking down the city street. She

felt a bit better, though she still had a light head. At that moment, she realized she

had a note in her hand, and opened it.

Dear Fred,
It's Wesley. I missed you, I'm sorry that you decided
to leave, but I hope you're doing great in San Francisco. You said
you had interviews lined up. I hope you find yourself a great job.
Angel and I wanted to give you our best wishes and
also we provided you a room at the hotel Edmont.
Stay there as long as you like and call any time.
We all miss you. BYE!

Your Friend,
Wesley

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Phoebe was being attacked! Attacked by hundreds of demons, calling

uncontrollably since four in the morning. She needed to finish her column for

tomorrow, but her time had been consumed by all the stupid letters she was

receiving and no one to organize it all. My husband's cheating on me, the baby's

crying all night, why do I have green colored moss on my toes? Fighting a banshee

or a water demon would be less hassle than trying to solve all of San

Francisco's problems.

Knock. Knock. Phoebe looked up as one of her co-workers, Mandy entered.

"Someone to see you," she said. Her long brown hair was stiffen into curls by

too much hairspray. Phoebe felt like running it down with water and lobbing it

off, but of course, she had half of San Francisco cluttering her desk and the other

half ringing off the hook.

"Send them in," Phoebe said, smiling wide, though she felt like killing herself

right there.

Fred entered the office; she looked around and was surprised by the mess.

She usually had bosses that were much cleaner than this, but then again she always

worked in large corporations where there were hundreds of secretaries and clerks at

hand.

"Hi, can I help you?" asked Phoebe, though she wasn't paying attention as

she began to shift through the papers to find her telephone, so she could unplug the

cord.

"Yes, you're Phoebe Halliwell, right?"

"Yeah, what can I do for you?"

Fred scanned the room and found a chair beside the door, then sat down.

"I'm Winifred Burkle, but people call me Fred. I'm here for a job interview."

"Um, yes, I'm looking for a new secretary, as you can see I need all the help I

can get," Phoebe laughed, though looking at Fred's uncertain face, she stopped and

coughed. "So, do you have a resume."

Fred pulled out a black portfolio from her bag and handed it to Phoebe. She

waited as Phoebe read, uncertain whether the "hmms" and "ums" were a good sign.

Finally, Phoebe looked up a curious expression on her face.

"Um, Fred, are you sure you want a job as my secretary?" asked Phoebe. "I

mean seeing your background, you're much more qualified to work in some lab in

Silicon Valley."

"I actually have, but its really boring down there," said Fred. "No, I'm serious,

I just need the job to earn some money, I've been trying to get interviews else

where, but no one will take me."

Phoebe nodded as she scratched the back of her neck uneasily. "I see, since

I'm in desperate need of help. Then, I suppose you're hired. Can you start

tomorrow."

"Yes!" Fred cried and leaned over the desk to give Phoebe a hug. "Oh I'm

sorry." She let go.

Phoebe gave one of her wide smiles and chuckled. "That's okay, so I'll see

you tomorrow?"

"Yes, thank you, thank you so much."

When Fred left the office, Phoebe let out a great breath and dropped her head

on a stack of e-mails.