Disclaimer: I don't own the BSC.

Rating: Same.

Brrrriiiiiiinnnnnnnngggggggggggg!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mallory Pike leaped out of her chair, nearly jamming her head on the overhead bin that hung precariously close to it. Looking at her desk frantically, she tried to locate her phone, which was now ringing off the hook.

Brrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiggggggggggggg!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Coming!" Mallory leaped to her feet and cleared the mess in a single stroke, knocking it to the floor. "I'll pick it up later," she muttered. Half sick with adrenaline from being so startled, she snatched up the phone.

"What?" she screeched.

"Um……..May I speak to Mallory Pike, please?" The voice on the other end of the line was female, timid, and quite familiar-sounding. Mallory recognized it instantly.

"Mary Anne? I'm SO sorry."

"Are you okay?" her friend's voice was concerned, as usual.

"I……yeah." Never mind that she had three weeks worth of work piled up in various mountains on her desk. She couldn't even see her computer screen.  "Just a little tense. I've got a lot to do. What's going on?" she had a sudden thought. "Is it the baby?"

"Oh, no-" Mary Anne was adamant. "I've still got about a month to go. Nothing like that. I was just calling to tell you that SHS is having a high school reunion for my class, and-"

"Oh yeah, I heard about that. Stace told me," Mallory interrupted, rifling through the pile of paperwork on her desk. "I don't think that I'm coming, though- it's not even my class."

"Yes, I know," Mary Anne said earnestly. "I was just thinking about having a BSC get together- you know, kind of a reunion thing ."

"That might be fun." Mallory glanced at the clock above her head and stuck the papers on a clipboard in front of her, beginning to type after pushing a newspaper, a memo pad and half a corn muffin off her keyboard. "Call me back with the details tonight, would you? I'd like to talk more, but I have-"

"I understand," Mary Anne said quickly. "I'll call you back after you're done with work." She hung up.

Mallory dropped the phone in it's cradle, feeling slightly guilty at not being able to speak with her friend, but the truth? She had so much work to do. Sticking a pen between her teeth, she concentrated on the piece she was editing.

"Mallory, luv!" After only two minutes of typing, a crisp, British accent-laced male voice invaded her thoughts. She answered without lifting her head. "Yes, Hugh?"

"Will you have those documents ready for me by teatime, darling?"

"Yes." Mallory said through gritted teeth. And don't call me 'darling,' she added mentally. Irritating Brit.

"What was that?" Hugh said, and Mallory looked up, scared for a minute that he might have somehow heard her. Thank God, he was only using one of those stupid earpieces that nobody ever saw before they made themselves look suitably foolish in front of another person. He held one finger up, indicating that he would only be a minute. "Yes- what do you need by tomorrow? The Milan piece? Well, my senior editor should-" he put his hand on the mouthpiece and mouthed, "Milan? Tomorrow?" to Mallory.

She shook her head frantically, making slashing motions across her throat as she did so. Was he insane? She was swamped!

Hugh nodded and took his hand off the phone. "Yes, she'll have them done by tomorrow," he said calmly, ignoring Mallory's wide eyes and frantic arm movements. "Yes, I know. Nine in the morning. Don't worry, we'll have them faxed over by then- yes. Ciao…."

"Are you insane?" Mallory screeched the minute he snapped his flip phone shut. "Do you know how much work I have already?"

"Calm yourself," said Hugh. "You'll get it done. Just……organize yourself." He indicated her overflowing desk. "Perhaps if you got rid of some of these papers-"he indicated one particular stack with half a pastrami sandwich on top with curled edges, curling his lip in disgust.

Mallory took a deep breath, sure that steam was coming from her ears. "Hugh. I have two deadlines today. There is NO way I can finish a document of that magnitude before five. I'll be up all night!"

"Well the good Lord gave us twenty-four hours in each day, thank goodness," Hugh said jovially. "You'll be paid overtime, of course. Are you all right, luv?" he asked, looking her in the face. "You're all red."

Mallory gritted her teeth, holding back the words that she wanted to say- words that would almost CERTIANLY get her fired. Instead of talking, she grabbed her purse from the back of her chair, picked up her laptop bag, and pushed past Hugh.

"Where are you going?" he called after her.

"On a break!" she snapped. There was no way she could work in such a condition.

"Fifteen minutes!" Hugh called. "No more!"

Oh, she really needed Starbucks.

Pushing her way out of her office, she made her way down the hall and out the front door of the Boston Herald. Good riddance, she though with some satisfaction as she crossed the street. The welcome aroma of coffee beans and hazelnuts filled her nostrils as she walked into the café.

"Get me a large coffee," she commanded the pimply teenager behind the counter impetuously. "Strong. None of that sissy mocha stuff. Black. Four sugars. No, better make that six." She needed all the energy she could get. "And give me anything sugary to go with it."

"Um…..we have coffee rolls. They're frosted, sort of," the boy said, looking suitably intimidated.

"Fine. Give me two." As the boy scurried off to do her bidding, Mallory raked her hands through her hair, trying to ward off the migraine that she knew was coming. God, she hated Hugh sometimes.

Her order was ready in a couple of minutes and Mallory sat down at one of the little fake-wood tables in the diner, carrying her bags in one hand and her coffee in the other, both rolls balanced precariously on top of the cup. She took a long sip of coffee, enjoying both the warmth and the bittersweet taste of the liquid.

And to think- she used to hate the stuff.

Beginning to relax now, Mallory reached into her laptop bag and produced her laptop, snapping it open and going into a Word document: "Book, Draft One." One glance at the clock confirmed that her break was nearly over, but she didn't care. Let Hugh stew and wait till she came back- it would serve him right. Tomorrow morning, my foot!

She scanned down the pages, scrolling as quickly as she could. "Where's that part, where's that part…….drat!" The part that she wanted to see wasn't there- it was saved on her hard drive at the office, where she'd been working on it earlier.

Mallory quickly finished the last of her coffee and sweet roll, wrapped the other in a napkin for later, and raced back across the street. Maybe she could quickly get to it and……

No such luck.

Hugh was sitting in her office, feet propped up on her desk, scribbling something on a pad.

……..and Mallory lost it.

"WHAT are you doing here?" she exploded. "You gave me enough to do today. Even my personal office isn't safe?"

Hugh raised one brow, looking shocked- Mallory Pike certainly was NOT the type to go off on her boss. Mallory knew this, too. She took a deep breath and prepared to finish what she started- if she was going to get fired, she might as well make it good. "Do you mind?"

Hugh was so surprised that he actually stood up. "I-"

"Thank you." Mallory pushed past him and sat at her desk, pulling off her jacket in one impatient gesture. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she said, with sarcasm worthy of her younger brothers.

Hugh merely shook his head; then he exited the room.

Mallory sighed and ruffled through the papers on her desk. Hugh really wasn't a bad guy, most of the time- it was the job that she hated. After graduating a year early with an English degree from UConn, she had immediately landed a much-coveted position in the offices of the Boston Herald, first as an editorial assistant, steadily working her way up to senior editor, nearly equal on level to Hugh Smythe, both the owner of the paper and her very blonde and very British boss. She was good at what she did. Her writing was sharp, frank, funny, and her editing was impeccable. Journalists often requested her to edit their pieces- she had a knack for editing without cutting out the very essence of the work or depriving the writers of their personal writing styles- something that many of the resident journalists appreciated. She was fantastic at what she did-

-and she hated it.

Mallory had always been a creative writer at heart. Her stories, journals and reports from as far back as elementary school still cluttered her apartment, and she had several half-finished manuscripts lying around. If she had her way………

But "creative" writing didn't pay the bills. OR all the loans she'd accumulated from college. OR for her Boston apartment. Not at all.

So she was editing now- and hoping to get lucky in the highly competitive world of published writing, but until then…….

She was stuck.

Muttering oaths under her breath, she stared at the mess that Hugh had made on her desk. He was probably only trying to help her clean up, but any writer with sense knew that an organized mess was the only way to survive. Now she actually had to put everything in order.

As she ruffled through the various folders and papers, trying to get her bearings, he eyes fell upon the pad that Hugh had been scribbling on. A second glance proved it not to be a pad, but a medium-sized packet of papers that now had bright red ink scribbled all over them.

Corrections.

For the Milan piece.

"Oh, jeez……." muttered Mallory.

She got up from her chair and left her office, crossing the hall to Hugh's office. The door was open, and he was sitting at his desk, tie tossed carelessly over his computer monitor, shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned. He was talking on the office phone. When he saw her, his expression changed subtly, and he said a quick good-bye, then hung up the phone. He raised one bushy blonde eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I…….." not knowing what to say, Mallory held up the papers. "Why didn't you tell me that you were helping me with the Milan piece?"

"How could I get a word in, with all that shrieking?" Hugh fixed his slate-gray eyes on her intensely. "You are my senior editor, Mal, not my coffee girl. This is a partnership. I'm not going to leave you high and dry when you have loads of things due tomorrow- my tail is riding on it, too. I'll be here as long as you are."

Mallory plopped down in the chair facing his desk, as her legs felt suspiciously wobbly all of a sudden. Jeez. Hugh could be such a jerk, but when he really wanted to be nice……..

"Thank you," she found herself saying.

"You're welcome," he said, looking quite pleased with himself. "I made the basic corrections and pointed out a few things that you should check- got through about a third of it. Just take what's done and let me proofread the rest."

Mallory nodded and began to shift through the papers, looking for the pages he wanted. "So," he said, casually, "how's that book of yours going? Finished the eighth chapter yet?"

"Whaaaaa-"Mallory's head snapped up with dangerous speed. "What?"

"Your book," he said patiently. "The one about the Native American girl that raises horses. It's pretty good, actually, except for the fact that it contains enough sap to-"

"WAIT!" Mallory held out a hand. "How did you know that I was writing a-"

"Oh, that," Hugh waved a dismissive hand. "You work on it here at the office sometimes."

"Yeah, so what does that have to do with anything? You must have looked into my laptop- but that's impossible, I have a password……"

Then it dawned upon her.

"Oh my………."

Hugh was still looking at the article, oblivious to her mounting fury. "Like I said, cut out some of the sap. It's a great story, but it won't do to have your readers nauseated for half of the-"

"You…..you jerk!" Mallory sputtered before thinking about repercussions she might face from speaking to her boss in such a tone. She stood to her feet and glared down at him. "You have spyware?"

"Darling, that's such a nasty word."

"You have no right to invade my privacy and-"

Hugh rolled his eyes. "This is MY office. The computers are networked. Do the math."

Mallory just stood there, taking in deep breaths. If I kill him now, I wonder how long it'll take for the cops to get here………

"Mallory?"

Mallory took a deep, karmic, calming breath, then turned and stomped out of the office, face flaming in anger.

She didn't even see the young woman walking down the hall with a full coffeepot until it was too late.

"Arrghhh!!!!" as the two collided, Mallory barely managed to keep her balance, but was unable to save her clothing- a wave of brown, hazelnut-smelling liquid from the pot sloshed out and cascaded over her shirt. "Oh……..EW!" she shrieked, trying to keep the scalding liquid away from her skin by pulling her wet-sticking shirt away from her.

"Oh my God, Mal, I'm so sorry!" Carrie, Hugh's secretary, stood there with a hand pressed to her mouth. "Did it burn you?"

"No," Mal muttered, wiping some coffee off of her chin. "It wasn't your fault. I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Let me help you, at least!" putting the coffeepot down on the hall credenza, Carrie followed her into the ladies room.

Once inside, Mallory pulled off her shirt and held it over the sink, rinsing the coffee out of it, praying to God that it wouldn't stain. Carrie was standing there wringing her hands. "I am so, so sorry," she said, over and over.

"It's okay, Carrie."

When the woman had apparently accepted the fact that Mallory wasn't mad at her, she leaned against the sinks and gave her a conspirator's look. "You were coming from Hugh's office. What happened?"

Mallory shot the woman a look. Carrie Jane Hutnick was the LAST person she'd share details of her office alteration with Hugh with- the woman would have it all over the office in minutes. "Nothing," she said. "He just wanted a deadline moved up, and I didn't quite agree with him."

"Mmmhmm," said the woman knowingly, raising her eyebrows, but Mallory ignored her, pulling out her shirt from underneath the stream of water and attempting to blot the water out with a paper towel.  Who cared what Carrie thought had gone on? Half the office thought that she was screwing Hugh anyway. She shuddered at the thought. Embarrassing as it was, better for them to think that she was in the middle of a lover's quarrel than to know her true business. Especially since her ACTUAL love life was nonexistent and all.

Although she could drop a hint to Carrie about Hugh's little neo-Big Brother "1984" system he had rigged up in the office…….

The very THOUGHT of it made her face flush again- the typical redhead reaction to upsetting news, she thought ruefully. Carrie had been watching her face carefully the entire time; then she smiled as if she knew something Mallory didn't.

"Let me take that shirt for you and hang it over the radiator," Carrie said. "It should dry by closing."

"Thanks. I'll need it. It gets cold in here later on at night."

"You're staying late?"

"Yes, I have a document to finish. Hugh and I will probably be here till after nine."

The secretary grinned. "That so?"

"Get out!" Mallory pushed her out of the bathroom.  

Nosy thing.

Once she was gone, Mallory surveyed herself in the mirror critically. Underneath her crisp blue oxford shirt, she had been wearing a sleeveless black turtleneck sweater, so except for the fact that she'd be freezing all afternoon, she was okay, look-wise. After college, she'd adopted a sort of "nerd-turned-preppie-hip" look, and it was evidenced in her clothes- she LOOKED like a newspaper editor. In addition to the tailored man-style shirt and turtleneck, she was wearing a pair of low-slung, wide legged black pants with a wide belt, black oxfords- and her signature-since-college pair of geek chic black-rimmed specs lay comfortably on her nose. Her hair was as red as ever, and sprang from her head in curly sprigs- she'd chopped it off short in a fit of frustration after college, and never again had grown hair past her earlobes, where it was now. Much more comfortable that way. Makeup was usually an afterthought, and her jewelry was restricted to a silver bracelet watch. Shrugging her shoulders at her reflection, she headed for the door. If Hugh saw her going sleeveless in the office- well, too bad. It was all HIS fault anyway.

She stalked down the hall to her office, mentally going over her tasks for the evening in her head. Hugh stuck his head out of his office when he saw her pass. "Mal-" he began, but froze when he saw both her attire and the look on her face. "Wow."

She glared at him.

He sighed and waved a hand. "Women. Never know when they're being complemented. Carry on-" and he waved his hand again.

Mallory strode into her office and slammed the door with a force that made the entire room shake, then sat at her desk and began to work. She didn't even notice when the sun went down, until she noticed a light snap on in the room. She looked up. Hugh was standing in the doorway.

"If you want to keep your eyes, you'd better turn this on," he said mildly.

She nodded, suddenly feeling drained. "Is everyone gone?"

"Yes. It's after seven. You've been working nonstop since about four." He cocked his head to the side and motioned for her to get up. "Come on."

"What?" Mallory said warily.

"Food. In my office. I ordered pizza. You're hungry, yes?"

For a minute, Mallory was tempted to decline. But her stomach growled audibly, which kind of ruined that for her. "Fine." She got to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster and followed him out of the door.

They walked into his office, after a short stop at the receptionist's desk, where Mallory picked up her shirt, smelling faintly off coffee, but very much dry. She pulled it on as Hugh opened the cardboard pizza box lying on his desk.  When she looked up from her last button, she caught him staring at her.

"What?" she asked, rather rudely- but she didn't care. She was staying late, after all.

"You have freckles on your shoulders. Never saw them before."

Mallory shot him a "don't even go there," look, and he took the hint, shutting up and opening his minifridge after passing her a roll of paper napkins. "Help yourself."

"Thanks." She reached in the box and pulled out a slice of pizza, then sat on a desk chair and bit into the slice.

"Coke?"

"Yeah, thanks," she said through a mouthful of cheese.

"I've got beer if you want one."

"Coke is fine." She craned her head to look on the inside of his fridge, wondering if he was serious. Wasn't it illegal to drink at work? Weren't there laws?

Hugh slammed his fridge shut and popped open a Corona, handing her the proffered Coke. "I'm a Brit, love. We drink beer like it's water," he said, as if he read her thoughts. "Besides, I own this place. Familiar with Dickens?"

"I…….yes," said Mallory, hardly able to believe that this oaf knew one of her favorite authors.

"There is so much great food in his books. Especially Pickwick. That book always makes me hungry- the characters are always dining on sponge cake or milk punch or something equally dedecant." He reached into the box and pulled out two slices, stacking them before taking an enormous bite.

"That's true," Mallory said, relaxing slightly.

"Come on now, let's take a look at this document you have here."

Now that some of her fury had began to cool and she had hot food in her stomach, Mallory was able to concentrate on her work. They began to go through the piece, editing, correcting, deciding what to include and what to let go.

The clock hands had ticked another hour and a half by before Hugh stretched, yawned and called it a night. "I think what we did is more than fine. I'll fax it over in the morning. Thanks, Mal."

Mallory nodded, tired as well. "Okay."

"And….Mallory?"

"Yes?"

"My apologies for reading your manuscript. Since it was on the office database, I had no idea that it was private."

Mallory was so shocked about getting an actual apology from her usually arrogant boss, that all the cutting speeches she had been rehearsing in her head in case he brought up the subject again flew right out of her head. "I……..okay."

"It really is quite good."

"I……thank you." She paused, unsure of what to say. "I will try to keep my private business to my personal computer from now on," she managed to say without choking. If HE could apologize, she guessed she could admit her wrongs as well……

"I would be happy to edit for you if you wished."

Mallory looked up quickly; but there was no trace of mockery in his expression, only a sincerity that looked very strange on him. "I……I will keep that in mind," she managed.

He nodded and began to pick up their pizza mess. "Good God! How much did you EAT?" he said, glancing at her empty plate.

"Um……five slices. I think." Mallory had lost count.

"You American women have amazing appetites," he said, shaking his head. "And what are you, a size six?"

"Um…..yeah." Actually, it was more like an eight,  but who was SHE to correct him? "And what's that supposed to mean, 'you American women?' "

Hugh shook his head, apparently unwilling to engage in a feminist-based debate. "Nevermind. It's good to see a woman with a good appitie."

"That's what I thought," Mallory said.

He shook his head. "Are all American women so forward with their bosses?" but his tone was teasing. "When did you get so tough, anyway? When I hired you, you were this meek little kid straight out of finishing school and college."

Mallory shrugged and picked up her purse. "Call it the British "stiff upper lip."" she picked up her purse and headed for the door, eager to get home. She had to call Mary Anne back- and she had some laundry to do. "Night, Hugh."

"Till tomorrow. Come in an hour or two late if you want- you've earned your rest."
She left the office, climbed into her car, one of the only two left in the parking lot, and drove off for home.

And next in line is………DUN DUN DUN DUN…..Jessi! Sorry for the delay in updating folks; I will speed it up, thanks for reviewing and please don't stop!