Chapter One
The third floor offices of Seattle-based Global Advertising buzzed with a furor not seen since the up-and-coming ad agency managed to wrangle the Pepsi account from their biggest competitor, MediaWorks, one of *the* biggest ad agencies in the country. Hailed as the biggest advertising coup of the year, Global execs gleefully thumbed their noses at MediaWorks execs on their way to accepting multiple Clio awards in front of an appreciative audience. If only they hadn't been so cocky that night, and every night since their win, they might have been able to stave off what the media giant's head honchos had in store for them. They got too big, too fast.
And the big boys at MediaWorks didn't like that one bit.
Enter Greg Labella, age 35, dark brown hair and darker brown eyes, mild-mannered unless provoked, and Global Advertising's soon-to-be Director of Marketing-if the promotion he was in line for panned out. He prayed it would. Actually, it was more like sacrifice-a-virgin-on-the-altar-of-Global-Advertising, would-give-his-right-arm-for-it, would-worship-any-deity-above-or-below-ground kind of prayer. All these things he was ready and willing to do if only he got that promotion his boss had been dangling in front of him like a big, juicy sausage in front of a starving mongrel. As of right now, however, he was but a shaky rung on the stepladder of success.
At least he had his own cubicle.
Four years, two months and seventeen days. That was how long Greg had been pushing paper at Global, taking countless *thorough* notes during meetings, staying up till all hours of the night to finish a report just so his idiot boss could go out to dinner with his bleach-blonde trophy wife. All that shitwork would finally pay off once his boss uttered those two words he had been longing to hear.
"You're fired." Greg blinked stupidly at the pot-bellied man sitting across from him. Those were definitely *not* the words he had been expecting. Had the man said "You've just won a million dollars!" or "I'm going to have your baby, and the whole world's invited to the party!" maybe Greg would have an easier time understanding what just happened.
"I'm what?" he rasped, stuck in the middle of disbelief and shock. Numbly, he searched the office for a likely place to hide a camera. He wondered whose sick idea of a joke this was. Probably that bitch Anna from accounting. She was still pissed when he wouldn't have a quickie with her in the copy room. Vindictive slut.
"Well, not really fired," his boss amended and Greg sighed with relief, missing his boss' grim smile. He knew it. "MediaWorks has taken over the company and they're taking no prisoners. Those lousy bastards," he swore. "I have to pay child support *and* three alimonies. How do they expect me to live?"
Greg was in no mood to hear the futile whining of a man who couldn't keep his dick in his pants long enough to settle his divorce cases. "And where does that leave me?" he asked, feeling that vein in his temple throbbing.
"Well, that means we have to let you go," the man answered regretfully. "We've just gotten a memo from MediaWorks saying that all employees with less than five years' working experience with Global are to be laid off." He handed the memo to Greg's outstretched hand.
"Attn: Management heads of Global Advertising," Greg read. "Please be advised that in light of the MediaWorks takeover of Global Advertising, any and all employees with five years or less working experience with Global Advertising are to be laid off with a severance package proportional to number of years served. The following is-ARG!" Greg crumpled up the memo and hurled it across the room.
"Hey, I needed that!"
Greg whirled on the man who was no longer his boss and had one purely evil thought: 'I no longer have to kiss this jerk's ass.' With nothing left to lose, Greg turned to the man who had jerked him around by the balls-figuratively speaking, of course-for four damn years and was satisfied to see the his prick boss' discomfiture.
He advanced, stalked like a panther to his prey, towards the desk, and leaned towards the squirming mass of blubber and sweat in front of him. "Before I go, I must congratulate you on your recent marriage. She was a great fuck and that tattoo on her ass...what a turn-on." He backed off, smirking when a pudgy, shaky hand made its way towards the phone to call security. Pathetic.
Greg sneered and walked towards the door, barely listening to his former boss shouting threats and obscenities at his back. Before he reached the door, he paused to pick up a crumpled piece of paper by the Gucci shoes he squandered his last paycheck for. Had he known he was going to be jobless within two weeks of his extravagant purchase, he would've put the money towards better things like food and rent, maybe sponsor an orphan in a third world country.
Fuck the orphans. Greg was looking out for number one and he didn't want a kid-biological or sponsored-standing in the way of that.
And so, ball of paper in one hand, he opened the door with the other to face two apprehensive-looking security guards who were probably a couple years shy of their retirement. He fisted the piece of paper and shot them a wry grin, holding up the other hand in a gesture of compliance. He allowed the two geriatric men to escort him to his cubicle to pack up his meager belongings, all the way down to the lobby in silence, before showing him very politely to the door.
Outside, the city sounds pounding in his head, Greg smoothed out the paper he clutched in his hand against the smooth granite wall of his former workplace. He scanned the wrinkled document, scoffing at the paltry amount being offered in the severance package and the convoluted words that really said "You're a screwed son of a bitch without a job". But he wasn't about to argue semantics. No, all he really cared about was the name of the bastard who signed the death warrant on thousands of jobs.
They could try to justify their decision by saying that too many people on the payroll minimized job efficiency, but Greg knew that was just a bunch of corporate bullshit they threw around to ease their guilty consciences and public outcry. They didn't care that there were people in there that needed those jobs and were actually good at doing it, nor did they care that the money they saved was money that poor schmucks like him needed to keep the IRS and bill collectors off their backs for one more month.
His eyes finally drifted to the bottom. Darien Shields, Chief Financial Officer. So now he had a name to go along with the image of a greedy executive cultivated in his mind. Carefully, deliberately, Greg folded the piece of paper and placed it into the inner breast pocket of his suit. He was going to pay Darien Shields, CFO, a visit real soon.
***
Hundreds of dollars spent on age-defying products, skin-smoothing lotions, wrinkle-defense creams, and ammonia-free hair dyes and what does Irene Lombard find while getting ready before dinner? A gray hair. The third one she found this week. She should have known better than to be suckered by all the pretty packaging at the drug store but *dammit*, she needed something besides plastic surgery to stall the hands of time. Debating whether or not she should pull that hair out, and remembering that old wives' tale about plucking a gray hair only to have two more grow back in its place, she decided she couldn't afford to take that chance. Besides, she thought, the only people who bought into the plastic surgery scam were the truly desperate or the truly ugly. She didn't think she fit into either category.
But when had she gotten so old looking? She was only 44 and already the crow's feet around her eyes were becoming more pronounced, and her skin was starting to sag. And...she poked her breast with a French-manicured finger. Dear God, they were starting to go south, too. She blamed the Santa Monica sun for her rapid aging. How was she supposed to know that smearing baby oil on her fair skin to achieve that golden California glow would result in age spots, wrinkles, and a high risk for skin cancer? Skin cancer. What a joke. Kids these days now got their tans from a bottle. The miracles of modern science. People are dying of AIDS but at least their kickass bottle tans kept them from looking deathly pale.
She sighed. When had she become such a cynic? Here she was, a middle-aged mother of two beautiful grown girls, married to a man she loved very much, and still she wasn't content. Her mother was right; she should've saved the sex until marriage. If she had, she wouldn't have found herself a pregnant college student dropout at 19, married to Ken. It's not that she didn't love Ken, she did; but she had dreams of being a published author, dreams that came to an abrupt halt the second she found out that she was pregnant. Mina was born six months after they married and Serena followed two years later.
Now, 25 years later, her children had left her to pursue their own careers, and Ken was at the height of his career as a photojournalist. And she was stuck at home, dusting her Depression-era green glass collection and dreaming of being Erica Kane from All My Children-except her version wouldn't be so slutty.
But you can't be Erica Kane, or at least lead a life similar to her, without being a slut. And, let's face it: being a slut was half the fun of being Erica Kane. Not that Irene *wanted* to be a slut...
'Irene, old girl, it's too late for regrets' she thought, applying lipstick and dabbing perfume behind her ears. She stood, smoothing out her dress, knowing that her husband would love to see her in it. It was old, but it still fit, and for that she was proud. 'At least I still have my figure,' she thought, twirling around to study her backside. 'Yep. Still got it.'
The smell of roast leg of lamb wafted upstairs from the kitchen, her specialty. They were having a special dinner that night to welcome her husband Ken's best friend from college back to California, transferring into LA from the New York branch of the company he worked for. A widower for a number of years, he was bringing his two daughters with him to dinner that night to meet their family.
"Honey," Ken called from downstairs, "Serena's home."
"Coming!" Irene took one last look in the mirror and flipped her reflection the finger. 'Take that, you bitch.' She went downstairs to greet her daughter, cackling evilly to herself.
***
"So what do you know about this guy, Mina?" Serena asked, polishing the silverware.
Mina shrugged disinterestedly. She couldn't care less about this dinner or her meeting her father's friend and his family. She wouldn't even be here if her father hadn't put his foot down and insisted that she take one night out of her busy schedule-this said in a sarcastic tone-to have dinner with her family and their guests. To Serena, she said, "What's there to know? He's dad's age, has two kids, and is a corporate hotshot." Her sister could be so annoying sometimes.
Serena sighed and went back to her polishing. Mina could be such a pain in the ass when she doesn't get her way sometimes. It's not like she's got a job or busy with school; she's an unemployed aspiring actress, for God's sake. With probably less than fifty dollars to her name, who was Mina to turn down a free meal?
Seconds later, both sisters heard the rumble of a vehicle pulling into their driveway. The streak of headlights across the windows confirmed that. They hurriedly set the table while their parents answered the ringing doorbell.
"Darien! It's great to see you again!" Ken exclaimed, grabbing the man's hand and shaking it excitedly. The man Ken called Darien laughed heartily, his deep voice sending chills of an unknown emotion down Serena's spine.
"Ken, you haven't changed a bit," he replied as he pulled the man in for a hug.
As Serena was watching her father and his friend exchanging pleasantries, she felt Mina sidle up close to her ear. "Whoa, check that guy out. I can't believe that hottie is Dad's age!"
Serena nodded slowly, assessing the man standing in their doorway. When her sister was right, she was right. Although her father was a handsome 45-year old man, he looked very much his age whereas his friend looked no older than his mid 30s. He towered over their father by at least four inches and, from what Serena could tell under the black leather jacket he wore, had broad shoulders. Flecks of gray peppering the ebony hair at his temples made him look distinguished, and his cobalt blue eyes were razor sharp.
"What I'd do to have that man between my legs tonight," Mina whispered in her ear.
Serena covered her mouth with her hand and elbowed her sister in the ribs. "Shut up, Mina! That's dad's friend!"
Mina snickered, thoroughly enjoying her sister's reaction. "Yeah, who wouldn't want to be his friend?"
"You're insane." Yet she found that she couldn't take her eyes off the man long enough to say it to her sister's face.
"No," Mina replied speculatively, "I'm horny. Stop pretending to be so shocked, Serena; one would think you were a virgin. Oh don't try to deny it," she said hurriedly, "I read your diary two nights after your senior prom."
"I wasn't going to deny it," Serena muttered, annoyed that Mina had read her very private thoughts on one of the most special nights of her life. She had long since broken up with Michael, but she still looked back on their time together with fondness. "I was going to say before I was rudely interrupted, that I had to agree with you. Dad's friend is good-looking...for a man his age."
"Man his age, nothing," Mina snorted. "Now if you'll excuse me, I believe introductions are in order." She sauntered over to the foyer and boldly smiled at their guest. "Daddy, you haven't introduced us yet."
Ken smiled at his daughter and beckoned Serena to come closer. "Darien Shields, I'd like to introduce you to my daughters, Mina and Serena. Girls, this is Mr. Shields."
Darien shook each girl's hand and nodded at the two girls, whom Serena had just noticed, standing right behind him. "Raye, Heather, come say hello."
The shorter, and obviously younger, of the two approached Serena and smiled shyly. "Hi, my name is Heather. It's nice to meet you."
Serena smiled back. "Hi Heather. So this must mean that you're Raye," she said to the other girl. Although both girls had jet black hair, Heather kept hers in a sleek chin-length bob, while Raye's purple-streaked hair trailed down her back all the way to her waist. "Welcome to our home."
"Thanks," she murmured absently, watching Mina boldly lay her hand on her father's forearm to take his coat, her periwinkle eyes flashing dangerously.
Sensing a potentially volatile situation arising, Serena ushered the girls inside and took their coats, making small talk and generally wishing that her sister could keep her hands to herself. She stole a quick glance at her father, and was relieved when he looked none the wiser. Her mother, however, was glowering at Mina, who pretended not to notice.
Oblivious to his daughter's designs on his friend, Ken led them to the living room where he served drinks before dinner was served. For the next fifteen minutes, Ken and Darien reminisced about the 'good old days' while Mina daydreamed about having her long, slender legs wrapped around Darien's waist; Irene scuttled back and forth between the kitchen and the living room to check on the roast, and Serena tried her best to entertain Raye, who was openly glaring at Mina, and Heather, who needed little prodding to come out of her shell.
Serena looked up when Mina laughed ostentatiously, and cringed. 'She's faking it,' she thought snidely, and was surprised to see Raye and Mina giving each other death glares. Mina caught Serena's eye and smirked at Raye, before leaning in closer to the girl's father and even going so far as to gently place her hand on his knee. She rolled her eyes and pictured the marquee on this particular production: The Slut, starring Mina Lombard. She could just imagine the reviews.
Thankfully, Irene reappeared from her recent trip to the kitchen. "Folks, dinner is served."
Everyone filed out of the living room in an orderly fashion, Raye and Serena at the very back. Before Serena had a chance to step through the door, Raye held onto her arm with a surprisingly strong grip. "Is your sister usually so forward around strangers?"
'Yes,' she wanted to reply, but the sense of family solidarity ran deep in her veins. "She's an actress," she replied instead. As if that could explain Mina's behavior.
Raye narrowed her eyes and tossed her bountiful hair over her shoulder. "Someone should tell her she sucks at it," she said, pushing past Serena to leave the room.
"Believe me, we have," Serena muttered and followed the stormy-eyed teenager to the dinner table.
"So, Mina," Darien began, settling himself into his seat beside her. "What are your plans for the future?"
Mina shot Raye a nasty look across the table, and ran her finger suggestively up and down the stem of her wine glass. "Well, I'm in between jobs right now, but I have a few auditions lined up. I'm an actress," she added for Darien's benefit. Serena rolled her eyes; Irene and Raye fumed silently in their seats; Darien hid an amused grin, and Ken and Heather were blissfully unaware of drama playing out in front of them as they dug into their meals.
"Oh, have you been in any productions I may know of?" Darien asked politely.
"Well," Mina drawled. "I've only just decided to make acting into a career, but I have had a few minor roles in some independent movies. Before that, I was doing some modeling for artists at the local college."
Serena raised an eyebrow. Mina sure was good at spinning a tale; too bad she didn't tell the whole story. After dropping out of college in her first year, she bummed around, doing odd jobs until she moved on to the next phase of her "life path". The "modeling" she did was *nude* modeling, and the portraits produced from that class could hardly be called art. The indy films were borderline porno, and her classic California looks-blonde hair, blue eyes, ample bust size-typecast her into roles that required little dialogue and plenty of gratuitous half-frontal sex scenes. It took their father three months to look Mina in the eye after watching her first movie and there were times Serena sensed a deep disappointment from her father every time Mina mentioned going to another audition. As far as she knew, that first movie was the last one that Mina had a role in that either of her parents watched.
Raye snickered and Darien shot her a look that immediately had her eyes back down on her plate, although it was hard to miss the tiny smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. Darien dug into his mashed potatoes and smiled encouragingly at Mina. "Well, good luck with that. I know from my own line of work that the only way to make it in the media industry is through a lot of hard work, perseverance, and talent."
Mina dabbed delicately at the corner of her mouth with her linen napkin. "And tell us, Darien-I *can* call you Darien, right?" When he nodded his assent, she continued, "What do you do?"
"Well, I was recently promoted from VP Finance to Chief Financial Officer, hence the move from New York to LA," he explained, grinning when Ken laughed and told everyone how bad Darien was at Advanced Accounting in college. "The MediaWorks head office is located in downtown LA so we had to move here."
Serena's head snapped up. "Excuse me, Mr. Shields, but did you just say you worked at MediaWorks? As in MediaWorks Advertising Agency?"
"It's Darien, Serena, and yes, I work for MediaWorks Ad Agency. Why do you ask?" Beside him, Mina's eyes narrowed. She didn't like where the conversation was heading.
Serena flushed when everyone's eyes turned to her. "Well, my friend, Amara, and I are going to be interning at MediaWorks for our last year in school."
"No kidding," Darien said, surprise coloring his words. "Do you know which department you and your friend will be working for?"
"Well, we won't know until we talk to our internship advisor. Michelle says that we'll probably end up doing odd jobs in each department." At this point, Ken nodded enthusiastically at Darien.
"Serena and her friend were recommended for the internship program for being in the top five percent of their class," he bragged, glad that at least *one* of his daughters was doing something worth mentioning. "Out of 600 people in the Mass Communications program, Serena and Amara managed to get two of the twenty spots they were offering for the internships."
"Daddy," Serena began, her face turning red. A quick glance told her that Mina's face was also turning red, although for very different reasons.
"You know, Darien, I've always wanted to do commercial work," Mina said, trying to turn the focus back on her, "but I don't know whom to get in touch with."
Darien looked at her blankly, his attention divided. "Well, you have an agent don't you?" She nodded. He raised his eyebrow pointedly at her and turned back to Serena, missing the dark scowl on Mina's face. "I'm impressed, Serena. Let me see what I can do to get you and your friend better spots at the office. I wouldn't want you two to be unpaid gofers after all your hard work."
His smile was so reassuring that Serena found herself smiling back. "Thanks, Darien."
The rest of the dinner progressed nicely with everyone, even Raye, jumping into the conversation. All except for one. Mina picked at her food, watching Serena converse with her parents and their guests, contemptuously. Her sister is such an attention whore, she thought, stabbing a defenseless baby carrot on her plate with her fork. Never mind that she, more than once, had tried to steer the conversation away from whatever boring topic they were on *this* time, and back to more interesting subject matter such as her performance in the sleeper hit, Bookstore Babes, as Topless Girl #2.
Finally, the dishes were cleared and both families were at the door saying their goodbyes. Before she got into the SUV, however, Heather impulsively threw her arms around Serena.
"Thanks for lending me this book, Serena! I promise to take real good care of it." She hugged the well-worn copy of Dickens' classic, David Copperfield, to her chest and beamed.
"No problem, Heather. I hope you enjoy the book; it's one of my favorites." Serena raised a hand in a gesture of farewell to Raye, already belted into the passenger seat beside her dad. "Bye Raye. It was nice to meet you."
"Bye Serena, it was nice meeting you too."
Darien casually leaned out the window to wave goodbye to Ken. "I'll give you a call; we'll do lunch." Ken nodded and waved back. To Serena, who was still standing by the backseat window, chatting with Heather, he said, "I look forward to working with you, Serena." He reached out and patted her arm before backing the SUV out of the driveway.
Serena stood on the same spot, watching the SUV drive down the road. Finally, it made a left turn at the intersection and was gone. Serena turned around and went back to the house, feeling strangely bereft. At the door, she smiled at Mina, who had been watching her intently, and gave her a spontaneous hug.
"I think I saw some Rocky Road ice cream in the freezer; want some?" she said. She knew that her sister had felt dismissed during dinner and wanted to make her feel better.
Mina smiled her first true smile that night. As annoying as her younger sister could be, there were times she could be really sweet. She threw her arm around Serena's shoulder, her previous anger gone. Besides, she thought, leading Serena to the kitchen, she needed to concentrate on her craft right now if she ever wanted to get into mainstream acting; a man would just distract her from her goal. "I'll get the bowls, you get the spoons and the ice cream."
Serena grinned. If there was anything that could get Mina out of self-pity mode faster than the promise of chocolate, she wasn't aware of it. "You got it."
***
The ride back was silent, and that was the way Darien preferred it. No noise from the radio, no fighting between the kids, just the silent hum of the engine to keep him company. In the backseat, Heather was asleep, snoring softly against the window. Darien longed to change her position because she was going to get a stiff neck, but he couldn't stop the car in the middle of the freeway just to do that. Luckily, she shifted and moved herself into a more comfortable position. Darien sighed; Heather was already 12 years old but she was still his baby. Sometimes he couldn't believe how grown up she already was. He *must* be getting old.
Beside him, Raye stared out the fogged up window, whiling away the time by picking out landmarks-hard to do since she didn't know the area, especially in the dark. She thought about the dinner at the Lombard house, and suddenly remembered something she had been meaning to talk to her father about.
"Did you see how that slut kept throwing herself at you, Dad?"
The SUV swerved into the other lane, the sudden intrusion of sound and the nature of the question shocking Darien out of his quiet solitude. "Raye!"
"What?" she asked innocently. She turned to him. "Well, did you?"
"Who are you talking about?" he asked, feigning ignorance. Raye rolled her eyes dramatically, not unlike those of her generation.
"Mina," she replied, somehow making the name sound disease-infested. "She was practically sitting on your lap."
Darien chuckled, sorry to admit that he agreed with his fiery-tempered daughter. "She wasn't...that bad."
Raye snorted derisively. Her dad was too diplomatic for her liking. She needed someone to say what he meant, no holds barred. "Please try to give me *some* credit, dad. Mina Lombard was trying to get into your pants and you're too dense to notice!" A new thought struck her and she sobered. "What about mom?"
Darien sighed, and glanced at Raye, startled at how young and vulnerable she looked every time she talked about her mom. Raye had only been six years old when Lily died; sometimes he couldn't believe his wife had been gone for eleven years, and that he had been raising his children alone. Although he had had dates since she died, he still hadn't met anyone like Lily. "What about mom, Raye?"
Raye shrugged and turned to face the window, watching the landscape zoom past. The last thing she needed was to get into this touchy-feely crap her dad was so fond of. Her mother died because a drunk driver got behind the wheel and drove her off the road, and no amount of grief-counseling sessions would change that. But hey, if her dad wanted to waste his hard-earned money on shrinks, who was she to question him?
They rode the rest of the way home in tense silence.
When Darien finally set the parking brake in the driveway in front of their home, Raye jumped out of the vehicle and raced to the house without waiting for them to get out, slamming the door behind her. In the backseat, Heather woke up by the loud sound and blinked sleepily at her father staring fondly at her in the rearview mirror.
"Are we home yet, Daddy?" Darien unbuckled his seatbelt and went around to open her door.
"Time to wake up, pumpkin. It's past your bedtime." Heather blinked sleepily at him and raised her arms. Darien grinned and lifted her in his strong arms, thanking his lucky stars that Heather was small for her age, and that he worked out three times a week at the gym. "You know, you're getting a bit old for this," he said, carrying her all the way to the front door. He fumbled with the knob, and was about to set Heather down against her wishes, when the door was whisked open.
"Good evening, Mr. Shields. How was your get-together?" Trista Dubois, Darien's new housekeeper, asked. She clucked her tongue and gently pried Heather out of her father's arms. "Come, cherie, it is time for you to get to bed." Her soft Creole accent lulled Heather into submission.
"Thank you, Trista. And dinner went great," Darien replied. "Goodnight Heather."
"Goodnight, Daddy," Heather barely managed to mumble as she climbed the stairs to her room. Trista glanced one last time at her employer before following Heather up the stairs.
Heather trudged past Raye's room, from which rock music blasted through the closed door, all the way to her room where she flopped tiredly on the bed. Trista shook her head and pulled her up by the arms. "Oh no you don't, little one. You've got to brush your teeth and change into your PJs."
Heather heaved a great sigh, and allowed herself to be led into her adjoining bathroom to brush her teeth. Then she went back to her room and obediently changed into her pajamas.
"So," Trista said, helping Heather find the neck hole in the top, "did you enjoy your dinner?"
Heather's head popped through the neck hole and nodded. "It wasn't as boring as I thought it would be. Serena was really nice; she lent me a book that I really wanted to read." Her eyes lit up as she remembered something. "Oh, and she's going to be interning at Dad's place during the school year. She's really pretty," she added, her voice tinged with admiration. "Her sister, Mina, was pretty too, but Raye said she was just trying to get into Daddy's pants."
Trista raised a well-groomed eyebrow at the child. The things that came from that older girl's mouth... Then, her mind registered something else. "So, who is Serena?"
Heather yawned widely and got into bed. "She's Mr. Lombard's daughter. She's really nice. I like her a lot, and I think Daddy does too, because they talked with each other all night. You'd think they were the only ones in the room," she replied before falling asleep.
Trista tucked the covers around her charge more securely and turned out the light, digesting this information. She had been working as the Shields' housekeeper for the two weeks they had been living in California. Her employer, Mr. Shields, was one of the nicest people she'd ever worked for, and that was a lot of people. She knew that he was lonely, having been widowed at such a young age. She hoped that this Serena Lombard wasn't going to take advantage of that, although it sounded like she's already got her sights set on him. She shrugged, deciding that Mr. Shields was definitely smart enough not to fall into such an obvious trap like that.
Although she wondered what Heather meant by that last comment.
***
I am having so much fun writing this story. The writing style-and the brevity-is a big departure from my norm so I hope you guys like it. Big thank you to ladysolo for getting this edit done so quickly, and for doing such a great job. Please leave a review and tell me what you think!
The third floor offices of Seattle-based Global Advertising buzzed with a furor not seen since the up-and-coming ad agency managed to wrangle the Pepsi account from their biggest competitor, MediaWorks, one of *the* biggest ad agencies in the country. Hailed as the biggest advertising coup of the year, Global execs gleefully thumbed their noses at MediaWorks execs on their way to accepting multiple Clio awards in front of an appreciative audience. If only they hadn't been so cocky that night, and every night since their win, they might have been able to stave off what the media giant's head honchos had in store for them. They got too big, too fast.
And the big boys at MediaWorks didn't like that one bit.
Enter Greg Labella, age 35, dark brown hair and darker brown eyes, mild-mannered unless provoked, and Global Advertising's soon-to-be Director of Marketing-if the promotion he was in line for panned out. He prayed it would. Actually, it was more like sacrifice-a-virgin-on-the-altar-of-Global-Advertising, would-give-his-right-arm-for-it, would-worship-any-deity-above-or-below-ground kind of prayer. All these things he was ready and willing to do if only he got that promotion his boss had been dangling in front of him like a big, juicy sausage in front of a starving mongrel. As of right now, however, he was but a shaky rung on the stepladder of success.
At least he had his own cubicle.
Four years, two months and seventeen days. That was how long Greg had been pushing paper at Global, taking countless *thorough* notes during meetings, staying up till all hours of the night to finish a report just so his idiot boss could go out to dinner with his bleach-blonde trophy wife. All that shitwork would finally pay off once his boss uttered those two words he had been longing to hear.
"You're fired." Greg blinked stupidly at the pot-bellied man sitting across from him. Those were definitely *not* the words he had been expecting. Had the man said "You've just won a million dollars!" or "I'm going to have your baby, and the whole world's invited to the party!" maybe Greg would have an easier time understanding what just happened.
"I'm what?" he rasped, stuck in the middle of disbelief and shock. Numbly, he searched the office for a likely place to hide a camera. He wondered whose sick idea of a joke this was. Probably that bitch Anna from accounting. She was still pissed when he wouldn't have a quickie with her in the copy room. Vindictive slut.
"Well, not really fired," his boss amended and Greg sighed with relief, missing his boss' grim smile. He knew it. "MediaWorks has taken over the company and they're taking no prisoners. Those lousy bastards," he swore. "I have to pay child support *and* three alimonies. How do they expect me to live?"
Greg was in no mood to hear the futile whining of a man who couldn't keep his dick in his pants long enough to settle his divorce cases. "And where does that leave me?" he asked, feeling that vein in his temple throbbing.
"Well, that means we have to let you go," the man answered regretfully. "We've just gotten a memo from MediaWorks saying that all employees with less than five years' working experience with Global are to be laid off." He handed the memo to Greg's outstretched hand.
"Attn: Management heads of Global Advertising," Greg read. "Please be advised that in light of the MediaWorks takeover of Global Advertising, any and all employees with five years or less working experience with Global Advertising are to be laid off with a severance package proportional to number of years served. The following is-ARG!" Greg crumpled up the memo and hurled it across the room.
"Hey, I needed that!"
Greg whirled on the man who was no longer his boss and had one purely evil thought: 'I no longer have to kiss this jerk's ass.' With nothing left to lose, Greg turned to the man who had jerked him around by the balls-figuratively speaking, of course-for four damn years and was satisfied to see the his prick boss' discomfiture.
He advanced, stalked like a panther to his prey, towards the desk, and leaned towards the squirming mass of blubber and sweat in front of him. "Before I go, I must congratulate you on your recent marriage. She was a great fuck and that tattoo on her ass...what a turn-on." He backed off, smirking when a pudgy, shaky hand made its way towards the phone to call security. Pathetic.
Greg sneered and walked towards the door, barely listening to his former boss shouting threats and obscenities at his back. Before he reached the door, he paused to pick up a crumpled piece of paper by the Gucci shoes he squandered his last paycheck for. Had he known he was going to be jobless within two weeks of his extravagant purchase, he would've put the money towards better things like food and rent, maybe sponsor an orphan in a third world country.
Fuck the orphans. Greg was looking out for number one and he didn't want a kid-biological or sponsored-standing in the way of that.
And so, ball of paper in one hand, he opened the door with the other to face two apprehensive-looking security guards who were probably a couple years shy of their retirement. He fisted the piece of paper and shot them a wry grin, holding up the other hand in a gesture of compliance. He allowed the two geriatric men to escort him to his cubicle to pack up his meager belongings, all the way down to the lobby in silence, before showing him very politely to the door.
Outside, the city sounds pounding in his head, Greg smoothed out the paper he clutched in his hand against the smooth granite wall of his former workplace. He scanned the wrinkled document, scoffing at the paltry amount being offered in the severance package and the convoluted words that really said "You're a screwed son of a bitch without a job". But he wasn't about to argue semantics. No, all he really cared about was the name of the bastard who signed the death warrant on thousands of jobs.
They could try to justify their decision by saying that too many people on the payroll minimized job efficiency, but Greg knew that was just a bunch of corporate bullshit they threw around to ease their guilty consciences and public outcry. They didn't care that there were people in there that needed those jobs and were actually good at doing it, nor did they care that the money they saved was money that poor schmucks like him needed to keep the IRS and bill collectors off their backs for one more month.
His eyes finally drifted to the bottom. Darien Shields, Chief Financial Officer. So now he had a name to go along with the image of a greedy executive cultivated in his mind. Carefully, deliberately, Greg folded the piece of paper and placed it into the inner breast pocket of his suit. He was going to pay Darien Shields, CFO, a visit real soon.
***
Hundreds of dollars spent on age-defying products, skin-smoothing lotions, wrinkle-defense creams, and ammonia-free hair dyes and what does Irene Lombard find while getting ready before dinner? A gray hair. The third one she found this week. She should have known better than to be suckered by all the pretty packaging at the drug store but *dammit*, she needed something besides plastic surgery to stall the hands of time. Debating whether or not she should pull that hair out, and remembering that old wives' tale about plucking a gray hair only to have two more grow back in its place, she decided she couldn't afford to take that chance. Besides, she thought, the only people who bought into the plastic surgery scam were the truly desperate or the truly ugly. She didn't think she fit into either category.
But when had she gotten so old looking? She was only 44 and already the crow's feet around her eyes were becoming more pronounced, and her skin was starting to sag. And...she poked her breast with a French-manicured finger. Dear God, they were starting to go south, too. She blamed the Santa Monica sun for her rapid aging. How was she supposed to know that smearing baby oil on her fair skin to achieve that golden California glow would result in age spots, wrinkles, and a high risk for skin cancer? Skin cancer. What a joke. Kids these days now got their tans from a bottle. The miracles of modern science. People are dying of AIDS but at least their kickass bottle tans kept them from looking deathly pale.
She sighed. When had she become such a cynic? Here she was, a middle-aged mother of two beautiful grown girls, married to a man she loved very much, and still she wasn't content. Her mother was right; she should've saved the sex until marriage. If she had, she wouldn't have found herself a pregnant college student dropout at 19, married to Ken. It's not that she didn't love Ken, she did; but she had dreams of being a published author, dreams that came to an abrupt halt the second she found out that she was pregnant. Mina was born six months after they married and Serena followed two years later.
Now, 25 years later, her children had left her to pursue their own careers, and Ken was at the height of his career as a photojournalist. And she was stuck at home, dusting her Depression-era green glass collection and dreaming of being Erica Kane from All My Children-except her version wouldn't be so slutty.
But you can't be Erica Kane, or at least lead a life similar to her, without being a slut. And, let's face it: being a slut was half the fun of being Erica Kane. Not that Irene *wanted* to be a slut...
'Irene, old girl, it's too late for regrets' she thought, applying lipstick and dabbing perfume behind her ears. She stood, smoothing out her dress, knowing that her husband would love to see her in it. It was old, but it still fit, and for that she was proud. 'At least I still have my figure,' she thought, twirling around to study her backside. 'Yep. Still got it.'
The smell of roast leg of lamb wafted upstairs from the kitchen, her specialty. They were having a special dinner that night to welcome her husband Ken's best friend from college back to California, transferring into LA from the New York branch of the company he worked for. A widower for a number of years, he was bringing his two daughters with him to dinner that night to meet their family.
"Honey," Ken called from downstairs, "Serena's home."
"Coming!" Irene took one last look in the mirror and flipped her reflection the finger. 'Take that, you bitch.' She went downstairs to greet her daughter, cackling evilly to herself.
***
"So what do you know about this guy, Mina?" Serena asked, polishing the silverware.
Mina shrugged disinterestedly. She couldn't care less about this dinner or her meeting her father's friend and his family. She wouldn't even be here if her father hadn't put his foot down and insisted that she take one night out of her busy schedule-this said in a sarcastic tone-to have dinner with her family and their guests. To Serena, she said, "What's there to know? He's dad's age, has two kids, and is a corporate hotshot." Her sister could be so annoying sometimes.
Serena sighed and went back to her polishing. Mina could be such a pain in the ass when she doesn't get her way sometimes. It's not like she's got a job or busy with school; she's an unemployed aspiring actress, for God's sake. With probably less than fifty dollars to her name, who was Mina to turn down a free meal?
Seconds later, both sisters heard the rumble of a vehicle pulling into their driveway. The streak of headlights across the windows confirmed that. They hurriedly set the table while their parents answered the ringing doorbell.
"Darien! It's great to see you again!" Ken exclaimed, grabbing the man's hand and shaking it excitedly. The man Ken called Darien laughed heartily, his deep voice sending chills of an unknown emotion down Serena's spine.
"Ken, you haven't changed a bit," he replied as he pulled the man in for a hug.
As Serena was watching her father and his friend exchanging pleasantries, she felt Mina sidle up close to her ear. "Whoa, check that guy out. I can't believe that hottie is Dad's age!"
Serena nodded slowly, assessing the man standing in their doorway. When her sister was right, she was right. Although her father was a handsome 45-year old man, he looked very much his age whereas his friend looked no older than his mid 30s. He towered over their father by at least four inches and, from what Serena could tell under the black leather jacket he wore, had broad shoulders. Flecks of gray peppering the ebony hair at his temples made him look distinguished, and his cobalt blue eyes were razor sharp.
"What I'd do to have that man between my legs tonight," Mina whispered in her ear.
Serena covered her mouth with her hand and elbowed her sister in the ribs. "Shut up, Mina! That's dad's friend!"
Mina snickered, thoroughly enjoying her sister's reaction. "Yeah, who wouldn't want to be his friend?"
"You're insane." Yet she found that she couldn't take her eyes off the man long enough to say it to her sister's face.
"No," Mina replied speculatively, "I'm horny. Stop pretending to be so shocked, Serena; one would think you were a virgin. Oh don't try to deny it," she said hurriedly, "I read your diary two nights after your senior prom."
"I wasn't going to deny it," Serena muttered, annoyed that Mina had read her very private thoughts on one of the most special nights of her life. She had long since broken up with Michael, but she still looked back on their time together with fondness. "I was going to say before I was rudely interrupted, that I had to agree with you. Dad's friend is good-looking...for a man his age."
"Man his age, nothing," Mina snorted. "Now if you'll excuse me, I believe introductions are in order." She sauntered over to the foyer and boldly smiled at their guest. "Daddy, you haven't introduced us yet."
Ken smiled at his daughter and beckoned Serena to come closer. "Darien Shields, I'd like to introduce you to my daughters, Mina and Serena. Girls, this is Mr. Shields."
Darien shook each girl's hand and nodded at the two girls, whom Serena had just noticed, standing right behind him. "Raye, Heather, come say hello."
The shorter, and obviously younger, of the two approached Serena and smiled shyly. "Hi, my name is Heather. It's nice to meet you."
Serena smiled back. "Hi Heather. So this must mean that you're Raye," she said to the other girl. Although both girls had jet black hair, Heather kept hers in a sleek chin-length bob, while Raye's purple-streaked hair trailed down her back all the way to her waist. "Welcome to our home."
"Thanks," she murmured absently, watching Mina boldly lay her hand on her father's forearm to take his coat, her periwinkle eyes flashing dangerously.
Sensing a potentially volatile situation arising, Serena ushered the girls inside and took their coats, making small talk and generally wishing that her sister could keep her hands to herself. She stole a quick glance at her father, and was relieved when he looked none the wiser. Her mother, however, was glowering at Mina, who pretended not to notice.
Oblivious to his daughter's designs on his friend, Ken led them to the living room where he served drinks before dinner was served. For the next fifteen minutes, Ken and Darien reminisced about the 'good old days' while Mina daydreamed about having her long, slender legs wrapped around Darien's waist; Irene scuttled back and forth between the kitchen and the living room to check on the roast, and Serena tried her best to entertain Raye, who was openly glaring at Mina, and Heather, who needed little prodding to come out of her shell.
Serena looked up when Mina laughed ostentatiously, and cringed. 'She's faking it,' she thought snidely, and was surprised to see Raye and Mina giving each other death glares. Mina caught Serena's eye and smirked at Raye, before leaning in closer to the girl's father and even going so far as to gently place her hand on his knee. She rolled her eyes and pictured the marquee on this particular production: The Slut, starring Mina Lombard. She could just imagine the reviews.
Thankfully, Irene reappeared from her recent trip to the kitchen. "Folks, dinner is served."
Everyone filed out of the living room in an orderly fashion, Raye and Serena at the very back. Before Serena had a chance to step through the door, Raye held onto her arm with a surprisingly strong grip. "Is your sister usually so forward around strangers?"
'Yes,' she wanted to reply, but the sense of family solidarity ran deep in her veins. "She's an actress," she replied instead. As if that could explain Mina's behavior.
Raye narrowed her eyes and tossed her bountiful hair over her shoulder. "Someone should tell her she sucks at it," she said, pushing past Serena to leave the room.
"Believe me, we have," Serena muttered and followed the stormy-eyed teenager to the dinner table.
"So, Mina," Darien began, settling himself into his seat beside her. "What are your plans for the future?"
Mina shot Raye a nasty look across the table, and ran her finger suggestively up and down the stem of her wine glass. "Well, I'm in between jobs right now, but I have a few auditions lined up. I'm an actress," she added for Darien's benefit. Serena rolled her eyes; Irene and Raye fumed silently in their seats; Darien hid an amused grin, and Ken and Heather were blissfully unaware of drama playing out in front of them as they dug into their meals.
"Oh, have you been in any productions I may know of?" Darien asked politely.
"Well," Mina drawled. "I've only just decided to make acting into a career, but I have had a few minor roles in some independent movies. Before that, I was doing some modeling for artists at the local college."
Serena raised an eyebrow. Mina sure was good at spinning a tale; too bad she didn't tell the whole story. After dropping out of college in her first year, she bummed around, doing odd jobs until she moved on to the next phase of her "life path". The "modeling" she did was *nude* modeling, and the portraits produced from that class could hardly be called art. The indy films were borderline porno, and her classic California looks-blonde hair, blue eyes, ample bust size-typecast her into roles that required little dialogue and plenty of gratuitous half-frontal sex scenes. It took their father three months to look Mina in the eye after watching her first movie and there were times Serena sensed a deep disappointment from her father every time Mina mentioned going to another audition. As far as she knew, that first movie was the last one that Mina had a role in that either of her parents watched.
Raye snickered and Darien shot her a look that immediately had her eyes back down on her plate, although it was hard to miss the tiny smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. Darien dug into his mashed potatoes and smiled encouragingly at Mina. "Well, good luck with that. I know from my own line of work that the only way to make it in the media industry is through a lot of hard work, perseverance, and talent."
Mina dabbed delicately at the corner of her mouth with her linen napkin. "And tell us, Darien-I *can* call you Darien, right?" When he nodded his assent, she continued, "What do you do?"
"Well, I was recently promoted from VP Finance to Chief Financial Officer, hence the move from New York to LA," he explained, grinning when Ken laughed and told everyone how bad Darien was at Advanced Accounting in college. "The MediaWorks head office is located in downtown LA so we had to move here."
Serena's head snapped up. "Excuse me, Mr. Shields, but did you just say you worked at MediaWorks? As in MediaWorks Advertising Agency?"
"It's Darien, Serena, and yes, I work for MediaWorks Ad Agency. Why do you ask?" Beside him, Mina's eyes narrowed. She didn't like where the conversation was heading.
Serena flushed when everyone's eyes turned to her. "Well, my friend, Amara, and I are going to be interning at MediaWorks for our last year in school."
"No kidding," Darien said, surprise coloring his words. "Do you know which department you and your friend will be working for?"
"Well, we won't know until we talk to our internship advisor. Michelle says that we'll probably end up doing odd jobs in each department." At this point, Ken nodded enthusiastically at Darien.
"Serena and her friend were recommended for the internship program for being in the top five percent of their class," he bragged, glad that at least *one* of his daughters was doing something worth mentioning. "Out of 600 people in the Mass Communications program, Serena and Amara managed to get two of the twenty spots they were offering for the internships."
"Daddy," Serena began, her face turning red. A quick glance told her that Mina's face was also turning red, although for very different reasons.
"You know, Darien, I've always wanted to do commercial work," Mina said, trying to turn the focus back on her, "but I don't know whom to get in touch with."
Darien looked at her blankly, his attention divided. "Well, you have an agent don't you?" She nodded. He raised his eyebrow pointedly at her and turned back to Serena, missing the dark scowl on Mina's face. "I'm impressed, Serena. Let me see what I can do to get you and your friend better spots at the office. I wouldn't want you two to be unpaid gofers after all your hard work."
His smile was so reassuring that Serena found herself smiling back. "Thanks, Darien."
The rest of the dinner progressed nicely with everyone, even Raye, jumping into the conversation. All except for one. Mina picked at her food, watching Serena converse with her parents and their guests, contemptuously. Her sister is such an attention whore, she thought, stabbing a defenseless baby carrot on her plate with her fork. Never mind that she, more than once, had tried to steer the conversation away from whatever boring topic they were on *this* time, and back to more interesting subject matter such as her performance in the sleeper hit, Bookstore Babes, as Topless Girl #2.
Finally, the dishes were cleared and both families were at the door saying their goodbyes. Before she got into the SUV, however, Heather impulsively threw her arms around Serena.
"Thanks for lending me this book, Serena! I promise to take real good care of it." She hugged the well-worn copy of Dickens' classic, David Copperfield, to her chest and beamed.
"No problem, Heather. I hope you enjoy the book; it's one of my favorites." Serena raised a hand in a gesture of farewell to Raye, already belted into the passenger seat beside her dad. "Bye Raye. It was nice to meet you."
"Bye Serena, it was nice meeting you too."
Darien casually leaned out the window to wave goodbye to Ken. "I'll give you a call; we'll do lunch." Ken nodded and waved back. To Serena, who was still standing by the backseat window, chatting with Heather, he said, "I look forward to working with you, Serena." He reached out and patted her arm before backing the SUV out of the driveway.
Serena stood on the same spot, watching the SUV drive down the road. Finally, it made a left turn at the intersection and was gone. Serena turned around and went back to the house, feeling strangely bereft. At the door, she smiled at Mina, who had been watching her intently, and gave her a spontaneous hug.
"I think I saw some Rocky Road ice cream in the freezer; want some?" she said. She knew that her sister had felt dismissed during dinner and wanted to make her feel better.
Mina smiled her first true smile that night. As annoying as her younger sister could be, there were times she could be really sweet. She threw her arm around Serena's shoulder, her previous anger gone. Besides, she thought, leading Serena to the kitchen, she needed to concentrate on her craft right now if she ever wanted to get into mainstream acting; a man would just distract her from her goal. "I'll get the bowls, you get the spoons and the ice cream."
Serena grinned. If there was anything that could get Mina out of self-pity mode faster than the promise of chocolate, she wasn't aware of it. "You got it."
***
The ride back was silent, and that was the way Darien preferred it. No noise from the radio, no fighting between the kids, just the silent hum of the engine to keep him company. In the backseat, Heather was asleep, snoring softly against the window. Darien longed to change her position because she was going to get a stiff neck, but he couldn't stop the car in the middle of the freeway just to do that. Luckily, she shifted and moved herself into a more comfortable position. Darien sighed; Heather was already 12 years old but she was still his baby. Sometimes he couldn't believe how grown up she already was. He *must* be getting old.
Beside him, Raye stared out the fogged up window, whiling away the time by picking out landmarks-hard to do since she didn't know the area, especially in the dark. She thought about the dinner at the Lombard house, and suddenly remembered something she had been meaning to talk to her father about.
"Did you see how that slut kept throwing herself at you, Dad?"
The SUV swerved into the other lane, the sudden intrusion of sound and the nature of the question shocking Darien out of his quiet solitude. "Raye!"
"What?" she asked innocently. She turned to him. "Well, did you?"
"Who are you talking about?" he asked, feigning ignorance. Raye rolled her eyes dramatically, not unlike those of her generation.
"Mina," she replied, somehow making the name sound disease-infested. "She was practically sitting on your lap."
Darien chuckled, sorry to admit that he agreed with his fiery-tempered daughter. "She wasn't...that bad."
Raye snorted derisively. Her dad was too diplomatic for her liking. She needed someone to say what he meant, no holds barred. "Please try to give me *some* credit, dad. Mina Lombard was trying to get into your pants and you're too dense to notice!" A new thought struck her and she sobered. "What about mom?"
Darien sighed, and glanced at Raye, startled at how young and vulnerable she looked every time she talked about her mom. Raye had only been six years old when Lily died; sometimes he couldn't believe his wife had been gone for eleven years, and that he had been raising his children alone. Although he had had dates since she died, he still hadn't met anyone like Lily. "What about mom, Raye?"
Raye shrugged and turned to face the window, watching the landscape zoom past. The last thing she needed was to get into this touchy-feely crap her dad was so fond of. Her mother died because a drunk driver got behind the wheel and drove her off the road, and no amount of grief-counseling sessions would change that. But hey, if her dad wanted to waste his hard-earned money on shrinks, who was she to question him?
They rode the rest of the way home in tense silence.
When Darien finally set the parking brake in the driveway in front of their home, Raye jumped out of the vehicle and raced to the house without waiting for them to get out, slamming the door behind her. In the backseat, Heather woke up by the loud sound and blinked sleepily at her father staring fondly at her in the rearview mirror.
"Are we home yet, Daddy?" Darien unbuckled his seatbelt and went around to open her door.
"Time to wake up, pumpkin. It's past your bedtime." Heather blinked sleepily at him and raised her arms. Darien grinned and lifted her in his strong arms, thanking his lucky stars that Heather was small for her age, and that he worked out three times a week at the gym. "You know, you're getting a bit old for this," he said, carrying her all the way to the front door. He fumbled with the knob, and was about to set Heather down against her wishes, when the door was whisked open.
"Good evening, Mr. Shields. How was your get-together?" Trista Dubois, Darien's new housekeeper, asked. She clucked her tongue and gently pried Heather out of her father's arms. "Come, cherie, it is time for you to get to bed." Her soft Creole accent lulled Heather into submission.
"Thank you, Trista. And dinner went great," Darien replied. "Goodnight Heather."
"Goodnight, Daddy," Heather barely managed to mumble as she climbed the stairs to her room. Trista glanced one last time at her employer before following Heather up the stairs.
Heather trudged past Raye's room, from which rock music blasted through the closed door, all the way to her room where she flopped tiredly on the bed. Trista shook her head and pulled her up by the arms. "Oh no you don't, little one. You've got to brush your teeth and change into your PJs."
Heather heaved a great sigh, and allowed herself to be led into her adjoining bathroom to brush her teeth. Then she went back to her room and obediently changed into her pajamas.
"So," Trista said, helping Heather find the neck hole in the top, "did you enjoy your dinner?"
Heather's head popped through the neck hole and nodded. "It wasn't as boring as I thought it would be. Serena was really nice; she lent me a book that I really wanted to read." Her eyes lit up as she remembered something. "Oh, and she's going to be interning at Dad's place during the school year. She's really pretty," she added, her voice tinged with admiration. "Her sister, Mina, was pretty too, but Raye said she was just trying to get into Daddy's pants."
Trista raised a well-groomed eyebrow at the child. The things that came from that older girl's mouth... Then, her mind registered something else. "So, who is Serena?"
Heather yawned widely and got into bed. "She's Mr. Lombard's daughter. She's really nice. I like her a lot, and I think Daddy does too, because they talked with each other all night. You'd think they were the only ones in the room," she replied before falling asleep.
Trista tucked the covers around her charge more securely and turned out the light, digesting this information. She had been working as the Shields' housekeeper for the two weeks they had been living in California. Her employer, Mr. Shields, was one of the nicest people she'd ever worked for, and that was a lot of people. She knew that he was lonely, having been widowed at such a young age. She hoped that this Serena Lombard wasn't going to take advantage of that, although it sounded like she's already got her sights set on him. She shrugged, deciding that Mr. Shields was definitely smart enough not to fall into such an obvious trap like that.
Although she wondered what Heather meant by that last comment.
***
I am having so much fun writing this story. The writing style-and the brevity-is a big departure from my norm so I hope you guys like it. Big thank you to ladysolo for getting this edit done so quickly, and for doing such a great job. Please leave a review and tell me what you think!