A/N: I own no part to any of the rights or characters contained within this story, with the exception of Bailey. She's mine. I'm not making any money off of it. This is just my over-active imagination at work.
Chapter 1
"Make sure everyone gets a memo concerning the season wrap party," Dawson Leery said as he rushed out of his office.
"Everyone?" The annoyance in his secretary's voice was obvious.
"Everyone," he repeated, turning to look at her. "And include something about needing an RSVP no later than noon tomorrow. Got it? Good."
He was halfway down the hall, running late for the post-production meeting, when the sound of that familiar accent stopped him in his tracks. Glancing at his watch, he briefly entertained the thought that it was just too early in the day for this. Roberta hadn't even finished the first pot of coffee in the office. What could have possibly brought about this visit?
Dawson turned, hoping to intercept a confrontation between the two women. Both were extremely valuable to him and both greatly disliked each other. That was one of the few confirmed 'secrets' within his production company. He snorted softly at the thought of anything within his company being secret when it came to his employees.
"I really don't appreciate this little attack on me."
Dawson mumbled a blasphemous oath under his breath as he lengthened his stride. Extending a hand, he grabbed the piece of paper that was about to incite the next great battle in LA.
"Ms. Townsend, I believe you're needed on the set."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are," he repeated evenly, giving her a level look.
"Fine," she huffed in her soft drawl, the word sounding like "Fahn" to his ears.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, watching the petite woman turn and stalk off, her long blonde hair flying in her wake.
"She was trouble the day she walked through the door, Mr. Leery," Roberta said, immediately behind him. "And she will be until the day she leaves the company."
"Bailey is the best costume designer we've ever had, Roberta."
His secretary narrowed her eyes knowingly at him.
"Don't give me that look," he told her, checking the time on his watch again. "I've heard the rumors, too. And believe me, they are not true."
Roberta's eyes widened in indignation, shocked that he would even suggest she listened to such rumors, let alone believed them.
"And don't forget the memo," he called back as he headed towards the post-production meeting once more, his mind going back to the day early last fall when he first met the enigma that was Bailey.
Bailey Brooks Townsend stood just inside the front door to Dawson's house. Her big blue eyes surveyed the room, taking in the scene before her.
"May I take your wrap?"
"Yes, thank you," she replied, handing her pale pink shawl over to the butler.
A loud roar of laughter drew her attention to the patio just off the living room. She made her way through the sea of people congregating in the house.
"There she is. Bailey!"
She looked to her left, seeing the female lead on the TV show waving wildly to her. Putting on the smile that won her Miss University of Knoxville, Bailey walked over and joined the cast members and crew as they listened to their boss give his thanks to everyone for all the hard work they had done. She watched Dawson standing in front of the crowd, a drink in one hand and gesturing with the other. If there weren't so many reporters and media people around, she would have put money on it that he'd much rather have a cigarette in his other hand right about now. Either that or his infamous notepad. It was the item of legends, something everyone on the set would give their right eye-teeth to know what was written in it.
Bailey studied him as he held his audience captivated with some witty joke or story he was famous for. Despite his rare moments when anyone would be wise not to cross him, he was one of the most liked and well-respected producers in Hollywood. As he wound down from lauding praise for the highlights of the season, he shifted nervously and grew serious about the new season when they returned from hiatus. He began to address the rumors about changes coming to the show. Ever the diplomat, he danced around people being replaced and the show being cancelled after the next season. He was one of the most unflappable producers in Hollywood and had a reputation of being the best and expecting nothing less than that from those he worked with. She admired that in him, even when they went head to head on the sound stage in front of everyone over an outfit the female lead was wearing. Bailey had called Dawson a pompous ass who didn't know anything about her job and told him to butt out. He retorted with calling her a silly little twit who obviously needed to be back on the farm with the rest of her Petticoat Junction hillbilly family because she couldn't take the criticism he gave her that was mild compared to most in LA.
The set fell silent during their shouting match; only a mild gasp of shock could be heard as she told him to kiss her ass and that she quit. As she turned to storm off, Dawson reached out a hand and grabbed her arm, informing her that no one quit on him, they were fired. Three days later, Bailey was back on the set. No one ever discovered exactly what happened between those two, but she had new-found respect from everyone for standing up to him like she did.
Bailey's attention snapped back to the party as Roberta bumped into her.
"I can't believe you had the nerve to show up," she snarled, looking down at Bailey.
Bailey drew herself up to her full 5'3", readying for battle.
"Look, I'm only here because it would have been inconsiderate and rude of me not to, after everything Mr. Leery has done for me this year. You, however, are one person I had hoped to avoid. But since you seem determined to start something with me, I'm going to be the bigger person and excuse myself before I take on of his Emmy's over there and beat you senseless with it."
Roberta blinked stupidly at Bailey's sweet smile before turning and walking away.
A couple of hours later, Bailey sat out by Dawson's luxurious pool, sipping on a mixed drink and watching the candles flickering in the water.
"God, don't they know when to go home?"
Bailey smiled over at Dawson as he collapsed in a chair, rubbing a hand across his face.
"Mr. Leery, I thought you'd be in your element. Everyone singing your praises, touting your great talent…"
"Kissing my ass?" He finished her thought, offering her a wry smile.
"Now why would you think I'd say something like that? I've only had…I can't remember how many of these tasty little drinks I've had, but not enough to let me say that."
He shook his head, chuckling quietly at her ability to make words such as "now" and "that" two syllables.
"Perhaps because you have before? When you were sober?" He muttered, leaning his head back against the back of the chair.
"Touché, Mr. Leery."
He raised an eyebrow in her direction, hearing her swirl the crushed ice in her glass. They sat, neither saying a word for a few minutes, the sounds of the slowly dying party wafting out to them. Bailey took another sip of her drink before leaning backing her chair as well.
"The party was a success, don't you think, Ms. Townsend?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Leery. It'll be on all the tabloid TV shows, the society columns of every major newspaper in the world and on the front page of Variety."
"It sucked that bad, huh?" He asked quietly closing his eyes.
"Maybe not bad. I have been to worse. You kept avoiding the main question all night, though."
"Which one was that?"
Bailey turned in her chair to look at him. He had faint dark circles under his eyes and a semi-permanent frown line across his brow. She knew he had put away his fair share of drinks during the party as well.
"Whether or not you're coming back next season or handing it off to someone else."
"I'll be back," he said flatly.
"I won't," she whispered.
Dawson raised his head slightly, opening his eyes and looking back at her.
"Come again?"
Bailey gave him a sad smile.
"I said I won't be back. My resignation will be on your desk Monday morning."
"Bailey, look. If it's about…"
"Dawson," she interrupted, holding up a hand. "It has nothing to do with that. This is something I've decided I need to do for me."
He started to respond, but his attention was called inside for the departure of one of the network executives.
"I need to go, too," Bailey said, standing and making her way inside, intentionally losing him in the throng of people.
She found her shawl in a closet to the side of the spacious living room and draped it over her arm. Taking a step inside the room, she took in all of the photographs he had of family and friends. She recognized most from duplicates that decorated his office at work. A small, sad smile tugged on her lips, thinking how he had given so much of himself to his job, putting his whole life out there for people to see, and all he got in return for it was…
"Are you sure there's nothing that will make you stay?" Dawson asked, suddenly behind her, his voice caressing her ear.
"I'm positive."
"Your call then," he told her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, then slowly rubbing it across and down her back.
Bailey looked up at him, catching the glimmer in his eyes.
"I need to be going," she re-stated, not bothering to move.
"Yeah," he said, his voice still low. "And there are a few more people I need to see out. I'll…see you around, Ms. Townsend."
"I have no doubt, Mr. Leery," she said, watching him leave.