Disclaimer: Spice owns a Rogue and Gambit Salvador Larroca original. Sugah owns a 200 plus comic collection and X-rated Gambit pictures drawn courtesy of Jim Lee himself...actually, no she doesn't, but that's beside the point. The point is, we don't own these characters. Marvel does. (Apart from Carlos, who belongs to us when we need some 'fitness instruction'. Hah! XD)

A/N: Heh heh, from now on the hard-core Romyness is going to start increasing. ;) Much fun and sexiness guaranteed! ;) And as to the identity of Sugah... She is a goddess of Romy fanfiction and I guarantee most of you have read at least ONE story written by her... And if you haven't, shame on you! If she got $10 for every chapter she's written so far, she'd be exactly $800 richer. Show her the money!

Enjoy, and much love - Spice x

Mix 'n' Match

(5) Click, Clash

"Seems we meet yet again, Ms. Raven," Remy LeBeau grins at me from across his desk. I'm too stunned to make a reply, so he gestures to a chair. "Please, take a seat."

I do so, my mind careening between disdain and embarrassment. My luck's sure been taking me for a roller coaster ride these past few days. Why doesn't it surprise me that the guy who's my boss turns out to be none other than the sleazy slimeball I've insulted three times in just about as many days?

"And you don't need to apologize for the incident inside my secretary's office," he adds, still grinning infuriatingly. "I'd prefer it if we both forgot about that. I like to get along wit' all my workers – ain't efficient otherwise. What d'you say we start over fresh?"

"What does Monet think about you makin' time with the office bimbo behind her back?" I ask him instead – but he just laughs.

"Monet? Monet doesn't care who I see. Our relationship is strictly professional."

"Except on weekends and national holidays, Ah'm willin' t' bet," I retort sourly under my breath. Oops. Why the hell can't I just keep my mouth shut for once? This guy may be a complete ass, but it won't do to make an enemy of my boss on the first day. Lucky for me, he seems to find my comment rather amusing. He slouches back in his plush leather chair and appraises me with those deep, dark eyes of his. I try to maintain my glower. If only he wasn't so damned delicious... ...

"So," he begins, thankfully deciding to let my vitriolic remark drop, "you're now workin' in L&L's marketing and advertisement department. You know what dat means, of course." He grins complacently. "It means you're under me. Although dis Cajun gets de impression you like t' be on top at least 50 percent of de time." He passes me a suggestive leer, daring me to respond. I don't know why, but despite my anger at his under-the-belt comment, I feel my cheeks begin to grow hot.

"This could qualify as sexual harassment, you know that?" I point out as icily as I can.

"Not unless you want to sexually harass me back," he notes, leaning forward, his eyes roving over my face intently. "And the color on your cheeks right now tells me dat at least part of you does."

I clamp my mouth shut in order to refrain from shouting obscenities at him. He smiles smugly, knowing he's won this round. So he thinks I'm going to join his legion of floozies, does he? I'll show him alright!

After a moment he leans back in his chair again and steeples his fingers together.

"Can we be frank?" he asks, this time seriously.

"Ah don't think we've had much of a problem with frankness so far," I reply acidly. "'Part from that stunt you pulled back in the interview room."

"Touché." He grins again. Why won't the damned jerk just get angry with me already? I watch him light a cigarette while I wait for him to be 'frank'. After a minute or so he decides to come clean.

"You're a smart girl, Anna," he says at last, "and you're gutsy too – I respect dat. On top o' dat, you got a whole lot of integrity – ain't many girls like dat around now'days. Believe me, I know." He takes a drag. I sit silently, not quite sure what to say about this unexpected speech. So he continues. "De reason why I decided to hire you – apart from your obvious assets, of course –" (he gives me the once over and I get the impression the assets he's talking about aren't the ones on my resume), "is dat you ain't afraid t' speak your mind. An' in dis department, dat's a very useful commodity to have." For once, he looks deadly serious. "Dat's why I'm puttin' you on my creative team."

Now that surprises me.

"Your creative team?" I repeat in astonishment.

"Is dere an echo in here?" he jokes. "Yes, on my creative team. A select group of my most talented employees. T'ink of it as bein'...one of my chosen ones."

"Chosen for what, exactly?" I can't resist but ask him. I don't know why, but I'm starting to enjoy the banter between us. And so is he, I can tell. Shit, Rogue what are you thinking? You know better than to play around with this guy. All he sees you as is a two-bit floozy with a bad temper and an attitude. A conquest. Playing with him is like playing with fire. Rule number 3, gal: Never, under any circumstances, flirt with the boss...

"You get to do all de fun stuff, chere," he replies in answer to my question, taking my bait but not quite. "Advertisements, packaging, billboards, TV spots... You know de stuff I mean. C'mon, petit. You gonna tell me you ain't got de balls to give it a go?"

Hmm. Scratch that. He's the one who's baiting me.

"I don't think I'm really very creative," I mumble as an excuse. My attempt to draw a dog the other day was evidence enough of that.

"Non? So why you say you like dancin' and singin' and playin' guitar in your leisure time?" he asks. "Or maybe you lied about dat too?"

"Well, not technically..." I reply slowly.

"So den," he shrugs. "Why sit around an' talk about it? I'm ready t' take you on, if you want t' be taken on, dat is." The corner of his mouth upturns. "You get an extra five thou the first year, and den after dat, an extra ten. Dat sound fair t' you?"

I gape at him. That much money? If he's baiting me then he's doing it at considerable expense to himself. He has to be serious. How can I resist?

"Alright," I spit out quickly, before my mind has a chance to talk me out of it.

"Excellent," he exclaims. "I'll get my secretary t' send you all de details. In de meantime, I've asked Katherine Pryde t' give you an orientation. Den we'll meet back after lunch and discuss de latest project. Okay?"

"Okay," I nod. To tell the truth, I'm a bit flabbergasted. Just wait until the girls hear about this!

"Great. See you after lunch, den."

I get up to go, but before I can reach the door he stops me.

"Oh – one more t'ing."

I turn expectantly t' see him smiling that same slippery smile, his business-like demeanor totally vanished. "Would you prefer it if I called you Anna, or Rogue?" he asks.

This time I really do blush – with embarrassment. Jesus, he actually remembered my faux pas back at the interview!

"Rogue's the name mah friends call me," I reply, with as much coolness and dignity as I can. Yet again that sexy little smile crinkles his mouth.

"D'accord – Anna. Although, you want my opinion – Rogue's de name dat suits you better."

He winks suggestively. There's only one thing for it. I open the door and bolt before I end up swooning or something.

Despite the fact that my pulse rate is currently racing, I absolutely refuse to fall for that slimy Cajun's charms. I'll show him this gal's got some brains, and not just tits and an ass. So Remy LeBeau may have a won this battle. But Anna Raven is determined to win the war!

-oOo-

At that very moment, in a 19th century style mansion halfway across town, a recently-showered Emma Frost was barking out orders to her young and somewhat bewildered German housekeeper, dressed only in a blue towel which left little to the imagination.

"Didn't I expressly tell you that it was the taupe Stella McCartney suit with the satin lining that I needed pressing? Kristin, this is unacceptable! I have an important meeting to keep tonight and I simply must look my best. Not to mention, I want this place to be looking it's best for the interviews on Friday, and you haven't even dusted the hallway yet! Now I suggest you get this suit pressed, because I really am beginning to wonder what it is I'm paying you for!"

Kristin, who was by now used to her mistress' explosive temper, simply took the suit from Emma's hands and scurried off without another word. Once she'd gone, Emma let out an exasperated roar. She'd taken the morning off from work in order to get the house ready for the interviews with some prospective gardeners she was supposed to be seeing on Friday. But seeing the incompetence of her staff in general, she was beginning to wonder whether she shouldn't just replace her entire household and have done with it.

"Anything wrong, babe?" an accented male voice called from upstairs. Emma rolled her eyes. In the heat of her rage she'd completely forgotten about Carlos, her latest replacement in the boyfriend department since she'd dumped her 'significant other' last week. Whether Carlos was going to last much longer was another matter entirely.

"Carlos, do you think you could get out of my bed anytime soon?" she ranted as she climbed the stairs to the bedroom. "I have to be at work in two hours and I absolutely need to get myself ready."

"So get ready already," he replied lazily. "I'm kind of comfortable where I am."

Carlos was lying half-naked in bed, stretching out against the duvet. He happened to be Emma's young and gorgeous Spanish fitness instructor, but, she thought with irritation, he didn't have a single sensible thought inside that handsome, perfectly-formed head of his.

"You will get dressed and get out of here this instant!" she railed at him, the towel almost slipping off her in her rage. "My room is my domain, and if I let you in here it means I can bloody well kick you out when I want to! I'm fed up Carlos! I am fed up with your total lack of regard for my feelings!"

Carlos simply shrugged lazily. He probably hadn't even understood half of what she'd said.

"Hey, chill, chiquita. What's so wrong if I stay here while you change anyway? Carlos has seen you in your birthday suit before, or did you forget?"

He gave her a seductive smile, which in her present mood only served to make her angrier. She was just about to start yelling at him again when the doorbell went.

"Ugh, it's that damned postman!" Emma cried in exasperation. "Late again, as usual. I really must remember to complain to the postal services about it!"

Ding dong

"Kristin!" Emma hollered down the stairs. "Kristin, where are you! There's somebody at the door!"

But Kristin, it seemed, had conveniently disappeared, and the doorbell just wouldn't stop ringing. Emma leveled a sharp glance in Carlos' direction, but he merely shrugged his shoulders again, rolled over, and went back to sleep. A now extremely incensed Emma was left to run downstairs to open her own front door.

"I want you out of my room within the next ten minutes, and that's an order, mister!" she shouted back over her shoulder at her fitness instructor, who simply ignored her. By the time she had reached the door she was literally foaming at the mouth and was utterly oblivious to the fact that she was practically half-naked.

"What?" she snapped, throwing the door open to find herself faced with, not the postman, but a very much astonished and speechless young man. Emma glowered menacingly at this unexpected visitor with all the ferocity of a lion. She'd been caught in full-flow and was not in the mood to be trifled with.

"Well, what?" she spat out impatiently. "I haven't got all day, you know!"

"I, uh..." the young man was evidently trying to formulate a sentence, but was being distracted by her gratuitous display of perfect female flesh. "I, uh, was coming for the, uh, gardening job and I, uh..."

Emma suddenly realized how idiotic she must look, standing there talking to a complete stranger wearing only a towel and her big, fluffy slippers. But she was still so cross that she couldn't really give a damn.

"I'm not holding interviews for the gardening job until Friday," she told him curtly, while simultaneously looking him over. She had to admit that he didn't look like the gardening type at all. Her previous gardener had been a boring and nondescript man in his sixties, and this guy didn't look much older than twenty-four. On closer inspection, she had to admit that he was rather good-looking – he had a great physique, thick brown hair gelled into a spiky look, and beautiful, icy blue eyes. He was dressed kind of weird for the winter – the guy was actually wearing shorts and a sleeveless top that showed off a pair of strong, well-muscled arms. Emma caught herself mid-ogle. For the first time since she could remember, she started to blush.

And she hadn't damn well blushed since seventh grade!

"You were supposed to call and make an appointment through my secretary," she continued, involuntarily taking a little of the edge out of her voice. Dammit! Why hadn't she put on her bathrobe before she'd opened the door?

"I did call," this fine brunette specimen replied, still staring at her with a mixture of awe and embarrassment. "Your secretary told me you would be home this morning and I thought..."

It suddenly dawned on her that Jubilee must've mistakenly sent him for an interview today rather than Friday. Again she had to consciously hold her rage in check. I'm surrounded by imbeciles! she thought to herself in irritation.

"I'm sorry," she apologized quickly, inwardly feeling disconcerted at her reaction to this unassuming young man. "My secretary must have gotten the days mixed up." She looked down at herself and suddenly the color rose to her cheeks again. "And I, uh, apologize for my current state of undress. My housekeeper was supposed to answer the door and I'd just gotten out of the shower and..." Why on earth was she explaining herself? Emma Grace Frost never made explanations to anybody!

"Oh, it's no problem," the brunette interrupted with a small laugh that she had to admit she found rather attractive – dorky though it was. "I mean, I'm not one to complain if a beautiful woman opens the door and she's just wearing...well, you know what I mean... And you are beautiful, by the way, and I don't mean to be disrespectful or anything, but I, uh..." He trailed off, scratched his head and blushed as well. "I'm not making an ounce of sense, am I?" he finally finished with a comical expression on his face.

For some reason, Emma found herself smiling. Usually, she had an entire repertoire of two kinds of smiles – smug, and scary. But now she found herself beaming with a smile that reached to her eyes. This guy was plainly an idiot – but he amused her. He made her want to laugh. And somehow, his inept admission that he found her attractive had pleased her. She hadn't smiled like this since sixth grade. What the hell was up with that?

"No," she replied at last, trying to fight her smile and not entirely succeeding. "In fact, you're making a complete and utter fool of yourself. But I guess that makes two of us."

At her lame comment he beamed that contagious grin right back at her. "I guess it does," he agreed.

They laughed a little, a weak kind of laughter, as though they were suddenly confused as well as embarrassed. Inwardly, Emma's head was screaming at her to shut the door and end this humiliating experience immediately. But there was another small part of her that wanted to stay and talk to this stranger, and she didn't know why. He just made her feel good. He just made her feel...happy.

"Emma?" Carlos' plaintive whine sounded from upstairs, breaking the awkward moment. "Babes? Why you not shut the door, huh? Carlos is getting cold up here!"

If Emma had blushed before, she found her cheeks literally flaming now. Looking back at the brunette, she saw there was a somewhat crestfallen look on his face as her attached status suddenly became apparent. A sudden desperation welled up in her, but it was a feeling so uncharacteristic to her nature that she held it in check. What on earth had gotten into her?

"Uh, I should be going," he suddenly blurted out, looking away awkwardly.

"Yes," she rejoined quickly. "Come back on Friday," she added without thinking, then banged the door shut in his face. It was the only action she felt she could redeem herself with, since she'd been acting like a total dork the moment she'd laid eyes on him. But even as she slammed the door to she felt a strange feeling inside her – a kind of weird afterglow.

Dammit, Emma, she thought, what's gotten into you! The guy was evidently a moron!

Shaking her head violently and setting aside the disconcerting thoughts, it took her a whole two seconds to get her cynicism back

"Carlos!" she raged as she climbed the stairs once more. "You've got five minutes before I whip you out of that room myself!"

-xXx-

"Dammit, Drake, you've really blown it now," the young brunette muttered to himself as he cycled quickly away from Emma's mansion. "Why can't you just keep that big mouth of yours zipped for once?"

The past week hadn't been the best in Bobby Drake's life. Last Wednesday he'd been fired from his job serving rude and foul-mouthed customers at the local Burger King, and only yesterday morning he'd received a D grade in his dissertation on interglacial periods. To top it all off, his bike had been stolen over the weekend and he'd had to shell out another $70 to buy a new one that could stand the rigors of everyday travel through New York City. Before that he'd been coping just fine driving round the banged-up Saab his dad had bequeathed to him, but six months ago that'd finally died on him in a cloud of billowing smoke and he'd been too broke to afford a new set of wheels.

Yes, recent life had certainly been depressing for him, and now it had just become even worse.

"Face it, Drake, you're a moron," he continued to remonstrate himself under his breath as he turned onto the main road. "That lady is never gonna hire you now. Might as well just give up on ever being employed, ever again. You suck. Your whole life sucks. How're you ever gonna pay to stay in grad school now?"

He sighed as he thought about his latest humiliating blunder. For some reason, whenever he was faced with a beautiful woman, he'd suddenly get tongue-tied and start spouting utter garbage. Yup – he was certainly a failure in the woman department as well. It wasn't that the girls didn't like him or anything. It was simply that they didn't consider him good boyfriend material – either he was playing the role of the good friend that everyone came to, or he was being the class clown. Why was it that all his friends were able to score and he wasn't? Take that cute, skunk-striped girl he'd met at the Super-Low-Val-U Mart last week. He hadn't even spoken three sentences to her before she'd been running.

And now he'd just met the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on, and he'd simply gone even more out of his way to make a total idiot of himself. Nope – there wasn't any point in going back to the Frost mansion. As if a sophisticated and beautiful woman like that was going to employ a screwed up nerd of a failure like him.

But goddammit, she sure was hot..., Bobby thought to himself, thinking back wistfully on that gorgeous blonde with the beautiful cornflower blue eyes... Not to mention her other assets... ...

Hm. Maybe he'd go back for the interview after all.

So lost was Bobby in his reverie that he barely even noticed the massive Jaguar that was honking him from behind. As the sleek car raced to take over him, he was practically driven off the road and into a drain. Bobby skidded to a stop and shook his fist at the juggernaut now speeding ahead of him.

"Fucking road hog!" he yelled, but the car had already slipped round the corner.

Yup, it looked like it was turning out to be yet another promising day in the life of Bobby Drake.

-oOo-

"Damned cyclists," Warren Worthington muttered to himself as he overtook the daydreaming young man who'd been taking up most of the lane. "Someone should ban them from this city, period."

Warren wasn't having a particularly good day either. That morning his lawyer had received a rather threatening letter from the lawyer of a certain Ms. Emma Frost. So the woman wanted to play rough, did she? Warren shook his head in disbelieving amusement. He knew how much Emma wanted the merger between their two companies. It was something he too wanted, but her behavior was really starting to rub him up the wrong way, and he'd had just about enough of her arrogance. Well, if that was the way she wanted to play things, he'd give back as good as he got. There was no way in hell he was going to be intimidated by that conceited and, he suspected, silicone-enhanced woman!

As he turned the corner his cell phone started to go off. Flipping it open, he held it to his ear while simultaneously trying to dodge another irresponsible and seemingly drunk cyclist.

"Hello? Warren Worthington speaking."

"Sir," the sedate voice of his Asian secretary came through. "Is this a bad time?"

"Of course not, Shan," he replied lightly. "I'm just heading back from brunch with a client. What is it?"

"I've just had a phone call from Professor Braddock's secretary," Shan Coy Manh replied in her usual business-like manner. "She said he hasn't received any confirmation concerning the invitation you received to the Annual Braddock Foundation Gala this weekend. He'd like to know whether you're still planning to attend."

"Of course I'm attending," Warren returned, a little puzzled. He'd asked his fill-in secretary to call Professor Braddock two weeks ago and accept the invitation to the gala – but then again, the girl had been rather useless, feeling it was more necessary to call her boyfriend and paint her nails than do the work she was being paid for. "Shan, Worthington Incorporated is sponsoring the professor's latest cancer research," he added. "His most recent findings happen to be of worldwide importance. I think it'd be showing bad face if I didn't turn up. Call him back now and tell him I'll most definitely be going."

"I would, sir," Shan replied slowly. "But it seems you've been double-booked this Friday. That's why I had to call you."

Warren groaned. Trust him to get an incompetent imbecile to take Shan's place while she was away on sabbatical.

"What's supposed to be on for Friday then?" he asked.

"A meeting with Emma Frost of Frost Industries," Shan reported. "It's been marked as top-priority. Do you want me to cancel?"

Ah, so he'd been double-booked to meet with Emma that evening, had he? A small smile spread on Warren's lips. A plan was slowly starting to formulate itself in his head. He now knew exactly how to make sure Emma got a spoonful of her own ill-tasting medicine.

"No," he decided at last. "Don't cancel."

"Sir?"

"I'll call my lawyer and arrange for her to go instead as my representative," Warren explained.

"Do you want me to inform Ms. Frost?" Shan inquired.

"No. You just phone Professor Braddock and let him know I'll be at the gala this weekend. And please apologize to him for the delay in accepting his invitation. Tell him I had trouble with my fill-in secretary. Oh, and don't forget to send my regards to his family." He thought that was only fitting, since Professor Braddock and his father had once been childhood friends.

"Will do, sir," Shan confirmed, and hung up.

Warren snapped his cell phone shut and grinned smugly to himself. Come this weekend, Emma Frost was going to have a very nasty surprise in store for her. It really was high time someone took that unbearable woman down a peg or two, and Warren Worthington was more than happy to be the person to do job.

-xXx-

To be continued...