Disclaimer: Marvel owns the characters, not us.

A/N: Thanks goes out to all those who took the time to review. We loved hearing everyone's thoughts so keep them coming. And lookie here, we actually made this week's deadline. Even I thought the whole "updating every wed." was sooooo not going to work. But Ludi went CRAZY and wrote basically the whole story... at least for one couple that is. I'm sure you all know who that lucky couple was. Anyway, everyone read, review and enjoy- angyxoxo

Mix 'n' Match

(8) Turning Points

The bar was lively and rowdy. Jean sat at the bar alone and drank a tequila. Under normal circumstances she would've been feeling somewhat intimidated by the unfamiliar surroundings, but the warmth of the drink was already settling in her stomach and she was feeling bolder than usual. As she sat on her stool and watched the people chatting and laughing, a man passed by and caught her eye.

"Hey, gorgeous," he grinned at her. "Haven't seen you round here before. What's a beautiful redhead like you doing here without a lucky guy to keep her company?"

Jean gave him the once over. He wasn't her kind of guy at all – the blond, blue-eyed jock type – but he was kinda cute and she found herself saying: "Maybe I'm just waiting for someone like you to come along."

Inside she was shocked to hear herself say the words. What would Scott think, she thought to herself, but then the whole idea that she'd come here because she hadn't cared what he thought came back to her. The man smiled and said: "Wanna dance, gorgeous?"

"Sure," she replied, slipping off her stool. "Why not?"

Jean danced with the guy and decided he wasn't that bad at all. When they stopped he bought her another drink and they sat and talked for a while.

"So," he asked her over his glass, "what's your name?"

"Jean," she replied. She'd drunk too much, she knew it. Her head was feeling kind of heavy and her belly was warm. But she still kept on sipping her cocktail.

"I'm Duncan," he introduced himself, smiling and showing a mouth of straight, white, perfect teeth. "I'm a lifeguard down at the local leisure center." Jean looked him over. If there was one profession she had to put him in, it'd be the lifeguard business, if not football. "What do you do?" he asked.

"I'm a doctor," she replied. Her drink was nearly finished.

"No way!" he exclaimed, shocked. "I mean… no disrespect or anything… But you look like you could be a model or something!"

"Oh don't be silly!" she scoffed, blushing, which didn't show since the drink had already flushed her cheeks red.

"No, I mean it," he insisted, "You're, like, really beautiful!"

A part of Jean knew he was only speaking pretty words, but she couldn't help but feel flattered that a guy other than Scott was paying her this much attention. He watched as she downed the rest of her drink and asked: "You wanna dance some more?"

She accepted, but by now she would've accepted just about anything. As she danced with Duncan she caught sight of other men glancing at her in appreciation – not to mention a lot of girls throwing her jealous evils. She was feeling elated – she'd never felt so liberated in all her life. She was young, she was free, and she felt like the sexiest creature alive. She honestly thought she'd never had so much fun in all her life! What more could a girl want?

As the song ended, Jean felt Duncan lean in to kiss her, but she wasn't quite that far-gone yet, much as she appreciated his admiration. Quickly she held him back by putting a hand against his chest, and smiling she said: "Uh-uh, not yet hot-shot. I want another drink first."

He looked at her and licked his lips, his eyes sparkling. Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen.

"Sure thing, gorgeous," he drawled.

She knew it wasn't sensible. In fact, she knew it was even stupider than going out to a nightclub and dancing with some idiot jock whose head was probably as empty as a soccer ball. But she found herself sucking on another margarita while she flirted away with the handsome lifeguard.

"So, whose birthday is it?" she asked Duncan. "I heard the guy outside saying they were giving away free drinks in honor of some guy called…"

"Logan." Duncan nodded. "He's the guy who owns this place. Great guy too. Everyone loves him."

"He's that great, huh?" Jean asked incredulously.

"Yeah. Personally I don't see it, but all the ladies think the sun shines out of his backside. He's got his own personal female fanclub!"

"He must be a Hugh Jackman lookalike or something," she laughed.

"Hmm, not really," Duncan frowned. "I mean, Hugh Jackman's really tall, and like… well, to be honest, Logan's a short little runt…hairy too… and kinda bad-tempered."

Jean chuckled. "Some girls like hairy," she stated, and giggled an airhead giggle. She was beginning to feel light-headed, and her vision was blurry. If she could've heard herself, she would've shrieked with disgust, but she was way past the point of caring or even noticing.

"Enough about him," Duncan insisted, smiling that wide, white-toothed smile. "I wanna hear more about you, gorgeous. Like how come you're not taken already."

It was then that she realized just how far she'd gone. She found herself desperately trying to hide the engagement ring on her finger. She couldn't admit just how taken she was. She thought of Scott, the man she loved. What on earth was she doing! She didn't even like this Duncan.

She said nothing and drained the rest of her drink down her throat before ordering another one, this one containing twice as much alcohol content. Halfway through it, all thoughts of her guilt and Scott were gone. In fact, she could barely get a coherent thought out of her head.

"Hey, gorgeous." Duncan was beginning to look worried now. "Maybe you should be toning down a bit on the drink there, don't you think?"

"Just one more," she assured him, standing up and wobbling a little bit. "I have to congratulate the birthday boy."

"What?"

"Help me up," she ordered him, and began to climb up onto the bar. Bewildered, and not a little bit embarrassed, Duncan helped her teeter up onto the ledge, not even attempting to cop a grope in the process. Jean managed to stand up and swayed a little on her heels. From where she was standing she could look down on the entire nightclub and see everything that was going on. As it happened, she was just standing under a spotlight that shimmered on her flame-red hair and made her appear like some sort of beautiful phoenix rising from the ashes. Raising her glass in the air she gathered her voice and called out over the music:

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

Only a few people looked round, but as they saw this stunning vision before them more and more people began to notice. Usually Jean would've been embarrassed by all this public attention, but she really was downright drunk by now and didn't care.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" she called again. "Now that I have your attention, I think it's only fair that we raise our glasses to the birthday boy who's made such a wonderful evening possible for all of us!"

There was a whoop of applause from the audience, most of whom were as drunk or hyped-up as she was.

"Now I propose," she declared, beginning to revel in the attention, "a toast! To Logan!"

"To Logan!" everyone chorused.

"May you have many happy returns of the day!" Jean continued without missing a beat, "And many other opportunities to bless us with free drinks! Happy birthday, Logan! We love you!"

There was an outburst of cheering, applause and birthday wishes. Jean lifted her drink to join in the toast when suddenly the world started to swirl around her and she found she couldn't stand up straight. The noise of the crowd faded away into the background and she felt dizzy. She stared blankly at the glass in her hand, wondering why on earth it was floating in and out of her range of vision. Then, despite her state of mind, her doctor's logic kicked in and she realized that she was entering the state that most people in her profession called 'paralytic'.

Oh shit.

Before another coherent thought could express itself in her mind, Jean had keeled over the ledge and into the arms of the man who'd been sitting and watching her spectacle on the bar. Staring down at the beautiful damsel in distress who'd just literally dropped into his embrace, an amused smile lit his face as he saw that she was flat-out unconscious.

"Thanks, darlin'," he grinned to himself. "You just gave this birthday boy the best present he could've ever wished for."

-oOo-

Betsy had just been through a six-hour flight from hell. She'd never flown well, not even during her days as a jet-setting supermodel. She'd been seated right next to some rowdy and boisterous seven year-old who'd managed to propel his mashed potato right into her beautiful purple locks. And they'd just happened to hit a storm, during which she spent her time gripping the arm rests praying that God would get her out the other side alive. She wasn't really sure what she feared most – dying in a plane crash or her mother's wrath.

Yet, through all that pain and suffering, she knew she would gladly endure it all over again if he would just call.

But Neal didn't call and it was tearing her up inside.

Sure, she knew that she could simply dial his number and call him, but a part of her was so scared that if she did, he might actually confirm her fears – that this wasn't just an argument but actually the end of their relationship.

A part of her wasn't even sure why she loved Neal. She knew her friends wouldn't approve of him and that was why she hadn't brought him round them very much. She knew that the two of them hardly had anything in common except for maybe the fact that they were both keen on saving the world – albeit him a little more so than she. And she couldn't forget all those times he'd been condescending towards her, or made her feel guilty for enjoying her fashion programs.

Betsy had cheered up nevertheless, when she'd seen her old butler, Jeffrey, waiting for her at the airport. He'd just happened to be her favorite playmate as a toddler, and even though he pretended to have the British stiff upper-lip, there was no doubt at all that he was as fond of Betsy as she was of him. They'd spent the journey back to Braddock Manor chatting to each other and catching up on old times, so that once they'd finally arrived at the awesome gates of the great ancestral home, Betsy was almost put at her ease.

Inside the manor, Elisabeth Sr. was nowhere to be seen. The servants, however, were going in and out in a mad rush to prepare for the Gala. Coming back home was always a strange experience for Betsy – here was the place she'd grown up, and yet, she always felt she was no longer a part of it, since she'd been living in New York so long. Her recent disagreements with her mother made her all the more nervous at the fact that she'd returned.

It was as she was standing in the hallway feeling forlorn that she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her from behind and lift her up. Tilting her head back to see who her captor was, she met an identical pair of piercing blue eyes staring straight back at her. "Brian!" she squealed joyfully, and he let her down.

"Betsy! It's been too long, sister-dear!" he greeted just as jubilantly as they shared a bear-hug of an embrace.

"Tell me about it! So, how have you been? How's Meggan? Where is she? The last time I saw you two, it was…"

"Our wedding, which means it's been way too long," Brian finished her sentence for it – it was an intriguing habit the two twins had shared almost since the moment they could speak.

Betsy looked away guiltily and tried to explain. "Well, I was busy in New York and…"

"And Mum has been driving you insane enough with just her phone calls – so insane that you'd have to be crazy to willingly live back here again where she would actually have access to nagging at you in person," Brian finished off again, smirking with amusement. Betsy slapped him playfully on the chest and said, "That's a horrible thing to say of Mum… I wasn't thinking that at all!"

"Betsy, I'm your twin. We don't get closer than that when it comes to blood relations. I know when you're lying, so don't even bother! As for Mum, for your information she's in the city for the rest of the day so no need to look over your shoulder everywhere you walk." Brian grinned broadly as Betsy couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thanks. That's good to know. So, tell me, how's Meggan and married life treating you?" Betsy asked again.

"Well," he began excitedly, "married life is treating us well, and for your information – you're going to be an aunt soon!" Brian had expected Betsy to burst with joy. Instead, her smile turned upside down and she cried, "No! Brian! You two can't have a baby! What's wrong with you? You've only been married for what… eight months? And you're going to have a baby? Do you really have to?"

"Umm…excuse me?" Brian asked, completely confused.

"This is just going to be another thing Mum is going to nag me about. She's going to say, 'oh, look at Brian. He's finishing his doctorate in Physics this year. He has a lovely wife. He's going to be starting a family. Now, why can't you be more like your brother, Elisabeth? It beggars belief that I could bear a set of twins who don't have any of the same ambitions and goals in life.' You know the routine…" She sighed.

"Betsy!" Brian grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her playfully. "Stop! You are getting way too melodramatic for your own good! Mum may be a dragon, but she's not that sanctimonious!"

Betsy pouted.

"Well, fine, I can handle you having the perfect life – as long as Jamie's still a screw-up. Tell me he's still screwing up those crazy business ventures of his!" It'd long been a standing family joke that Jamie, the eldest Braddock son, had been attempting to patent the world's first hoverchair for the unfortunately disabled. Brian rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"Actually, Betts… Jamie's been working for Dad for a while now and he's doing quite well actually. He's overseeing the Braddock Charity Foundation and is technically the host for tomorrow evening."

All the blood drained from Betsy's face. While she'd been bumming around her apartment in New York the past several months, even Jamie had got a job and was doing something worthwhile with his life. Betsy could almost see her mother's disapproving face looming over her. "Oh god… I'm so screwed," she muttered under her breath.

"What?" Brian queried, but Betsy was already halfway up the stairs and up to her old room.

"I'll talk to you later, Brian!" she called. "I have to make an urgent phone call! And tell Megan that I'm so happy for you two." With that, she slipped into her room, slammed the door, pulled out her cell phone and dialed.

Within minutes, that familiar, irascible voice practically growled down the phone: "Betsy! How many times must I tell you not to call me on my business line!"

"Emma!" Betsy cried frantically. "I am so utterly screwed! Brian is having a baby and Jamie is some sort of CEO of daddy's charity thing and I am a worthless nothing!"

"What the fuck are you yammering about? Betsy, dear, as much as I love to save you from having a nervous breakdown – again – I've just come back from an absolutely horrendous business meeting, and I am not in the mood for anyone else's personal intrigues." Emma proceeded to go on an incoherent rant about a 'blonde bastard from the deepest depths of Hell', which included copious lashings of choice oaths and swear words.

"But, Emma!" Betsy cried, once she'd gotten the chance to open her mouth. "I never really ask much of you and I'd appreciate your advice right now since you're the only person I know whose temper is exactly like my mum's and…"

"Just tell the old bat to get off your case and you'll do as you like because it's your life!" Emma barked. "Grow a backbone already, Betsy! That's all the advice I'm going to give you. And maybe you should dump that prick, Neal, since I don't recall you ever being this soft before you met him! Now I'm really sorry, but I think I'm going to need a stiff drink and a bath to calm myself down. Enjoy yourself and goodbye!"

The line went dead and Betsy stuck her tongue out at her phone. Just what was up with Emma to get her in such a bad mood? And how on earth was she supposed to enjoy herself at this stupid Gala when it hardly meant she could avoid her mother?

Please just phone me, Neal, take my mind off all of this, let me know I have your support!

But still the phone remained silent.

-xXx-

At that very moment, halfway across the world, Jean woke up to find herself lying in a strange bed with a raging hangover. She tried to sit up and every time she moved it sent the room spinning. She groaned out loud, unable to remember how or why she appeared to be in this state. It would've been bad enough if she'd woken up in her own room with a splitting headache and utterly incapable of getting out of bed, but the fact that she was in some dingy little backroom in a place she didn't recognize made her situation a whole lot worse.

"Where am I?" she asked herself.

"The Hideaway," came a gruff voice from out of nowhere. Shocked, Jean turned her head to see a man at a table in the corner of the room. He was short, muscular and rugged, almost wild-looking – but his eyes were strangely kind. He was pouring water into a glass for her. "A nightclub," he explained, sensing her confusion. "I'm the owner. Name's Logan." He looked up and smiled at her. "Don't worry, Red, yer in safe hands. I've been takin' care of you ever since you passed out at the bar."

Passed out at the bar? Jean groaned again and slumped back against the pillow.

"What the hell happened?" she asked hoarsely, rubbing her temple.

"Well…" Logan began, coming over with an amused smile on his face, "you were havin' a good time. Dancin' an' drinkin' wit' some fella and chattin' away for all you were worth. Then you got up on the bar and toasted me." He grinned. Despite the way her head was pounding, Jean thought he had a nice smile. "I'm not into birthday surprises these days. Too old. But lemme tell you, this surprise sure was a welcomed one."

He lifted her head lightly to put the glass to her lips and she let him. Feral though he looked, there was something oddly gentle about the man… the way he was so attentive to her, the way he treated her with such respect… Jean sipped the water slowly and began to feel better.

"So you're the famous Logan, huh?" she asked weakly, trying to smile, even though it jarred her head painfully.

"Well, I wouldn't know about bein' famous," he smirked. "Only in a certain kinda company, if yer know what I mean." He winked.

"Did I… did I make much of a fool of myself out there?" she asked anxiously, wondering what Scott would say if he knew what she'd been up to. At least he's away, she thought to herself in relief, otherwise he'd be going out of his mind with worry right now.

"I gotta tell y' somethin', Red," he began seriously. "That headache you got right now? It's tellin' you that you were pretty damn drunk back there. There's a reason you can't remember what happened. It's because your mind's tellin' you it don't want t' remember what happened."

"That bad, huh?" she winced as he finally drew the glass away from her lips and helped her to sit upright. "Just tell me… that guy I was with… nothing happened between us, did it?"

Please don't let anything have happened…

"Don't you worry, darlin'," Logan patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. "Nothin' happened. Classy lady like you's got more taste than a low-life punk like that, right? And if he'd tried anything… trust me, I woulda chucked him outta this joint."

She smiled to hear the humor in his words. He could tell from the tone of her voice that she was worried about what had happened, and she knew he was doing his best to put her at her ease and reassure her. It felt nice to know that someone cared, even if they were a stranger…

"Thanks for taking care of me, Mr. Logan," she spoke, feeling she owed him at least her thanks. "I just hope I didn't take up too much of your time."

"Hey," he smiled, getting up and turning to place the glass back on the table. "It ain't every day a guy like me gets t' take care of beautiful broad such as yerself. So," he changed the subject, "how're you feelin'?"

"Woozy… But better."

"Glad t' hear it." He paused and stared at her before clearing his throat. "Well, I guess I should be gettin' you home. Don't wanna spend the rest of the night in this place, do you."

"You're right. I should be getting home." She slid out of the bed and tried to stand on her two feet, only to immediately lose her balance. But he was there in a trice, his arm encircling her waist, helping her up. Jean felt the warmth of his hand on her hip and a strange, tingling sensation tickled her nerves. For a moment she was confused to feel the electricity of their contact, but then she put it firmly down to the drink and said: "I think I should stay here and sleep it off…"

"You sure?" he asked with concern. "I can always call you a taxi, if you want."

Jean didn't answer. She really wanted to get home to the safety and comfort of her bed, and nice though Logan was, she hardly knew him and if she stayed she'd end up feeling awkward. On the other hand he was treating her like a perfect gentleman, and for some reason she couldn't quite pinpoint, she felt totally comfortable and secure in his presence, unlike most men, who tried to seduce her any way they could.

"Hey," he assured her, mistaking her silence for worries of another kind. "No need to worry, Red. The guy who runs this cab business, he's a personal friend o' mine, runs a reputable business, every driver checked out thoroughly. I'll even get you a ride on the house, how 'bout that?"

She gave a weak laugh. "Oh… I didn't mean to offend you… I'm sure I can trust you Mr. Logan, it's just…" It's just my home's so cold and lonely and I don't want to go back to all the responsibilities back there… She lowered her head, trying to hold back from confiding in him, this stranger she barely knew. "Alright," she finally agreed. "I'd love to take a cab home. Thanks. I owe you one, Mr. Logan."

He smiled that smile at her again, the one that changed that wild-looking face into something kind and compassionate…almost handsome. "You don't owe me nothin', Red," he said softly. Then he frowned, turned quickly and went out into the bar. "I'll just call you that cab home, okay?"

-oOo-

It's my second week at L&L and I'm already having my first official company board meeting. I'm no longer simply up against Remy's so-called Creative Team and that diva-wannabe, Ororo Munroe. This meeting will involve Remy, the head of company, Jean-Paul, who I haven't seen since my last interview, Monet St. Croix who I can live without seeing ever, and a bunch of fat jolly investors who are summoned to these monthly meetings to keep updated with the current business situations. Great, just great.

I'm beginning to scare myself silly over all the bullshitting I reckon I'm going to have to keep up if I want to remain at L&L. Knowing last week's 'success' was an utter fluke doesn't help. I may have fooled Ms. Munroe, but cash-obsessed businessmen are a different ball-game altogether. I'm hoping that if my wit can't distract them, then perhaps I'm going to have to make use of those famous assets Remy seems to think so highly of. I put on my red suit, hoping it's at least somewhat appropriate for the occasion.

Once I walk into the Boardroom and glance in Monet's direction, I know it isn't.

"Ro…Anna. Have a seat." Remy pats the seat next to him and gives me a look I can only describe as perverted as he runs his gaze over my body. Suddenly the red suit doesn't seem like such a good idea. I roll my eyes and look round the room for another seat, but the only other chair available is at the head of the table, which is undoubtedly reserved for Jean-Paul.

"Do you plan to stand throughout the meeting, Ms. Raven?" Monet's icy, condescending voice asks.

"No," I mumble and trudge over to the empty seat next to Remy. I flop down on the chair and take the papers out of my bag, poignantly ignoring him. He doesn't take the hint.

"Gotta say dat's a lovely shirt y' got on dere, chere," he whispers and looks down my shirt not so subtly.

I hurriedly button up my blazer before I turn and give him my fiercest glower, though it comes off looking pleased due to the pink circles that appear on my face. Damn me for blushing so easily!

His soft chuckling doesn't help the blushing subside one bit, and neither does his next comment. "Wonder if your other cheeks get as red if I span…"

"Shut up!" I yell at him before I even have a second to think. The rest of the board members turn their heads and all eyes are glued on me. If my cheeks were pink before, they're completely red now.

"Excuse her everyone. I'm sure y'know how hot-headed women can get when…well, when dey don't get what dey want in de…well, y'know in de what, I'm sure." Remy charms the rest of the board who, being all men, chuckle along with him. The only one that isn't amused is Monet, who is practically shooting daggers at me with her glare. Don't worry, I want to say to her, yah can keep the rat all t' yourself, Miss. High-an'-Mighty.

I look down at my papers, trying desperately to overcome my embarrassment, when Remy has the audacity to aggravate me even more by whispering, "Y' know, chere, you don't need t' wear a sexy suit like dat t' charm dis Cajun. All you gotta do is ask."

By now I'm just about at boiling point.

"Don't flatter yahself, swamp-rat!" I hiss back at him. "Men who have their brains inside their pants just don't attract me in the least!"

"I assure you, chere," he replies smoothly, "you look in my pants, you'll find dat what's inside dere sure as hell ain't no brain."

I'm really, really about to slap that grin off his face, when Jean-Paul enters the room and saves that infuriating bastard the humiliation of having me slap him again in front of a bunch of self-satisfied fat cats. Walking swiftly in, he takes a seat at the head of the table and everyone resumes their business countenances. Holding my head up high, I also turn to face Jean-Paul with a dead serious look on my face. My cheeks, however, are still burning, and I know that swamp rat's eyes are still on me. That idiot brain of his is probably fantasizing that one day I really will look inside his pants and find out what's in there. Like I want to know!

"Welcome everyone," Jean-Paul begins in his no-nonsense manner. "I hope everybody's having a grand day and hopefully this meeting will be quick and painless. First on the agenda is the marketing division. Remy, I assume that you have met with the new face for our new line. What have your team managed to come up with?"

"Actually, we've come up with a few fantastic ideas just to say the least. In charge of de innovative new campaign is our latest addition to de team and one of de finest, even if I do say so myself." He grins and gestures towards me. "Let me introduce to you, de delectable Ms. Anna Raven."

Shooting a quick glare at him, I clear my throat and hurriedly begin to talk, hoping to distract myself from the Cajun sitting next to me and tactlessly eyeing up my butt. I quickly go into my ideas and explain the details of what I have in mind for the new fragrance line. By the end of it, I get most of board member's approval along with Jean-Paul. The only one who doesn't seem impressed is Monet, but I ignore the cow since I'm still on a high from my first major presentation.

"Well, that sounds absolutely wonderful, Anna," Jean-Paul enthuses. "Different…But certainly interesting. I simply can't wait to see the outcome of all this. Please do keep me updated. Now," he looks down at his papers, "let's move onto the next agenda…" He trails off, though I don't hear a thing after that. All I hear is him saying that my idea sounds wonderful. I'm a hit and it's only my second week on the job. I feel like I'm floating on cloud nine. I might actually have found my niche in life and dare I say it? A career?

Then his voice enters my mind just when the meeting is about over. "Quite a presentation, Rogue. Are you always dis passionate about everything y' do?" That Cajun accent of his is low and husky, tickling my senses. I get that feeling again, the feeling that I could just jump in his arms and…No! I will not fall for him or his charming Cajun tongue…!

Speaking of tongues…

Dammit, Roguey, stop thinkin' about kissin' him!

As soon as Jean-Paul says, "Meeting adjourned," I can't run away fast enough.

I'm halfway back to my cubicle before I realize that I've left all my papers back in the boardroom. Sighing with frustration, and wishing with all my might that I can somehow mentally lift the papers to me, I realize that I have to go back and fetch them. They were after all, my reports and plans for this new campaign I'm supposedly heading. When I reach the door again, I notice that it is half-open and there are still people in there. Two people actually.

Remy and Jean-Paul.

Being the ever so stupid me, I decide to wait by the door until they're finished before I go back in. Anyone would think I'd learned not to eavesdrop behind doors by now, but if there's one thing you can rely on me for, it's to never learn from past mistakes. Not only is eavesdropping a bad idea, but when the topic of conversation is as interesting as the one I find myself listening to right now, it's amazing how quickly you can lose your senses. This ultimately leads to trouble. So, let me make this a rule now though it's such a simple rule. A rule that most mothers instill into their children though, of course, children never listen.

Rule 5: Think before you say something!

"Remy, do you really think she's able to handle such a huge campaign as this?" Jean-Paul is asking sceptically. "This will be our biggest campaign in three years. Are you sure you should give her all that responsibility?" I frown, knowing it's me he's talking about. Don't tell me he's one of those bozos who think I got here by sweet-talkin' that idiot Cajun!

"Do you not trust me wit' dis?" Remy responds. "Listen t' me – she's capable, not just a pretty face. She's a smart woman, JP. 'Sides, I'm de one who's ultimately in charge, so believe me when I say I got dis under control."

Hmm, that was unexpected. I can't help but smile at the way he's attempted to redeem me.

"Are you sure you do, Remy?" Jean-Paul asks doubtfully. "Are you sure you're not letting your feelings get in the way?" I frown again. And exactly what feelings is he talking about? As far as I can tell, Remy's feelings towards me amount to lust, and lust doesn't seem to have gotten in the way of his job at L&L so far.

"Trust me, I'm very professional." Remy states smoothly, which earns him a scoff from me. Apparently, it earns him one from Jean-Paul as well.

"Right… I know your reputation, Remy. I bet there isn't a woman in your department that you haven't had the pleasure of getting to know…personally."

Hey, wait a minute! I'm personally offended by the comment, since I am one of those women that he hasn't been able to get with in any sort of way – nor will he ever!

"And dis is coming from a man who went through… how many was it? Seven delivery boys in de last month?" Remy retorts and before I can even process it, it slips from my mouth.

"Holy shit! That's a lot of balls in the air!" I say out loud and immediately clamp my mouth shut. Maybe they didn't hear me. Maybe I only said it in my head. Maybe…

In the ensuing silence I squeeze my eyes shut and pray I only said it in my head. No such luck.

"Whoever's out there," Jean-Paul's voice says sternly, "will you please come in."

Shit, shit, shit! Mentally kicking myself very vigorously indeed, I step meekly inside the room, my cheeks blazing again. With my head down, I quickly start rambling like an idiot. "Ah'm so sorry, Mr. Beaubier. Ah didn't mean t' listen in on your conversation or say that stupid thing Ah said. Ah was heading back t'work and then Ah realized Ah forgot my files and Ah had to come back but then you two were having this conversation and Ah didn't want to interrupt and so Ah thought Ah'd just wait by the door, but then he said and then Ah said… and it was utterly disgustin' and wrong, and Ah'm sorry and Ah just…"

"Anna," Jean-Paul interrupts my incoherent rambling, a bemused look on his face, "it's okay. Just… don't do it again."

"Yes, sir, Ah promise, scout's honor, cross mah heart and hope t' die! Ah mean, Ah know Ah could've just knocked but Ah wasn't sure…"

Jean-Paul interrupts me again before I can start to blabber.

"Anna… no more explanations. Just grab your files and go." Jean-Paul orders, but in a friendly manner. I do just as he says, and just before I'm out the door, I apologize once more. "Ah'm really sorry!" Out the door I go; however, not one to learn from my mistakes, I linger for a few more moments. I can already hear Remy's deep chuckling.

"She's quite a something, ain't she?" I hear him ask Jean-Paul. I still can't help feeling surprised. I thought he would've laughed at my faux pas, maybe even shared a private joke with Jean-Paul about how moronic I am. But contrary to expectations, he says: "I don't care what Monet says, JP – dat dere is one classy lady."

Amazing. The Cajun is sticking up for me again.

Why Remy LeBeau, who would've ever thought it of yah, I think, Ah guess yah really do have a sense of honor somewhere inside that non-existent brain of yours.

Strangely, as I walk back to my cubicle, I find myself suddenly beaming from ear to ear.

-xXx-

To be continued...