Disclaimer: Marvel's characters, not ours (barring Carlos, he's ours).
A/N: Yeah, we know, another late update, but here's an extra long chapter just to satisfy those of you who've been hankering for more Mix 'n' Match. The next chapter should be coming soon with some new surprises, so all you Romy fans better watch out for some hot 'n' spicy Cajun action, heh heh... ;) And thanks for all the super-duper cool comments, from you super-cool guys... This story's totally for the fans, so we always get a kick when we know you love it. :D Until next time...
Ludi x
-oOo-
Mix 'n' Match
(9) Boys and Girls
I'm in the elevator, along with what seems to be enough people to populate a small European country.
We stop at the 29th floor and some more people manage to squeeze themselves in. Everyone groans. We all just want to get home with the least fuss possible, and this isn't helping at all. How come there are so many people gathered in one lift? It isn't usually like this.
I find myself being squashed up against someone and quickly mumble my apologies. The doors shut and the elevator begins to go down again. Silence reigns once more.
I have nothing to do for the remainder of the journey but contemplate the shirt of the man I'm pressed against. Not that there's much to see. It's white and silky. And smells of a familiar, spicy aftershave.
It's then that I realize that the man I'm pressed up so intimately against is Remy LeBeau.
I shut my mouth and pretend I don't have a clue.
We stop at floor 25. More people try to push in. "There's no more room!" someone hollers from the back. Someone else yells back that the second elevator isn't working. More grumbling as some more people miraculously manage to squeeze in. I find myself pressed up against Remy just about as close as I can be. My cheeks begin to blaze as the elevator finally starts to descend again. Twenty-five floors between me and freedom. I silently pray for the damned lift to hurry up.
We're pressed so close together it could almost be considered X-rated. I stand there and try to think about my lunch, but as I feel the contours of his hard body against mine all I can think about are those gorgeous pecs… and of how I'd rip that shirt of his right off and run my hands all over that finely sculpted male body of his…
I find myself not even attempting to deny the thought anymore. Between the first and twenty-fifth floors I occupy myself by fantasizing about him and me. Doing it in an elevator. Minus all these people, naturally. Unless he's an exhibitionist, of course… Hmm – I wonder if he's an exhibitionist?
I find it's a lot easier to indulge in my little reverie rather than try to push it away. Before I know it we've got to the first floor and the doors swish open. I'm almost disappointed.
People begin to flood out around us and we both break apart almost reluctantly. I finally pluck up the courage to look up at him.
"Sorry," I find myself apologizing sheepishly. I'm still blushing like mad. He smiles his usual, complacent, cocky grin and says: "No problem, chere." I enjoyed it just as much as you did.
I turn and run before I let my body have a chance to carry through the lewd thoughts currently floating round my mind.
-oOo-
It was evening and the Braddock Manor was filled with a plethora of wealthy and distinguished guests. The great hall had been laid out with various dishes and refreshments and space made for the parquet dance floor. In the background, a string quartet was playing an elegant waltz. Betsy, dressed in a red silk Gucci sheath dress, wandered in and out of the milling crowds, exchanging pleasantries with the guests. Professor Braddock was deep in some scientific conversation with a colleague, Jamie was being congratulated by some rich bankers, Brian and Meggan were talking to some personal friends and Elisabeth Sr. was nowhere to be seen. Betsy quickly scanned the room as she wove in and out of the flocks of people, making sure her mother was still out of sight. Amazingly, she'd managed to keep out of her mother's way since she'd arrived home, and she was determined to keep it that way.
Betsy sighed with relief as she got to the other end of the room. Avoiding her mother was really dampening her enjoyment of the party. Picking up a wineglass from the refreshments table, she ensconced herself firmly in a corner and watched the goings-on from the sidelines. It worried her that she hadn't seen her mother ever since her father had introduced his family to the guests. Somehow she'd lost sight of her since then.
All of sudden, Elisabeth Sr. came into sight, plowing through the crowds towards Betsy like a woman on a mission. Betsy began to panic. Unfortunately she was in the corner and there wasn't much of a chance to escape. Just as she was about resign herself to her mother's rants, someone moved forward from the crowd and stopped Elisabeth Sr. in her tracks, no doubt wanting to congratulate her on the success of the party so far.
Betsy took the opportunity and ran.
The nearest haven of safety was one of the nearby balconies. Betsy slipped inside quickly, hoping she'd given her mother the slip. In her haste, as she turned the corner she crashed into somebody's chest.
"Oh I'm so sorry…!" she found herself babbling as she took a step back.
"No, I'm sorry." The voice was male, the accent American and friendly. Betsy brushed down her gown hastily.
"No, it was my fault," Betsy insisted "I should've been looking where I was going."
Until that moment she'd refused to look up out of embarrassment, but as she finally raised her head she found herself looking into a pair of beautiful, warm blue eyes. Momentarily shocked, she could barely get any further words out.
"Oh…I… Uh…I had no idea that there was someone out here," she blurted out without thinking.
"No need to apologize," he assured her softly, steadying her by grasping her lightly by the elbows. "It was just an accident."
Betsy said nothing, feeling a thrill shudder through her skin where he touched her. The feeling confused her, and she would have broken away at once had it not been for the sound of high-heels marching in her direction. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she saw her mother's silhouette advancing. Her embarrassment thrown out of the window, Betsy pushed the handsome stranger further into the relative darkness of the balcony.
"Uh…I, uh, was wondering if you'd like to, uh, dance?" she spat out, hoping she was now well out of her mother's line of sight.
"Here?" He was surprised.
"Please?" she asked desperately. Her would-be rescuer looked confused, but seeing she was in earnest, he obliged her.
"If you insist," he replied charmingly. "I'm never one to say no to a beautiful lady."
Normally Betsy would've been troubled by the light banter, but she was much too flustered to care at the moment. Please don't let mum see me! she silently begged as the man took her left hand in his and wrapped his other arm snugly about her waist. As they began to waltz slowly in time to the music, Betsy kept an eagle-eyed watch on her mother. Elisabeth Sr. passed by the balcony, then stopped. Betsy quickly whirled round so that her dance partner covered her from sight.
"I must say," the man commented after a moment, "that this is a very…interesting way of dancing."
"I'm out of practice," Betsy lied absently. Over the man's shoulder, she could see her mother finally give up and walk away. Her body instantly relaxed and she couldn't help but heave a great sigh of relief. "But I seem to be recalling some of the steps now," she added quickly.
Now that her mother had finally disappeared, Betsy was finally able to get a good look at her unwitting savior. The servants had set up soft, pink lighting on each of the balconies and the soft glow lit up one side of his face, brightening his crystal blue eyes. He was nicer-looking than she'd first thought he was, his boyishly handsome face framed by a thick crop of tousled, golden hair. Despite herself, Betsy stared impolitely, but she just couldn't help it. And he was staring back at her, with an unwavering intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. A warmth involuntarily seeped into the pit of her stomach, sending pleasurable shivers zigzagging through her. She knew she shouldn't be feeling this way, but the emotion was so overwhelming that she couldn't push it away.
"I don't think we've been introduced. You're here on business?" he asked at last in a soft murmur, as if unwilling to break the tranquility of the moment.
"This is my home," she replied with equal softness as they continued to dance. "At least, it used to be."
"You're a Braddock?" he asked, his eyes wide with surprise. She smiled.
"I'm Professor Braddock's daughter. My name's Elisabeth. And you?"
"Worthington. Warren Worthington III," he replied. "My father's an old friend of yours."
"Yes – dad mentioned he and your father attended Oxford together," Betsy nodded.
"That's right." He grinned, the smile lighting up his handsome face. "I understand they haven't seen each other in years though. This is actually the first time I've met Professor Braddock." The conversation suddenly fell silent as they continued to dance, Warren holding her gently against him, his hand warm and soft on her waist. He danced with great ease, his movements natural and fluid, as if he'd been born on the dancefloor. Betsy bit her lip in sudden consternation, but couldn't bring herself to move away. She hated to admit it, but she was enjoying his company far too much – and anyway, she deserved a little fun, since Neal had totally neglected to call her up.
"You okay?" Warren asked after a while, noticing her silence. She looked up and laughed a little.
"Oh no, I'm fine," she assured him. "Just thinking about a call I've been expecting from someone back home."
"Back home?" he queried.
"I'm based in the States," she replied. "The US has been my home since I got into the modeling business four years ago."
"Ah!" he exclaimed, enlightened. "I thought I'd seen your face before. You're Betsy Braddock, the supermodel!" He paused and looked over her figure-hugging red dress with undisguised admiration. "I should've known," he quipped wryly. "A classy look like that could only be pulled off by someone in the fashion business."
"You mean someone who was in the fashion business," she remarked sardonically. "I gave up a few months back."
"Why's that?" he asked, brow furrowed. "From what I can tell, you were at the height of your career. Wasn't the jet-setting high life your kind of scene?"
"Not exactly…" she trailed off, and seeing the reticent look on her face he quickly changed the subject.
"So you still live in the US then? Not thinking of moving back here?" he asked, and Betsy couldn't help but notice the trace of hope in his voice.
"No, no plans to come back here," she answered. "I have people back in New York that… care for me." She had been about to mention Neal, but had quickly refrained, without really knowing the reason why she should be so bothered about it.
"New York?" he repeated. "What a coincidence! That's where I'm based too."
"Oh." Betsy couldn't bring herself to say any more. Her initial euphoria was gradually beginning to fall as she realized how precarious her situation was. She'd purposely neglected to mention Neal to avoid embarrassment, and, she had to admit she hadn't wanted Warren to know. She hoped against hope that he wouldn't ask her for her address or phone number, or suggest that they meet up. On the other hand, a secret part of her was wishing otherwise…
Betsy immediately put all trace of the thought out of her head.
A minute or so passed before the last strains of the music finally came to an end and the two reluctantly came to a standstill. Warren's hand slid from about her waist and he dropped her hand slowly. Betsy held in a breath, her cheeks flushed, feeling both released and disappointed at the loss of his touch. She couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed a dance so much, and frankly, Neal wasn't much good on his feet at all…
"My," she found herself saying on a breath, "you are a very accomplished dancer, Mr. Worthington."
"Please," he returned, "call me Warren." He smiled that smile again, one so warm she felt her insides churn. Just as she was about to give a suitably tongue-tied response and make an utter fool of herself, she heard the familiar voice of her mother calling her from behind.
"There you are, Elisabeth! I've been looking to have a word with you all day! Have you been avoiding me!"
"Of course not, Mum," Betsy replied, while inwardly groaning at her mother's mortifying choice of time to interrupt. "I've just been…mingling with the guests, you know." She turned to Warren. "Mr. Worthington, this is my mother. Mum, this is Warren Worthington III. You know – the son of dad's friend?"
"But of course!" Elisabeth Sr. was suddenly all smiles. "I remember when you were nothing more than a little boy, playing in the paddling pool with our Brian in the summer!" Warren looked embarrassed and Betsy stifled a giggle. At least she wasn't the only one to suffer at the hands of her mother's humiliating anecdotes. "Hasn't your father accompanied you?" Mrs. Braddock asked of Warren.
"Father's not been well recently," he replied politely, "So I came instead to represent his interests. It's, uh, nice to be visiting England again."
"Well it's been so long I can't imagine you should remember any of your time here!" Elisabeth Sr. exclaimed. "I always did tell my husband that your father should have visited more regularly, but since Mr. Worthington moved back to New York it was so inconvenient. It was such a shame for Brian when you left… I would've recommended to your mother that you go to boarding school here in Cambridge, but she would insist on sending you to those dreadful Ivy League schools! Their curriculums are so unsatisfactory…"
"Mother!" Betsy cried in horror. It wasn't just her imagination – her mother really had become ten times more anal since they'd last met.
"Oh, I would've loved to study here in England," Warren rejoined amiably, sending a discreet wink in Betsy's direction. "But alas, my parents decided I wasn't quite suited to the intense intellectual climate of Oxford or Cambridge. Though I'm sure both James and Brian could've done far better than I…"
"Oh nonsense!" Mrs. Braddock scoffed. "You were always such a bright young lad! I always maintain that every young man of your stature should have the best education he can get!"
By now Betsy was frantic as she was sure her mother wouldn't stop prattling on at poor Warren until she said something really humiliating. Luckily, as she was just about to cut in and face the certainty of her mother's wrath, her father called over and saved them all.
"Elisabeth, darling, you're wanted! Mrs. Jessop has been asking for you the entire evening!"
Mrs. Braddock hurriedly excused herself and Betsy was amused to see her dad grin and wink in her direction. Betsy gave a sigh of relief and gave him a silent thumbs up.
"Well thank goodness for that!" she exhaled.
"Your mother seems rather nice," Warren commented good-naturedly.
"Now I know you're kidding!" Betsy exclaimed.
"Oh, I don't know. She could be a lot worse." He shrugged humorously. "My mother's always complaining about how I turned out too. I think that's what they're there for." He indicated casually back towards the hall. "Perhaps we should go and have a drink…maybe dance some more?"
Betsy hesitated a moment, then looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, I'd like that. I'd like that very much."
-xXx-
The amount of trash on my kitchen table has now got to such a level that I've been forced to clean it up. I sigh and begin to sift through the old letters, magazines and catalogs on the table. I never used to be like this, but somehow, over the past few years, my usual acceptable level of cleanliness has dropped to an all-time low. It's when I get to the bottom of the junk that I find that envelope again. The one from Caldecott General Hospital that I'd hastily left there the other day.
Up until that moment, my mind had been consumed with the incident in the elevator that morning. I can't help thinking that Remy could've taken the opportunity to cop himself a grope, or rubbed up against me, or some other such perverted act. But he hadn't. He hadn't even so much as put an arm round me. He hadn't even made some dirty remark once we'd got the first floor. In fact, he'd behaved entirely decently, which left me feeling odd – considering I'd actually kinda enjoyed it.
But now everything's forgotten when I clap my eyes on that familiar old envelope. My throat constricts and my breathing comes hard. Without thinking, I grab at the piece of paper, rip it up into shreds, and throw it into the wastebasket. Then I decide to take my mind completely off the whole thing. I decide to tackle the problem of my sink, which had broken – again.
Ten minutes later, Jean arrives and lets herself in.
"Don't tell me you still haven't got that fixed!" she exclaims.
"Ah already fixed it once mahself," I explain morosely. "Only the darn thing went an' broke again."
Jean half-laughs. "Sounds like you just need to call in the plumber, girl."
"Figured Ah could save mahself the money," I sigh, giving up and putting down the plunger. "So where were you the other night? Ah rang up t' see if you'd like to go out but yah weren't in."
"I was…uh… occupied," Jean replies quickly. Her cheeks begin to redden, and my mind immediately leaps in suspicion.
"Uh-huh?" I cross my arms skeptically. "You sure yah weren't just pining over Scott?"
Jean turns her face away slightly, hiding her expression from me. "Of course not. I was just out that night." Hmm – now I'm definitely convinced something fishy's going on.
"Ahhhh." I grin sarcastically. "When the cat's away, the mice will play."
"Shut up," Jean frowns in annoyance. "You know I'd never do anything behind Scott's back!"
"Hey!" I put on a hurt countenance. "Ah was only kiddin', Jeannie. Ah know practically nothin' could break you or Scott apart." The sentence only serves to bring my mind back to more depressing matters. Sighing again, I go back to unplugging the sink. "Some gals have all the luck," I mutter.
Jean purses up her lips as if disapproving of the phrase. "Oh, come on, Rogue," she says cheerfully – though her tone is forced. "You put yourself down way too much. My life is by no means perfect. Besides, why be so negative? I promise you you'll find Mr. Right if only you believe it. With your kind of attitude, you'll probably meet him and never know it!"
I stop my work, my mind involuntarily going back over the incident in the elevator that morning. "Maybe…" Maybe? What the hell am I saying? I know it can't possibly be true…
Jean immediately pounces.
"What? Rogue, what do you mean 'maybe'? Could it be you've actually met someone!"
I grimace. "Ah meant nothin'," I reply firmly.
"Rogue, I know that look, so don't tell me you mean otherwise," Jean leans in conversationally and says: "So, who is he?"
"Jean," I put down my tools and give her the most severe look I can manage, "sorry to disappoint you, but for once your intuition is all wrong. This guy is not what yah think he is."
"Ohhh, so it is a guy," Jean grins. "I knew it!"
"Jean…!" I begin warningly, but she interrupts before I can say anymore.
"Rogue since when have you been all flustered about a man you're not involved with?" she reasoned, half in sincerity, half in humor. "Either you're madly in-love with this guy or he must be some devil in disguise sent to torment you for the rest of your days."
"Definitely the latter," I mumble, as I give up on the sink and go to put the kettle on.
"That bad?" Jean asks, a little more seriously. "What is he, some kind of office bully? I thought you always gave back as good as you got…"
"Ah sure do," I smirk. "Only trouble is, so does he."
"So it really is a case of the irrepressible meets the irresistible, huh?" Jean grimaces and folds her arms. "Rogue, dear, can't you last two weeks in a new job without getting into trouble?"
"Hey, don't push it, Ms. Perfect," I level at her, jabbing a teaspoon in her chest as I dole out the coffee. "For your information, it ain't the kinda trouble you're thinkin'."
"Well, I'm sorry," Jean huffs. "So he isn't Mr. Right, and he isn't the office bully, so forgive me if I'm having trouble working out what this deep, dark mystery actually is."
"Okay, okay!" I explode. "His name's Remy LeBeau and he's the most insufferable prick Ah've ever met! Not to mention he's gorgeous, delicious, irresistible and sexy…" I stop myself before I get lost in all the qualities that make Remy LeBeau so attractive – and so goddamn full of himself. If I keep on going on I won't be able to stop. "But that's what makes it worse!" I add. "He harasses me and thinks he can get away with it! And when Ah tell him where t' stick it, he just keeps on an' on comin' back for more!" I detail all the instances he's sassed me, while I pour the coffee violently, almost scalding myself in the process. "Ah would've thought he would've found some other office floozy to chase after," I conclude miserably, "but it's almost as if he's determined to lay those slimy paws of his on me."
"So what's the problem?" Jean asks, receiving her cup of coffee. "If he's really as bad as you make out he is, complain to Mr. Beaubier and have him fired."
"Ah thought about it," I brood in a low voice, after a moment. "But… Oh, Ah dunno… Ah keep on thinkin' maybe he ain't that bad…"
"Rogue," Jean glances at me with narrowed eyes, "from what you've been telling me, he sounds like he is the devil in disguise. Why shouldn't you report him?"
Incredibly, I find myself beginning to stick up for the sleazy Cajun.
"Well," I begin doubtfully, "he did say some nice things about me at this boardmeetin'. And this mornin'…" I blush when I think about it, something I'm not proud of, "…we got stuck in the elevator, an' we were really close, Ah mean really close, and he didn't try anythin', y'know… In fact he was pretty much a perfect gentleman, but Ah knew that he was thinkin'…and that Ah was thinkin'… Oh gosh darn it!" I finish in a splutter, not liking what's going through my head at all, much less that I'd been about to express it in actual words. I turn away quickly to prevent Jean from seeing the color on my face, but it's too late.
"Rogue," she begins slyly, as I begin banging around putting plates away, something I rarely ever do these days, "it sounds to me like you actually kinda like this guy."
"Ah do not!" I practically growl, but Jean always knows my bark is worse than my bite. She can also be pretty persistent.
"There's nothing wrong with it, Rogue," she assures me in a reasonable tone. "So he may be a little rough round the edges, but maybe he's just waiting for someone like you to come along and cure that." She pauses and I stop and turn to her skeptically, surprised to see a slightly wistful look on her face. Odd. I'm really beginning to think she is hiding something from me.
"Rough!" I snort. "The guy's edges are so slippery yah could slide off 'em! In fact, he ain't got no edges!"
Jean begins to lose her temper. "Oh stop being such a misery!" she scolds me. "Do you know what it sounds like to me, Anna Raven? It sounds like you like this guy and you're in denial – big time! So what if he's a player? Doesn't the fact that he still hasn't given up on you mean that he wants more from you than just a quick snog behind the filing cabinet?"
"He only wants meh b'cause Ah keep on givin' him the brush off," I sulk. "If Ah did snog him behind the filing cabinet, he'd be gone faster than a New York minute."
"And then," Jean continues, ignoring my comment, "he's even going to the lengths of praising you when he thinks you're nowhere in sight! Now if that isn't a sign he's into you, I don't know what is!"
"He just doesn't want to admit his ad campaign is gonna suck an' blow 'cos dumb old Anna Raven is spearheadin' it," I grumble. "Everyone thinks Ah got the job because Mr. LeBeau thinks Ah'm an idiot floozy and maybe they're right."
"Oh for God's sake, Rogue!" Jean bursts furiously. "Stop feeling so sorry for yourself! Me and Emma and Betts all know you've had a rough time the past few years, and we've done everything we can to help you through it, but it's time you stopped thinking about yourself as a failure! Look at you! You're young and beautiful and contrary to what you may believe, you have a good brain between those ears and you can use it! Have you ever thought for a moment that maybe you deserve L&L's new ad campaign! Have you ever thought that maybe you deserve a man who treats you right for once! Dammit, Anna, grow up and get a hold of your life for once!"
It's too much to hear. For the first time in months I find myself bursting into tears. I stand there and blubber, crying for everything I'd lost, for the life I'd once had. Jean's shocked. She hasn't seen me crying since those days so long ago when I'd first come to New York to start anew. Her anger vanished, she reaches out and rests my head on her shoulder, gently stroking my hair.
"Oh, Anna," she whispers soothingly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… Look, I know how hard this has been for you, and none of us can even begin to understand what you've been through… It's just that we want you to believe that you've still got something to live for…that you've still got a chance to make good… and we want you to take that chance with all the courage you have… You were always so much stronger than the rest of us…"
"Ah know, Jean," I sniffle, hugging my friend tight. "Ah was back then, but now it's so difficult… It's so much easier t' be the fool everyone thinks Ah am…"
She pulls back, takes me by the shoulders and says severely: "Rogue, you're not a fool. Just because you messed up once doesn't mean the rest of your life is doomed to go the same way. Don't you dare throw anything away again, because we love you and you deserve all the best you can get. Got that?"
I nod slowly, sniff and wipe the tears from my eyes with a shaky hand. Ah want t' believe yah so much, Jean…
She gives me a comforting smile.
"Now how about we get out of here and make up for that drink we missed last Friday night, eh?"
She hands me a tissue and I blow my nose ungracefully. "Nah," I shake my head regretfully. "Ah think Ah'll pass up on this one, Jeannie. Ah think… Ah think Ah just need t' be alone for awhile… to sort things out in my head."
"Remy LeBeau?" she asks pointedly. I shake my head and look down at the torn remnants of the letter in my wastebasket.
"Right now he's the least of my worries, Jean. Ah was talkin' about other stuff…"
"Well, if he gives you anymore hassle…"
"Yeah – I'll report him to JP," I sigh.
"You won't," Jean rejoins with a grin and squeezes my shoulder. "Believe me, Rogue, you like the guy. You just don't know it yet."
Even in my tearful state, I manage a pretty convincing snort. "In a pig's eye," I shoot back.
"Just let me know when I'm likely to hear wedding bells, okay?" she teases me playfully, trying to uplift my spirits.
"Ah'm gonna ignore that, Ms. Grey." Instead I lean over and kiss her cheek. "Thanks for talkin' to me, Jeannie. Ah don't know what Ah'd do without yah. Betts and Emma try to understand, but Ah know that they sometimes get frustrated with meh and…"
"They only wants what's best for you," Jean assures me affectionately. "We all do. Just remember – you're a great person and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And if you ever need to talk, please don't bottle it up. I'm here for you."
"Ah know. Thanks."
She gives me another hug, which I return with as much strength as I can. Somehow, I know she's right. I need to get a hold of my life and stop thinking of myself as a failure. I need to face up to both my future and my past.
Easier said than done, gal.
There's still so much I have to think about.
-oOo-
Logan had helped Jean into the cab that Friday night, and paid for the ride as well. As Jean had slid inside the car, she'd felt that the nightclub owner had done more for her than she deserved – she had, after all, got drunk and made a fool of herself, but however much she'd insisted she pay herself he'd refused.
"It's my pleasure," he'd assured her.
"What, a pleasure to help out damsels in distress?" she'd asked wryly as the cab finally stopped outside the Hideaway. The last role she'd ever thought herself playing was one of the stricken maiden.
He'd bared a grin at her. "I'll admit, it isn't my usual routine… But I just want t' see y' home safely, is all."
"If it's not your usual routine, then why are you changing it now?" she'd dared to question.
"Lady," he'd explained very seriously, "most girls that come to my place aren't what I'd call 'ladies'. But you are." He'd opened the cab door and gestured for her to go inside. "Now go home an' get some proper rest."
Despite herself she'd smiled coyly at him as she'd slid inside. She really didn't know what made her feel so safe and secure around this man, nor what she found so attractive and welcoming about his rough demeanor. And the way he looked at her… it unnerved her. But not because he leered at her, simply because he was so attentive and kind to her.
When she'd got back home to that mountain of wedding material, something inside her had sunk. She'd felt like she'd just woken up from a surreal dream and entered the real world again. She'd packed away the cloth quickly and gone straight to bed, feeling confused. Things may not have turned out the way she'd intended them to – but she'd kind of enjoyed herself. She'd felt so free to be doing something different, to be meeting new people. And she couldn't help thinking that if that bar-owner had been Scott, he wouldn't even have entertained the idea of leaving her so soon before their wedding…
The next morning she'd decided to put the experience down as just that – another experience, and best forgotten. Yet as soon as she left Rogue's place, she'd jumped into a cab and instead of telling him to head back home, she'd told him to go straight back to the Hideaway.
The place wasn't as bustling as it usually was during a weekend, but the atmosphere was still lively, although not rowdy. As she entered, Jean instinctively cast a glance at the bar – but no Logan was there. Jean swallowed hard, feeling like an idiot. Here she was, looking for that hairy little man, her heart racing like a teenager's. This wasn't the way for a practically married woman to behave at all! She thought of Scott and a pang of guilt hit her. She wanted to kick herself for being so childish, for thinking that having a few nights of freedom while her boyfriend was away would solve any of her anxieties or insecurities. She was a grown woman and it was time she behaved like one!
Still, she'd got this far, so she might as well make the most of it…
Feeling glad that Logan wasn't at the bar after all, she went up and ordered herself a drink. Commonsense told her she should have turned around and gone home yet she didn't. Jean sipped her drink with a frown on her face. She felt as disconcerted as a teenager on a guilt trip for having indulged in some forbidden pleasure. She tried telling herself that there was nothing wrong with her getting away from it all and that if Scott chose to call, she had her cell phone with her so it wasn't like she was avoiding him – even if she was slightly annoyed with him. He'd promised he'd phone her but he hadn't; and when she'd attempted to call him instead he'd fobbed her off by saying he was in the middle of a board meeting and couldn't get away. Therefore, she concluded, she didn't really have anything to feel guilty about.
"Drownin' yer sorrows again, Red?"
Jean was surprised to hear that familiar voice again and looking up, she found herself staring straight into Logan's kind blue eyes. Taken by surprise, Jean squirmed with a mixture of expectation and dread. He had been there after all!
"Of course not!" she blurted out, not over the shock. "Why should I be drowning my sorrows?"
He shrugged and grinned as he drew a beer for a waiting customer. "You tell me. All I know is, I don't see many ladies comin' up here by themselves twice in a row." He passed the drink to the man standing next to her and handed him his change. "But I ain't complainin', since it's real nice to see you again and all. Just didn't think, after the fiasco Friday night, you'd be wantin' to show your face round here again…"
"Oh please," Jean rolled her eyes. "I'm far too grown up a girl to get embarrassed about something as trivial as that."
He eyed her curiously, another grin breaking onto his face. "Y'know Red, that's what I like about you. Anyone ever tell yah y' got fire in yah?"
She gave a non-committal shrug, remembering that it was something Scott often teased her about. "I have been known to start a few fires now and then, but only when occasion calls for it."
"Sensible too," he remarked. "No point in havin' a temper if y' don't put it to proper use, eh?"
There was a lull in their conversation as Logan poured a few more drinks. Jean watched his movements silently. She suddenly wished Rogue had agreed to come with her – she could've done with the extra back-up. She wasn't quite comfortable being at the center of Logan's attention, though she didn't know why, since he was always perfectly sincere with her. Besides, she could have done with sharing her doubts with Rogue – she knew Anna would've understood her, given the trials she herself had gone through – but somehow she felt reluctant to voice her troubles to her. It wasn't only that Rogue was going through troubles of her own, it also pained her to know that the picture of blissfulness she'd painted to the girls was not entirely true, and she couldn't bear to tell them otherwise. For all they knew she was in control of her life, and that's the way Jean liked it to appear. But ever since the incident on Friday night, she'd realized that her life wasn't the picture perfect thing she'd always thought it was… suddenly, something had awoken in her and she wanted more. Yes, that was what was bothering her. But how could she admit such a thing to Rogue? Rogue had always known Jean to be so sensible and secure…
"So," Logan began again after a moment, breaking her train of thought. "What's yer name? Only while 'Red' suits yah, it's kinda one-dimensional, dontcha think?"
She allowed herself to smile. "I'm Jean. Jean Grey."
"Pleased to make yer acquaintance," he held his hand out over the counter and she shook it.
"You too."
"So how d'you make yer livin'? Lemme guess, somethin' that requires dedication and extreme force of nature. You're a lawyer, right?"
Jean laughed. "Not quite. I'm a doctor."
"Doctor, eh?" He grinned. "Now don't you tell me that don't require dedication, or an iron will."
"Those are prerequisites of the job," she returned. "But so's patience. If I lose my temper in theater, I'd be creating a lot of problems."
"Touché," he rejoined with a grimace. "Must be tough, huh? Guess I can understand why you need the chance to wind down now and again. Figured a lady like you'd prefer to drink a glass of chilled white wine on yer sofa, book in hand and tabby cat at her side."
"Now you're just being stereotypical," she laughed. "I like fun as much as the next girl."
"I'm glad to hear it," he replied humorously. "And I never doubted it for a second."
There was another pause as Logan got down to serving some other patrons. Jean sat and swirled around the last few remains of her glass, debating on whether to get another drink or not. She decided not to – it would be foolish to make a repeat of the other night. Just as she'd made up her mind, her cell phone began to ring. Digging it out of her bag, she saw plainly that it was Scott ringing her. She panicked. If she answered the phone, he'd hear the noise going on in the background and immediately question her as to where she was. Then would follow the inevitable third degree about why she was out all by herself, in a low-down nightclub of all places. And Jean just couldn't face that right now.
Without thinking, she switched off her phone and threw it back into her purse without another glance.
"Hey, ya leaving now?" Logan's low voice asked. Jean looked up and saw a hint of anticipation in his eyes. The guilt that would have occurred under any normal circumstances subsided before it barely even had a chance to begin, and she cast a bold grin at Logan.
"Actually, I think I'm going to stay a while. That is if you don't mind chatting to a boring ol' doctor like me," she said.
"Trust me, Red. Nothing about you says 'boring' at all," Logan assured her with a wink.
-xXx-
Emma had considered sending her own representative to tackle Warren Worthington after the debacle with that despicable harlot, Jennifer Walters, but cowering behind someone else had never been her style, so she'd decided to go and confront him herself. After leaving work, she'd driven straight to the Worthington Incorporated building, expecting him to have returned from his so-called business trip, only to find his schedule was running late.
"I'm sorry," he staid-faced Asian secretary informed her. "But Mr. Worthington is still attending to business in England. He should be back tomorrow."
"But we had a meeting scheduled for this evening," Emma protested, her temper growing. "Why was I not informed of this!"
"A message was left with your secretary a few hours ago," Shan replied, looking bored. "Obviously, she didn't relay it to you. Now I apologize, Ms. Frost, but there's really nothing I can do."
Emma gritted her teeth, steam literally pouring from her ears. It didn't help to know that she'd been in such a bad temper earlier on that day that she'd refused to see Jubilee, and thus had evidently missed the message Shan had sent her. But that wasn't the point. The point was, Warren was a big business magnate, a professional, and he should be keeping his appointments when he made them. After all, much as Emma disliked the arrogant bastard, she always extended him that courtesy, so why couldn't he?
"This really is highly unprofessional of Mr. Worthington," she seethed at his secretary. "And you can warn him that if he doesn't start playing ball fairly soon, he can forget about a merger with Frost Industries. He may think it's amusing to play these little games with me, but I can assure you that I'm not laughing, and if he continues this childish behavior he's the one who's going to lose out, not me!"
With a final 'humph', Emma turned on her heel and marched out of the building. Just wait until that pompous prick returned! She'd give him a piece of her mind alright – a very big piece of it.
She drove home tired and fuming. What she needed was a nice glass of wine and a massage. Or a nice hot bath with some therapeutic oils. She wondered if she could possibly coax Carlos into giving her a massage before she went to bed, but, she thought with distaste, he really was a hopelessly lazy case and would probably be watching soccer on the TV and would throw a tantrum if she disturbed him. Silly boy, she thought with a sigh.
She drew up into the driveway and saw Bobby still laboring away in the garden. She was surprised to still see him there so late in the day. After all, she'd only asked him to look after the pond, and here he was, trimming the borders of her vast lawn!
She got out of the car and locked the doors.
"Bobby, it's getting dark."
He looked up from his work and gave her one of his endlessly cute and appealing smiles. "Just finishing up, Ms. Frost… I mean, Emma. I'll be out of your hair in a minute. Besides, the lawn needed doing and it's no problem at all…kinda fun actually…"
"Oh I get it," she remarked. "You want a raise, don't you."
He looked blank and then blushed. "Hey, now you got it all wrong, Ms. Frost… Not that I wouldn't like a raise, of course, but taking care of the pond is hardly any work at all, and in the winter there's so many dead branches to clear out, not to mention all that weeding, and hey, I am your gardener, so I have to do my job, right? And besides, I thought I could help you out…"
"Bobby," she interrupted him, feeling a smile begin to play across her face as he blathered, "it's okay. You're doing a great job. I'm pleased with your work. Maybe when you come round on Wednesday, we can talk about getting you a raise, okay?"
She didn't think it was possible his smile could've grown wider, but it did. "Really? Thanks, Ms. Frost, you're the best!"
"Don't mention it," she grinned, and turned back towards the house. Having spoken to him, she felt a lot calmer already. She didn't know why he had that kind of affect on her – obviously he was a clown and his sunny nature could cheer anyone up… But to her he was more than that. He accepted her for who she was and didn't put on an act round her. He was just himself, when most guys felt that had to be someone else for her.
Emma sighed and dumped her purse and keys on the hallway table.
"Kristin!" she called out loud as she took her coat off and then her heels. "Kristin, could you run me a bath! And get out some of those oils too! I think I'll have an early night tonight!"
There was no answer. Emma was confused. Where is that cretinous maid, she thought, gone home early! Looks like I'll have to run that bath myself!
As she trudged wearily up the stairs, she heard a distinctly female giggle sounding from the direction of the bathroom. Emma paused on the steps, her brow furrowing in bewilderment. That doesn't sound like Kristin, she thought, what the hell is going on?
As she got onto the landing the giggle sounded again, this time louder. It was an empty, airhead giggle in a voice she didn't recognize. Someone's taking a bath in my house! she fumed to herself. If Kristin thinks she can bring her friends round to take advantage of me then she's got another thing…
Emma threw open the bathroom door, all ready with her usual trademark curses, only to find the wind taken out of her as she surveyed the scene before her. It wasn't Kristin, and it certainly wasn't a friend. There in the bath, framed by romantic candlelight and drinking her best bottle of vintage wine no less, was a blonde-haired bimbo, absolutely stark naked. And sitting in the lap of Emma's handsome fitness instructor, Carlos.
For the first time in her life, Emma couldn't get any words out. No sharp remark, no stinging comeback. She simply stood there, mouth and eyes wide open with utter shock. She should've been ranting and raving and throwing things. But she just couldn't. Not only had she been betrayed, but also in the cruelest way possible – the two of them had been doing it, right here in her house, taking advantage of her hospitality. They'd humiliated her. And for the first time, someone had cut through the impermeable diamond skin that Emma had seemed to build up around herself. For the first time, she didn't only suffer from a wounded sense of pride, but also a wounded heart. It was almost more than she could bear. Almost.
"Emma!" Carlos managed to exclaim. "But…I thought you had a meeting!"
The silence broken, Emma finally found her voice.
"Oh, so that made it okay, did it?" she retorted in a strange, strangled voice. "You thought I was away, so it's alright for you to cheat on me? In my house!"
Knowing a confrontation was imminent, the girl had the sense to exit sharpish. Without a second thought she jumped out of the bath and ran butt-naked back to the bedroom to put her clothes on.
"Yes, that's right!" Emma roared after her. "Get the fuck outta my house! And don't you dare bring your good-for-nothing ass over my doorstep again, you hear me!"
"Emma," Carlos had got out of the bath and was wrapping a towel round him, his tone conciliatory. "Emma, look, I swear she means nothing to me… I explain this, no?"
Emma turned back to him as the girl scampered out of the house, scared at Emma's outburst. "You're sorely mistaken if you think I give a flying toss about your idiot explanations, Carlos!" she exploded, her eyes livid with rage, her cheeks hot with anger and humiliation. "I should've known you were no good from the start, the way you always leeched off me! So it was fine for you to hang out in my house, to drink my wine and eat my food, to hang out in my swimming pool and get an easy lay out of me – wasn't it enough! Why did you have to go and add insult to injury by bringing that…that whore into my house!"
"Emma…babe… Carlos promises you that that girl means nothing to him," he insisted wildly. "He only cares about you!" He reached out to touch her comfortingly, but she batted his hand away violently, surprised to find her eyes swimming in spite of herself. Emma Frost never cried!
"Get your dirty hands off me!" she raged at him. "You never cared about me, you only cared about my money and what I could offer you in bed! I was a fool for letting you take advantage of me, but this is the last straw! You think you can get away with humiliating me like this, you're wrong. You are fired and I want you out of my house now!"
He began to flounder as he realized the seriousness of what she was suggesting to him.
"But Emma… think of all the good times we've had… We were good together, no? You give Carlos a second chance, I promise you he'll…"
Whatever he would've promised her, Emma would never find out – nor did she want to. With one resounding smack she'd slapped him across the face, cutting off whatever he would've said.
"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!" she roared. To Carlos' amazement and fear, she picked up his razor from beside the sink and began to brandish it wildly in the air as she came towards him, screaming threats of, amongst other things, relieving him of that useless dick of his. Faced with such dire portents, Carlos did the only thing he could. He ran. And seeing as an insensate Emma chased him all the way out, he didn't have time to even look for his clothes, let alone put them on, so he ran out onto the road, naked but for his towel, Emma and razor in hot pursuit.
"And if you ever come back, I'll make sure you and your hoe never get to have any fun again!" she bellowed as he finally ran out of sight. Bobby, who was standing nearby as he was packing away for the night, could only stand by in utter shock at the spectacle of a half-screaming, half-crying Emma and the half-naked Carlos running out of her life forever.
Emma barely noticed he was there. Tears were now freely flowing from her eyes, but they were tears of rage just as much as ones of humiliation and sorrow. Carlos gone, she had no one left to wreak her fury on. With a high-pitched shriek of frustration she dashed the razor onto the driveway where it smashed into a hundred pieces. Truly aghast to see this strong woman beside herself, Bobby dropped his tools and ran over to comfort her.
"Ms. Frost, are you alright?" he asked, putting a soothing hand on her shoulder. For the first time she seemed to notice he was there and her face twisted in horror. Now there was someone who'd watched the whole sorry saga, who'd actually seen her crying. Her shame had just increased to an even more unbearable level.
"No, I'm not fucking alright!" she yelled at him, shaking his hand away. She knew she looked a sight, with her hair disheveled and her mascara running, but she was too angry to care anymore. "I just found my boyfriend in a compromising position with some air-head bimbo, drinking my wine and fucking about in my bath, how do you think I fucking feel!"
Bobby was silent for a moment as he put his hand back on her shoulder, and this time she didn't push him away.
"That guy was your boyfriend?" he asked her seriously. She looked up into his face and saw pity there for her. Pity. Something Emma had always hated, and yet she somehow knew she deserved. Because what was there not to pity, when she'd thought she could find love and happiness with a string of idiot boyfriends who treated her like dirt? She'd been a fool, thinking she could play with fire and not get burnt. She was the one who'd chosen Carlos, she was the one who'd invited him into her house and let him get away with the disrespect he showed her. That's why he pitied her. And she couldn't bear to have him think of her that way.
Burying her head in her hands, Emma began to cry, and this time she didn't care who saw it. All the humiliation and the pain – she'd asked for it.
Bobby said nothing, knowing she really was in despair. If he was surprised to see her ice-cold facade crumble, he didn't show it. Instead he simply put an arm round her shoulder, and Emma had never been so grateful in her life to feel someone being kind to her.
"Come on," he said softly. "Let's go inside, eh?"
Through her tears, Emma nodded. Slowly the two of them made their way back into the house, and shut the door behind them.
-oOo-
To be continued...