Sorry this was such a long wait for chapter II, it's just i've been working really hard on my personal webpage for my fanfiction, which has taken up a couple weeks. Take a look at my site if you'd like. The address is on my profile, just go to the fanfiction section. Oh, and i'm running my annual fanfiction Q&A if you'd care to participate. Details are on my page. Hope you like the chapter!

"Why are they so nosy?" Trunks dropped a couple egg rolls onto his plate.

"Because they have nothing better to do!" Pan held out her hand and Trunks gave her the tongs. "Thanks," She picked up an egg roll.

"But it's not fair!" She snorted as they walked back to the table, setting their Chinese food down as Oriental music played in the background.

"You got drunk at a high class party, and some embarrassing pictures were taken. This isn't the press's fault—it's yours!" She shook her head, but a small smile was on her lips. "Take it like a man." She poked him across the table with her chopsticks.

"Aren't you supposed to help me?" She gave him a sarcastic look. "I mean, weren't you supposed to protect me?"

"From who? I can't protect you from yourself." She gestured. "Pass the duck sauce." He complied and she dumped some on her food. "Seriously, you have to be more careful." He sighed and skewered some Szechuan Pork.

"But how do I fix it?" She gave him a funny look.

"You don't." She said like the answer was obvious. "There's no way to fix it, or shut people up, or get those pictures off magazine's, television, newspapers, webpages—" He held up a hand defensively. "You just weather it out and be better than you were. Eventually the hype will die down. That is, if you straighten up and don't give anyone anymore room to take pictures like that." He let out another sigh.

"Um, excuse me…?" A little voice nearly whispered beside them, and they turned to find a young girl with a magazine and a marker. "Would you mind, Mr. Briefs, giving me your autograph?"

"Oh, sure. Of course." He flashed her his famous smile, uncapping the marker and signing his name across a glossy picture of himself.

"Thank you so much!" Her face lit up with a blush, and she gave a cute smile before dashing off. Pan leaned back in her chair.

"You're welcome!" Trunks called after her.

"You see, Trunks," Pan grinned. "There are tons of teenage girls on your side, rooting you on." She chuckled, and he rolled his eyes. "With such a fan base, you could conquer the world with their girlpower!"

"Gwhut?" Lavender hair spilled out from under the blanket.

"Sorry, I missed that." Pan poked the monstrous bulge that was Trunks' body under the down comforter.

"What?" He snapped again, clearly disoriented as his head emerged, his body tangled in sheets, blankets, and his silk pajama pants.

"You're late for work." Pan, in a navy pantsuit with a white and blue striped shirt, pointed to her watch. He furrowed his brows in amazement.

"Who cares?" He finally said in bewilderment. She sighed and folded her arms, suddenly fascinated with the wall.

"No one actually cares, but you are the President and you need to sign all the checks." Trunks snorted and tried getting out of the bed.

"Oh, I see. I'm only important as far as the money goes—" He had been attempting to stand, however he was too tangled in the bed linens that he fell in a crumpled heap. Pan stood over him now, looking down at him.

"You said it, not me."

An hour later they were climbing out of Trunks' car, Pan walking with her briefcase in her hand, and Trunks' jacket slung over her arm. Trunks was stumbling along beside her, trying to finish buttoning up his blue shirt.

They trotted into the front reception area, and Pan tossed him his jacket as they boarded the elevator.

"Aren't you embarrassed?" She finally asked as they reached the top with a ding!, the metal doors sliding to reveal a workplace in a pleasantly busy bustle.

"About what?" She snorted, and they turned a corner in the maze of cubicles.

"About coming in to work at eleven and just starting the day? You are the President of this corporation."

"Am I?" She resisted the urge to shoot him a look that begged the same question, but instead remained silent. "I mean, I'm beginning to think you are."

"I can butt out of this position—your fantastical life—if you would like." She turned around, walking backwards, her hands grasping her briefcase in front of her, an open expression on her face.

He stopped walking and slung a hand on his waist. He looked quite thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. "No, you can't go. I need you too much." She gave a silent laugh, an open smile to herself as she continued to his office.

"Oh, Stacy!" She approached an attractive young woman carrying several mugs of coffee.

"Hello, Ms. Son." Pan dismissed away the formality with wave of her hand. Stacy shot a shy smile Trunks' way and he nodded in return.

"Taking coffee around to the Monday office workers?" Pan asked with a knowing look and a smile, and Stacy grinned and nodded.

"I went for some and got flagged down along the way. Was there something I could do for you?" She started divvying coffee cups out to workers as Pan withdrew some papers from her briefcase. "Oh," She took the forms Pan handed her.

"Thanks so much, Stacy!" She gave her arm a squeeze before heading to Trunks' office. And though Trunks followed her, she could tell his mind—and his eyes—were someplace else.

"No," She said, and after a few moments he actually seemed to hear her.

"What do you mean?" He asked, bewildered.

"You know exactly what I mean. She's cute, with long hair and a killer smile—I know you're attracted, but it's out of the question."

"Why?" All further attempts at denial had been cast off.

"Because you know what happened last time with a girl from work. And the time before. We are not repeating any of that—especially with that party scandal last week. I swear it's the last time I ever let you hold anything alcoholic besides what you clean your ears with."

He seemed to pout, but didn't put up a further fight as far as that was concerned, instead grumbling, "That old man had nothing better to do."

"You were leaning against his car and making out, Trunks. And he was in his eighties. He had to get someone to tear you off the girl." They turned down the lonely hallway to his personal office.

"And he would, of course, choose a reporter that had been staking out the restaurant for me!" She grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Stop being a victim, Trunks. The old man grabbed the nearest available body. Just stop blaming everyone else for your unfortunate excuse for a life!" The silence that followed was strikingly heavy considering the noise of copy machines, telephones, and the clacking of keyboards that was an ever-constant blare around them.

"I'm sorry." She finally said, lessening her pride just enough to say her apology.

"From the beginning I asked for the truth." He shrugged, and without another word he slipped away from her.

Pan had worked diligently at avoiding Trunks for the rest of the afternoon. So when it was time to end the day and he approached her to give her a ride, she was in shock that he acted casually and didn't seem changed in the least.

In fact, he brought up small talk and business discussions so fluently that it was only when they pulled up to her apartment that she got a chance to address what she desperately wished to.

"Trunks—"

"So I see why the rates—yes?"

"Aren't you mad at me?" The driver came around and opened the car door. "Aren't you angry for what I said to you?"

"I don't think we really need to talk about it," He let out a breath. "Good evening, Pan." She was silent, and quietly made her way to the door, but as she took her first step out he reached for her wrist and she turned around.

"I was…until I realized you were right." Their eyes met for a moment, understanding passed between them, and he let her go. "I'll see you tomorrow, Pan."

A week later, things were back to normal—much to Pan's dismay. Such was the case when she found herself dashing up the front steps and through the front door of the skyscraper Trunks' penthouse apartment resided in.

She punched the button for the elevator impatiently, and bit her lip as she waited for it to climb to the top. Briefcase clutched in her grasp, her ebony hair a sheet cascading down from the crown of her head, where a headband rested, she knocked on his front door. And knocked again. Losing her patience, she drew out her key to his apartment and pushed through the door.

"Trunks! Trunks, where are you?" She walked through the living room, the kitchen, the study, past the bathroom, and then burst through his bedroom door.

"You have an important meeting with—" He wasn't alone. She bit her lip, silencing herself as she cast her eyes downward. "Um, so sorry, it's just—"

"Who is she?" The brunette lifted herself to her elbows and cast Pan a look reminiscent of disgust. Trunks yawned widely.

"My personal secretary," He looked at Pan curiously. "And why are you looking so bashful, Pan? We were just sleeping when you so rudely barged in here, nothing else—nothing obscene." He yawned again.

"What did you want?" The girl snapped impatiently.

Pan narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, now what do you want? You woke me up." She gave Pan an annoyed looked.

"Now see here," Trunks interrupted, "both of you just drop it here. Veronica—"

"Julie."

"Sorry. Julie, this is none of your business in honesty. Pan, what was it you came here for?" He had sat up in bed, and looked like a political negotiator sitting there, bare chest and bare who knew what else.

"I was coming to make sure you were up and prepared for your meeting with the CEO of Flashback. It's eleven o'clock. You're meeting's at twelve." She slung her arms into a fold.

"Excellent, thank you, Pan." Julie wordlessly slipped out of bed in her little purple nightie and crept into the dressing room. "Now don't go, Pan; I'll get dressed and go with you." Pan took a seat by the window. Julie reappeared a few moments later.

"I'll be going now, Trunks—have a spectacular day!" She bounced and flounced out of the room after giving Pan a little sneer and Pan thought she heard Trunks vaguely call out a farewell in return from the bathroom.

"I totally forgot about the meeting today," He offered later in apology as he slipped his arms into a crisp white shirt. Pan turned towards him.

"She was a real piece of work," Pan commented with a snicker.

"Absolutely. But she was gorgeous." He buttoned his sleeves and went into the dressing room for a tie. Pan snorted.

"And is that the highest priority to you? I mean—"

"No." She blinked at him. He stood in the doorway, adjusting the knot to his tie. "More than anything," He began, coming closer to her and leaning down to meet her square in the eye, "I want a woman of spirit." Pan didn't know how to answer that.

"But," He stood up straight again and ducked into his dressing room once more; this time for shoes. "Women with spirit often see straight through me."

"And you don't like to bare your soul to them?" Pan asked.

"No, it's not that." He sat down on his bed and promptly began to put on his shoes. "It's that women with spirit see straight through me and discover," He finished tying his shoes and simply looked at her. "That I have no soul." He just shrugged.