Disclaimer: All characters contained herein belong to Marvel and not to us.

Note: Whoa. These chapters are turning out to be WAY longer than expected... we hope that's a good thing. Anyway, onto the review replies... Dr. Breifs Cat: First off, thanks so much for reviewing. Your opinions are greatly prized by Ludi. :) And thanks for the insightful comments. Even though this is a more Romy-based fic, the other girls will be making an appearance fairly soon. Also, no, Remy won't be based entirely on the sex, and as for Rogue... I guess she's feeling defensive about her love-life since things have gone so badly for her in the past. I don't want to probe too deeply into the characterssince this is meant to be a humorous fic. We'll try to work on your suggestions though. ;p illyria4747: I think you're right. In a way Rogue does feel unworthy of a happy relationship after all the crap she's gone through, but I think she will be changing her mind and behaving herself pretty soon. :) IvyZoe You hit the nail right on the head there. Rogue is definitely more angry at herself than at Remy. I guess she has a bit of a victim psychology. :p But great idea with the Logan stuff! We didn't think of that! We'll see what we can do... And to everyone else - wait and see what happens with the cooking thing. You know it's gonna happen. ;)

Now on with the story!


Little By Little

(3) Operation Humiliation

Predictably, I spend the rest of Sunday afternoon fuming in my apartment.

The phone keeps ringing and from the caller display I can tell it's Remy. Voice messages pile up on my answer phone, but I'm so incensed that after listening to the first one (general pleadings of me to come back, that he loves me, and that I am, in fact, the world's most wonderful chef), I end up deleting them all.

In fact, I'm so mad at him that I'm finally motivated into cleaning my apartment. I throw dishes into the dishwasher as if I'm throwing them at him. I viciously scrub the walls of my bathroom as if I could scrub away his face from my mind. None of this is helped by the fact that I'd walked out of his place still wearing his clothes, and I can still smell him all around me. For some reason though, I can't bear to change into anything else, so I end up walking round the apartment in them, periodically tripping over his gray sweatpants as I go along.

By four in the afternoon, my place is gleaming, but I'm feeling miserable. While I was cleaning, the phone had been ringing at odd intervals, which I'd ignored. I go to the nearby bookshelf and pick up a random romance, before flopping down on the sofa and leafing through it. Hardly a single word of it penetrates my brain. All I can think of is him…

Growling, I throw aside the book and end up pacing the floor, trying desperately to stay mad at him. Then I stop and stand in my cold and lonely lounge, staring at the phone. The red light of the answer phone is flashing at me, and I'm reminded of his gorgeous eyes, the way they stare right into mine and strip away all my defenses… I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks as I recall exactly what he'd done to me all weekend…

I run to the phone and press the play button.

"Rogue, are you deletin' my messages?" my lover's slightly irate voice filters through the speakers. "You are, aren't you? Chere, dis is ridiculous. You're bein' completely stupid about a complete and utter not'ing. How many times d'you want me to say sorry to you? How many times d'you want me to get down on my knees and beg for your forgiveness, because I've already done it about fifteen times, and if all you're gonna do is delete my messages, how de hell am I supposed to get t'rough to you? I swear my male ego isn't gonna be able t' take much more and -"

I stab the delete button before he can finish, steam pouring out of my ears again.

Male ego? MALE EGO! Ah'll male ego him!

I'm about to storm off and find another piece of fungus or mould to launch an attack on when the phone suddenly goes off again.

Right, that does it!

I whip the handset out of its cradle in a fury.

"Go away!" I bellow down the line.

"Rogue," a light female voice, full of laughter, calmly answers my shriek, "you have got to work on your people skills."

It takes me half a second to realize my mistake.

"Jean!"

"The one and only. Unless it really was me you meant to shout down the line at, in which case I'll hang up right now."

"Uh - no!" I exclaim quickly, relieved that it's her, yet somewhat ashamed at my behavior. "Ah'm sorry, Jean, Ah thought you were R-… Ah mean, one of those annoyin' telemarketers…"

"Uh-huh?" she's only half buying it. "I've been trying to phone you the past hour, and you've been mostly engaged. And when I finally do get through, you're not picking up. Care to share?"

"It's nothin'," I say quickly. "But how about you? It's been ages since we last got t'gether…"

"Oh, I'm fine," Jean replies brightly. "Just a little lonely, that's all. My apartment's so boring when I'm on my own during the weekends. I was hoping we could have gone out yesterday, but it looks like you were occupied." She finishes on an expectant note, and there's nothing for it but to confess.

"Uh…yeah… Ah spent the weekend at Remy's. Sorry about that Jean."

She laughs.

"Don't apologize. I'd rather you spent time getting to know your new man than with boring old me. But then I'm guessing that you two didn't get a lot of talking done?"

I begin to blush again.

"Well, yah could say that's Remy all over… No talk and all action…"

"Ohhhh." Jean can barely hide the amusement in her voice. "Well, at least I know one of us was having fun this weekend."

"Hmph. Yeah," I mutter. I can't help but be annoyed with myself for giving into his charms so easily. I'd intended to hold out a lot longer after all. I don't know what that man does to me, I honestly don't.

"Rogue, why are you grumbling?" Jean asks, hearing my morose tone. "I thought he was the one. Don't tell me you're having second thoughts?"

I say nothing for a while. Second thoughts? Far from it. All he'd have to do is look at me and I'd be a slave to his every whim all over again.

"Jean?" I finally blurt out in one big breath. "Just what is it with men and their male egos!"

There's a pause as Jean silently weighs up the sentence.

"Oh no," she finally voices in concern. "Just what did that man do to you, Rogue?"

"He-he-" I pause as I realize just how ludicrous the next sentence is going to sound, but I take the plunge anyway. "He insulted mah cookin'!" I cry indignantly. I'm all set to hear long-winded words of sympathy; but to my surprise, Jean bursts into violent laughter.

"Oh, so y'all think it's funny too, do yah!" I snap.

"Well, Rogue…" I can almost imagine Jean wiping the tears from her eyes at this stage. "You've never really been known for your culinary skills, have you?"

I scowl. Jean's statement is very diplomatic, considering the fact that I gave her food poisoning once when it was my turn to cook the Thanksgiving meal. Needless to say, the girls haven't allowed me to do it since.

"Yes, but he's a man, Jean. Since when has a man had the right to complain about a woman's cooking?"

"Umm… Since Jamie Oliver started tossing salads on TV…"

"Yes, but he's a famous chef! Remy, however, is just a man, and what Ah cook him is what he gets!"

"Rogue, did you two have an argument about this?"

I splutter for a moment. Now that I've had time to sit around my boring apartment and think about it, I have to agree that it has to be one of the more absurd arguments I've ever had with a man in my life.

"Okay, okay!" I finally cry. "We had an argument and I walked out of his place! And yes, Ah know it's completely stupid, but it isn't the only reason Ah'm mad at him! Just because he reckons he's God's gift to women he thinks he can charm me out of bein' mad at him! Ah swear, after he ungraciously ate mah breakfast, he was tryin' to snuggle up t' meh as if nothin' had happened! Idiot Cajun!" I add vehemently as I remember the way he'd attempted to 'make up' with me. Hearing just how annoyed I really am, Jean wisely refrains from laughing this time.

"Rogue, surely you should know by now that men have a hard time figuring out when we're mad at them," she reasons with me. "And to be fair, you were arguing about such a little thing, he probably didn't expect you to be angry for long."

"But Jean, that's not the point! The point is, he thinks he can get one over meh through judicious use of his charms! He thinks all he has t' do is give me a wink and a kiss and Ah'm putty in his hands! It's not fair! Ah mean, Ah bet Scott never once did the same thing to -- oh, Jean, Ah'm sorry, Ah didn't mean t' come out with that…"

It's only been a couple of weeks since Jean jilted Scott at the altar after all, and of course, stupid old me has to open my big mouth and remind her about the whole sorry affair. It's true though. Scott was about as far as a man could get from Remy. Responsible, respectable and unwaveringly sensible, he treated Jean with a degree of reverence distinctly lacking in my wayward Cajun lover.

"Forget about it," Jean assures me in an undertone. "I understand what you mean. But if I had to be frank, I'd rather have Remy than Scott any day. Temperament-wise, I mean. I'm bored to death of responsible men. I'd rather have someone who challenges me than agrees with everything I say."

"You say that now," I mumble sarcastically, "when y'all don't have a man t' chivvy you around anymore." For some reason I don't want to elaborate on the matter. I'm suddenly reminded of the meeting I'd had with Logan on Friday night, and the way he'd so awkwardly asked how Jean was doing. I wonder just how Jean's still feeling about the Canadian bartender. I half consider telling her how he'd asked after her, and how guilty he was feeling about the fiasco at the wedding, but I decide not to. It's too soon after her break-up with Scott for her to be worrying about another man, however much she may or may not care about it. So for once I hold my tongue.

"Listen, Jean, since Ah have absolutely nothin' t' do for the rest of the day except sit here and silently curse Remy, why don't y'all come on over and we can carry on talkin' in person? Only it's so much more int'restin' over a glass of wine and a tub of Ben and Jerry's than it is over the phone."

Jean cheers up considerably at the suggestion.

"I thought you'd never ask! How about I bring round some pizza too, while I'm at it?"

"So you can avoid getting food poisoned by me, yah mean?" I note archly.

"Rogue, bumming in front of the TV and moaning about men is not the same without the prerequisite junk food," she replies tactfully, true to her nature. "Isn't it strange though, how we're having a bit of a role reversal? You're the one with the man now, and I'm the frustrated singleton."

"Hmph. Y'all don't sound as upset as Ah thought you'd be."

"Darling, after being with a man for five years, I'm relishing every moment of this freedom. But don't worry, Rogue. It sounds as if Remy will keep making things exciting for you."

Yeah, don't I know it.

"Well, I'll see you soon then," she ploughs on. "Just don't forget to crack open that bottle of wine while I'm on my way."

"Ah won't. See yah soon, Jeannie!"

"See yah!"

I place the phone down and glare at the red light still flashing. Having listened to Jean's wise words, I end up feeling sorry for Remy despite myself, and so I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt and I press the play button again. Out comes his voice again, and this time there's no pleading, no begging, no desperation. Instead he sounds like a man on a mission.

"Rogue, dis is it. I dunno how many times you want me to humiliate myself in front of you, so if you're still angry at me, you leave me wit' no choice. You wan' play rough, we play rough. Dis is all-out war, chere, I mean it. You can carry on ignorin' me all you want, but I'm warnin' you, I'm gonna make you suffer. I'm gonna really punish you, chere, and you ain't gonna like it. I hate t' haveta do dis t' you, but by de end of de day you'll see I was right. De venue: Work tomorrow, at L&L. De time: war commences at 9 a.m. Prime objective: first one who makes it t'rough tomorrow without jumpin' de other is de winner. De rules: dere are none. Judicious use of pain and pleasure allowed." He pauses, and I stare at the phone in disbelief, wondering just how long it's taken him to come up with all this garbage. "Sorry, chere, but I ain't gonna go easy on you. Don't say I didn't warn you."

The phone bleeps. End of message. I glower at the phone, hit the 'delete' button, and crack my knuckles.

Right. If he wants a war, a war is exactly what he's gonna get!

-oOo-

I breeze back work on Monday morning with an entire battle strategy worked out in my head. Jean and I had even had fun discussing just how I was going to have Remy drooling at my feet by the end of the day. Naturally, the first line of attack would be to ignore him very poignantly indeed. This, of course, means blanking him completely when he's in my presence, and avoiding him at every opportunity. An important method of defense also means keeping an eagle eye on him in the meantime - just to see that he's behaving himself. Okay, and maybe just to see whether he's feeling the effects of my ignoring powers after all.

Don't get me wrong. I've given up being mad at him about our little tiff on Sunday - the one about the breakfast. If anything I'm feeling a little guilty for overreacting so much and walking out on him. He was right - our argument was completely ridiculous - but on the other hand, the way that man expects me to fall for his charms every time he tries it on is also completely ridiculous. I'm not one of those idiot floozies who'll immediately do his bidding whenever he switches on the mojo. If he wants to end arguments by using underhand methods such as his innate sex appeal, he has another thing coming.

That's why I've decided to put him through a mini version of hell - Rogue style.

I walk onto the thirty-fifth floor with a confident step, wearing my sexy red suit and making sure my blouse is open enough to show a generous amount of cleavage. As I walk over to my cube everyone stares at me. Someone wolf-whistles and I smile haughtily to myself, taking the opportunity to glance over at Remy's office while tossing my hair over one shoulder. He's standing at his window, ogling me just like every other man in a 10-meter radius. I sashay right past his window without once looking at him, hoping he's sweating hard. Okay, so this is easy enough, I think, until I bump into Roberto Da Costa and the contents of my purse tumble onto the floor.

"Oops!" I say, bending down to pick everything up. Dammit! Only five minutes into Operation Humiliation and you've already destroyed the illusion!

"I'm sorry, Anna, I didn't see you coming…"

I'm finally aware of Roberto in front of me, bending down to assist me. I stare up at him, only to find his eyes not on my face, but on my breasts, which are literally popping out of my blazer. Pink circles form on my cheeks as I steal a glance in Remy's direction. He's still watching me, a narrow-eyed expression on his face.

"Uh… No harm done, Rob, Ah wasn't really lookin' where Ah was goin' either…"

All my objects safely back in my bag, I hastily stand up. Roberto places a hand on the small of my back when I wobble on my heels, and doesn't move it away when I'm finally standing upright.

"You're looking nice today," he comments, trying to look as unconcerned as possible, when I know he really wants to say you're looking hot today. The fact that he's still staring at my breasts is a dead give-away. I can only give a mirthless laugh and say: "thanks."

He smiles back at me and reluctantly removes his hand, which has been straying a little too close to my butt for comfort.

"Well… see you later," he says at last.

"See yah," I answer in a rush, praying for him to go. Luckily he doesn't hang around and leaves with a final wave. I heave a sigh of relief and glance quickly at Remy again. He's still at the window, a devilish little smile on his face as our eyes finally meet. He nods at me once as if to say nice one, but nowhere near good enough.

I can't glower enough in return.

We'll see, Cajun, we'll see.

I sneak the finger at him and stalk off.

-xXx-

Remy slumped back at his desk with a diabolical smirk on his face as he mused over Rogue's gratuitous little tableau.

Very good, chere. Very good indeed. Hopin' t' make me jealous, were you? Well, two can play at dat game.

He steepled his fingers together, thinking hard. He'd have to be as stealthy as possible of course - she'd be expecting him to make his move now, and he still wanted to catch her off guard. It amused him that she'd actually taken the bait he'd sent her by way of the voice message, because they both knew that this was a game he couldn't lose. But Rogue was a temperamental little spitfire, and inwardly he'd known that she wouldn't have been able to resist rising to the challenge. He didn't doubt for a moment that she'd already forgiven him over yesterday (not that he considered there was much to forgive anyway), but that she was determined to string out his punishment a little more if she could.

Dat femme's got a really pronounced sadistic streak, he thought standing up again and walking to the window. Rogue was, however, nowhere to be seen. Lucky for me I find dat kinda hot in a woman. And everyone knows Remy likes t' play wit' fire.

He smirked to himself and decided to do a bit of spying. After all, it always helped to know what the enemy was up to. Sauntering out of his office, he wandered around for while, looking out for her. Ten minutes later, he found her inside the creative team's office, alone. She was bending over a desk, going through Peter's storyboards and marking suggestions here and there. He paused in the doorway, crossed his arms and lent against the frame. He was very appreciative of her dedication to the project, especially since her ass looked so great in that tight red skirt. But he wasn't going to tell her so.

"Nice move back there," he announced instead. It was worth it just to see her jump a mile and turn to face him, scowling.

"Ah don't know what you're talkin' about," she retorted stiffly, turning back to her work and intending to ignore him. He wasn't having any of it.

"Walkin' past my office and just happenin' t' bump into Roberto Da Costa on de way," he continued conversationally, levering himself away from the door jamb and sidling up beside her. "You could've almost had me feelin' jealous."

He knew that she'd retaliate and he wasn't disappointed. Slapping her pen down, she shot upright and glared at him.

"Oh? Yah think Ah care what you thought? Roberto happens to be a nice man! A very nice man! Unlike some people Ah could mention round here!"

"Dat s'pposed t' bother me?" he asked smoothly. "B'cause you and I both know it's the bad boys you like, Anna."

Her eyes were glinting like daggers by now, and he knew he was pushing it - if he didn't stop soon he was in danger of getting kneed in the groin, and then she would've won by default.

"Yah ain't just any old bad boy, Remy LeBeau, you're are dirty, depraved and perverted, and Ah want nothin' more t' do with you!"

She swung back round, picked up her pen and bent over her papers once more, her cheeks flushed. He was getting to her, slowly but surely… Stooping over, he couldn't help but whisper seductively into her ear.

"By de way, you look great in dat suit, chere, but it's totally unnecessary. I know you're tryin' t' impress me, but in my humble opinion, I t'ink you look better without it. How about you come down t' my office in an hour and show me what you look like when you take it off?"

She whipped round, ready to smash him in the face, but he'd already scampered off before the thought had even crossed her mind

-oOo-

Okay, so now that plan A failed, it's time for plan B.

The problem is, I don't actually have a plan B.

I've finally figured out that, unfortunately for me, the whole cold-shoulder thing gets old fast. Remy knows exactly how to deal with cold shoulder tactics, and he uses that knowledge to devastating effect. Today he takes the strategic upper hand by lulling me into a false sense of security. I ignore him, acting all cool and professional when it's necessary to be in his presence. He walks around with a long face, looking so heart-rendingly depressed that I'm torn between a natural feeling of triumph and the overwhelming urge to go and comfort him. I resist the urge, however, and continue to keep an eye on him throughout the morning. By midday I've lost sight of him, which never bodes well. Confused and a little frantic, I get up and wander round the typing pool, look into his office, and the broom cupboard besides. There's no sign of him. By the time I do find him, steam is literally pouring out of my ears. He's standing outside the photocopy room, talking to some blonde-haired bimbo. I slide round a corner and slowly poke my head out. I immediately recognize the little tramp. It's Sandy, the new filing clerk, who happens to have a penchant for short skirts and low-cut shirts. Whenever she walks pass, every man in the building, single or otherwise, stops to drool in her wake. And every single woman stops to glare evils at her and whisper insulting things behind her back. It's got to the point where even Kitty is thinking of locking up Petey just to keep him safe from Sandy's many 'ample' charms.

Up till now she hasn't bothered me. A woman has to get by in this world somehow, and if she hasn't got much to go by up top, I can't really blame her for finding other ways of compensating. Inadequate men do the same, after all, with their stupid flash cars and hair obsessions (both of which, I feel the need to add, Remy possesses, although he has no reason to whatsoever). However, in this one single moment I've never felt this threatened by another woman in my entire life. I watch her giggle and simper at every word Remy's saying to her, and suddenly it hits me - she's got her filthy talons into my man! Jezebel!

Still, I remain spying on them from my strategically placed corner, gritting my teeth in an attempt to contain my fury. I'm waiting for Remy to fall into her trap, to take her bait, to incriminate himself and give me a reason to go right up there and slap him in the face. Just wait till Ah get my hands on that insufferable excuse for a swamp snake!

I continue to watch as she says something to him, batting her eyelids for all she's worth. Remy laughs, that low, husky seductive laugh of his, never taking his eyes off hers. By now I'm practically foaming at the mouth. He's giving her that look. The look he always tried - and still tries - on me when he's about to go straight in for the kill. That does it! I'm almost about to jump out of my hiding place and give him what for, when suddenly his eyes flick up over Sandy's shoulder and look straight at me. Before I can duck or hide he's caught my eye and I find myself unable to move away. He grins. Then he gives me the most outrageous wink it almost knocks me for six.

He knew! The bastard knew Ah was tailin' him from the start!

I swing back round the corner and shake my fist at myself for being such a yutz. This whole happy little scenario with Sandy had been a ruse! A set-up! A conniving plan to ruffle my feathers and make me lose my cool!

Remy LeBeau has outmaneuvered me yet again!

Right - that does it!

I march out of my hiding place without a second thought and head straight for the happy couple. Remy has such a self-satisfied grin on his face it makes me want to slap it right off him but I'm determined to keep my dignity. Instead I walk straight up to them.

"Excuse me, Mr. LeBeau?" I greet him frostily, purposely ignoring Sandy as if she wasn't even there. "Sorry for interrupting your little tete-a-tete," I emphasize the words through clenched teeth, "but Ah have something Ah need to discuss with you about the project. May Ah have a quick word with you?"

His casual expression doesn't even change. He's a smooth operator, I'll give him that much.

"Of course, Anna," he drawls lazily. "In private or…"

"Private," I practically growl at him. He smiles, looks at Sandy, and shrugs apologetically as if to say, well, what can a man do when he has so many adoring fans? Sandy smiles back and nods with an expression of total understanding before she quite happily walks away, assured that this isn't the last encounter she'll be having with Remy LeBeau. I almost feel sorry for her, but not sorry enough as I glare at her until she disappears round the corner and out of sight. Once she's gone, I grab Remy by the tie and pull him into the empty photocopying room before he can protest. Once we're in there I round on him, eyes narrowed and jaw set.

"That was low, Cajun," I hiss at him, jabbing my forefinger into his chest. He merely looks down at it, amused, an eyebrow raised.

"All's fair in love an' war, chere," he remarks glibly.

"Don't give me that!" I snarl. "Two can play at that game!"

He laughs that sexy laugh of his, tempting me to lower my guard and surrender. But there's no way I'm waving the white flag to him this time, not after that cheap stunt he's just pulled!

"Oui, like, I can really see you tryin' to seduce JP. Now dat'd be a sight to see."

"Don't you dare go near that two-bit hussy again!" I order sharply, ignoring his imbecilic comment.

"Why?" he asks me, his gaze suddenly intensifying, his expression turning serious and his voice lowering a notch. "You jealous, chere?"

The power of his gaze, of his voice, almost throws me but still, I refuse to succumb.

"Hah! Jealous of an air-brained bimbo like her! In a pig's eye!"

All the while through this conversation he's been pressing me into a corner without me even realizing it, and by now I'm surprised to find my back hit a wall and that there's nowhere to run or hide. Shit, he's doing it again! He sees the sudden dilemma in my eyes and smiles his disarmingly dazzling smile, putting his hand against the wall beside my face and leaning in dangerously towards me.

"You're sexy when you're mad," he drawls, his eyes locking onto mine with such intensity that I can feel myself break out into a sudden hot flush.

"Go t' hell, Cajun," I toss back, but something's gone out of my voice and he can sense it. It makes him smile all the more.

"I like it when you're mad at me," he murmurs, inching closer, bit by bit, so that suddenly I can feel the body heat radiating from him, making me melt. Still, I never break eye contact with him, pouring all the defiance left inside me into that one single glare.

"Then yah better get used to it, sugah, because at the rate things are goin', Ah'm gonna be spendin' more time bein' mad at yah than glad at yah."

He chuckles, low, throaty, drawing me in further. His hand slides down the wall to my shoulder and toys lightly with a lock of my white hair.

"Dat's what I like 'bout you, Anna," he continues, totally ignoring the angry gleam in my eyes which is by now nothing more than a façade. "You never give in wit'out a fight."

"Like hell Ah'm gonna letcha just get ta meh without givin' yah a run for yah money first…" I reply, my voice coming out as a low, thick drawl, betraying me.

He takes one step forward, one step too close for comfort, because the next moment he's pinned me to the wall and I involuntarily catch my breath as I feel every hard contour of his body pressing seductively against mine. The last of my defenses begin to crumble as he traps me there in his embrace.

"Mais oui," he murmurs on, weaving me in his spell, the spell of his softly-spoken and enticing words, "But dat's what excites me, chere. You're bold and brassy and you're stubborn and passionate and…"

Whatever else he finds me I don't have a clue, since I can't stand it anymore. I grab his tie again, jerk his face towards mine and cover his mouth with mine feverishly. He switches from speech to kiss as easily as if it's what he'd expected all along, and the extent to which he'd been planning this whole decisive little battle between us finally becomes clear to me. But I'm so inflamed with passion right now that I simply forget to be mad at him. Our little game of cat and mouse has left us so goddamn horny that we can't get enough of each other. I don't care if I'm at work, I'm completely prepared to ask him to ravish me, right here, right now in the middle of the photocopying room.

He slides his leg between my thighs, just as if he'd read my thoughts, and I rub myself against him, not just willing, but begging, screaming with my entire body for him to take me.

That is until we both hear the sharp yet devastatingly polite 'ahem' sounding from the doorway.

In a flash the two of us spring apart like repelling magnets. There, in the doorway right next to us, stands Mr. Beaubier with a very disapproving look on his face.

I quickly pull down my skirt and rearrange my mussed up hair, inwardly screaming at myself for yet another excruciating faux pas.

Dammit, Remy, this is all your fault!

Jean-Paul merely stares at us with the sternest expression I've ever seen his handsome face wear. I'm almost taken aback. I've never seen Jean-Paul looking angry, especially not with me, since I happen to be his little favorite. I begin to feel an ashamed blush creep up my cheeks. Now even my head boss is going to think I'm a hoe!

"Would the two of you mind telling me what's going on here?" he asks, as cutting as glass. Remy, who amazingly looks almost as abashed as I do, appeals to his friend and mentor.

"Jean-Paul dis ain't what it seems -"

"Mr. Beaubier," I cut in quickly, wanting desperately to redeem myself, "let me explain. Remy and Ah… we were, um… in here, uh… discussing the benefits of…err… posture correction! Yes, posture correction!"

"Posture correction?" JP raises a disbelieving eyebrow and I falter off, realizing there's no way in hell I'll be able to bullshit my way through this one. In the ensuing silence, Remy throws me a bewildered glance, and I shrug. Don't blame me, it was the first thing that came to mind…

Jean-Paul sees the look we exchange and says dryly: "Maybe it's time the three of us went back to my office and discussed your 'posture correcting'."

Remy and I look at one another again. Shit.

"Now," JP suggests, meaningfully pointing towards the open door.

There's nothing for it but to obey. Heads hung, shoulders slumped, Remy and I follow our boss back to his room like a pair of naughty schoolchildren heading for the dreaded principal's office. I'm so distressed at the prospect of losing my boss' favor that I barely notice that my skirt's still all twisted, the top of my blouse is open, and my hair is in disarray. Thankfully or otherwise, the only other person we bump into on the way is Monet, who brushes past me with a stare so icy it feels like an Arctic wind. I feel her stare follow me all the way round the corridor, and I'm sure she's grinning in triumph at my disgrace. No doubt by the time I get out of JP's office, I'll be the talk of the typing pool.

Again.

Finally, we're there. JP opens the door for us and we drag our heels through. Then he closes the door behind us and sits at his desk. He sits there for ages, assessing us with his glance, making us feel even more inadequate and foolish and badly-behaved than we already do. I keep my eyes on the floor, unable to meet his gaze with my own. All the nightmares I had of being thrown off the creative team and my pet project, transferred to another department or even fired, seem about to come true.

"Well," Jean-Paul begins at last in a very severe voice, "it's now obvious to me that you're as crazy about one another as I always figured you were in the first place."

Well that sure wasn't the kind of comment I was expecting! I glance up at him in surprise, only to find his countenance as stern as before. Even Remy looks surprised and confused. Then, almost as if like magic, Jean-Paul's frown is gone and is replaced by a huge smile.

"What the hell took you two so long!" he demands.

Remy and I look at one another again, but when we turn back we find we're still too shell-shocked to speak.

"Come on, out with it!" Jean-Paul demands comically, leaning forward in his chair and looking up at us with a ravenous look. "How long has this been going on for, eh?"

"Well, officially," I stammer, finding my voice first, "only about two weeks, suh."

"Officially?" JP repeats gleefully. "You mean this has been going on for longer? How long?"

I'm about to protest that it's nobody's business when I suddenly remember that this is my boss I'm talking to. So instead I say: "Mr. Beaubier, suh… you mean you're not angry?"

He laughs at me, his easy, infectious laugh.

"Angry? Why, no. Why should I be, when my two most favorite employees in the world finally figure out they're made for each other? This is the kind of thing I thrive on!" He pauses and gives Remy a penetrating stare, observing cynically: "Although I do remember asking Mr. LeBeau here to keep the hanky-panky out of the building."

Remy says nothing but shifts his feet, looking uncomfortable.

"And," Jean-Paul continues, in a far more serious strain, "I am a little concerned as to how this is going affect the team."

"It won't affect the team, Ah promise, suh!" I cry before Remy can get a word in edgeways. "Ah'm totally dedicated to the project, and mah relationship with Remy ain't gonna get in the way! Ah swear you can count on me, suh!"

Jean-Paul cocks an eyebrow, leans back in his chair and says: "So it's serious then?"

It takes me a moment to realize he's talking about our relationship. He aims the question more at Remy than at me, but Remy side-steps the issue, protesting instead: "Sorry, JP, but what has our relationship got t' do wit' de project? Dey be two entirely different t'ings…"

"Different things, but very much intertwined," JP reminds us unsmilingly. "Lovers are bad news in business, Remy, and it's a fine line between love and hate. What would happen if the two of you were to split up? Acrimoniously? Would you still both be willing to communicate to each other on a professional level? Would you still wish to associate with one another?" He shakes his head. "I'm not willing to sacrifice the project to your relationship. It's too good for that. Lovers are usually a gamble not worth taking. It's business ethics, Remy."

I pass Remy an arch glance, reminding him that I'd told him exactly the same thing the morning before.

"You mean you'll haveta move one of us to a different team?" Remy asks.

I remain silent, biting my lip. Of course, if it comes to it, we all know it won't be Remy who'll be moved. It'll be me. Remy's the head of the creative team. He runs it. I'm just one of the cogs in the wheel. I'm expendable. Even though the present project was my idea, there are others who know enough about it to take over from me if the occasion arose. Peter, for instance. It sucks but it's fact.

"Non," Jean-Paul replies tactfully. "I'm not quite that hard-hearted. What I'm asking is, if things do end up going sour between you two, are you prepared for the likelihood that one of you will be transferred to another department?"

The question is addressed to both of us, but he's looking at me as he says the words. What can I do? I can only take in a breath and nod.

Jean-Paul looks relieved, because he slouches back into his chair again and smiles broadly at us.

"Well, that's a relief!" he declares. "Because other than that little technicality, I give you two my blessing. Couldn't think of a better looking couple, I really couldn't!"

We both thank him falteringly. It's nice to know we've got Mr. Beaubier's approval, but then he's made it very clear to us that there are some quite unpleasant strings attached, which leaves us feeling a little less enthusiastic.

"Well, off with you now," JP attempts to shoo us off humorously once we're done thanking him. "I've got places to go and people to see. Anna, we simply must talk about the project some time tomorrow. Will you come in before lunch?"

I assure him that I'd be happy to, and quickly turn to leave, Remy close behind me. But before we're out the door, JP stops us.

"Actually, Remy, there is something I need to talk to you about. Can I have a minute?"

Remy stops, turns.

"Sure," he says. He looks back at me, smiles and winks, assuring me he'll be back soon. I smile back before closing the door quietly behind me.

-xXx-

Jean-Paul's expression was uncharacteristically somber as he gestured for Remy to sit down in the seat opposite. It wasn't every day that JP looked as grave as this - even with his colleagues his mood was generally upbeat. So it was with a curious look that Remy took his seat, expectantly waiting for his boss to speak.

"So," Jean-Paul began soberly, after a moment. "Is it serious?"

Remy frowned. Okay, he was given to playing the fool now and then, but did JP doubt his sincerity that much?

"Pretty much," he replied with a short shrug.

"Pretty much?" JP echoed dubiously. Remy, hearing his friend's disapproving tone, rephrased the sentence.

"It's serious," he concluded with a sense of finality.

"Really serious?"

"Really."

Jean-Paul smirked and steepled his fingers.

"Never thought I'd see the day when I'd hear you say that," he mused. "I thought, after what happened with Belle, you'd've given up on all that romance stuff."

Remy shrugged again.

"Rogue…Anna… She's worth it."

"Is she?"

"I thought you approved of her?" Remy asked, confused.

"Of course I do. I'm just thinking of things from your perspective here, mon ami."

Remy's brow creased in a deep frown.

"What exactly are you gettin' at, JP?"

Jean-Paul sighed. "Look, don't get me wrong," he said. "I know you like her. I don't doubt that for a moment. I'm just wondering whether there isn't something more to all this. Like maybe she's some sort of substitute for-"

"Save it, JP," Remy cut in a little angrily before the dreaded name could be said again. "I don't wanna hear it. Rogue is totally different to her. There ain't no comparison."

"Maybe, but you can't pretend Belle didn't hurt you, Remy." Remy looked like he was going to protest but JP quickly held up a hand. "She jilted you, Remy. On your wedding day. That's gotta hurt any man's pride, as well as their heart. And you do have a heart Remy, contrary to popular belief. I saw the evidence of that with my own eyes. Who bummed in my apartment for a year? Who mooched off of me for twelve months, refusing to eat or sleep or wash? She made a mess of you, mon ami, and she's still hurting you, I can feel it."

"What's your point?" Remy muttered belligerently. He hated it when Jean-Paul went all girly on him and started talking about all this being-in-touch-with-your-emotions crap.

"My point is," JP continued heatedly, "that it's a bit of a coincidence, isn't it? You receive a wedding invite from Belle, and bam! Suddenly you're together with Anna Raven. I mean, doesn't it at least sound a little bit like…"

He faltered and Remy glared at him, daring him to say it.

"Like what?"

"Well… Like you're dating Anna on the rebound?"

He winced, knowing that Remy was going to explode. And boy did he explode.

"What!" he practically yelled, leaping to his feet and knocking over a pen tray that had been neatly standing on the desk. "Rebound! Over somet'ing dat happened four years ago! JP, I've been over Belle for years! Years! I don't care where she is or what she does! And as for her gettin' hitched… Frankly, JP, I couldn't care less. She could be marryin' de Pope hisself and I wouldn't give a damn! And you!" he pointed accusingly at his boss, "I thought you were my friend! And yet you accuse my relationship wit' Anna of bein' a sham! Fuck you, man!"

It was no use arguing with Remy having a temper tantrum and Jean-Paul knew it. So he resigned himself to being berated and said nothing. Remy, having finally run out of anything accusing left to say, finally stormed out of the office and slammed the door shut behind him. Still inwardly fuming, he marched straight to his own office, went to his desk and threw open the drawer. Scrabbling under several odd bits of scrap paper, he finally found it. Belle's wedding invitation, right at the bottom of the drawer, all gaudy and perfumy amongst the piles of trash he'd collated over the months.

Gritting his teeth, Remy snapped it up in his hands, slammed the drawer shut, and tore the offensive slip of card into a dozen tiny little bits and pieces.

-oOo-

To be continued...