Jack McCoy hitched a hip on the edge of her desk.

Colleen shot a reflexive glance at the door that used to hold the nameplate Daniel James. She couldn't seem to stop doing it. She hated that she couldn't seem to stop doing it and she hated that when she looked back at McCoy she could tell he'd caught her doing it.

Smart-ass, at times pain in the ass, and well on his way to becoming One Hogan Place's resident tomcat, Jack McCoy was also a good and decent man in ways that mattered, and he didn't say a word. "Ms Petraky," he said gravely, "I need your help."

"Of course." She could refuse him nothing. Then she caught the unexpected seriousness in his expression and thought that perhaps this particular request might involve something beyond staying late in the office to finish typing.

Whatever it was, she'd do it. "Of course," she said again.

"It's Sally," McCoy said. "Sally Bell." He took a velvet box from his jacket pocket and snapped it open.

The diamonds weren't the biggest Colleen had ever seen in her life but she knew what ADAs were paid, and she could admire the individuality shown in the choice of platinum rather than yellow gold. "It's beautiful."

"You think she'll like it?"

"I don't really know Ms Bell's taste, Mr McCoy, but it's a beautiful ring."

"I want to ask her properly. Ellen — well, let's just say it wasn't the most romantic marriage proposal in the world. And look how that ended up."

"I don't know if getting the proposal right is really the important thing," Colleen said cautiously, although she was the last person in the world to be giving marriage advice.

McCoy grinned down at her. "I'd like to at least not get it wrong."

"What are you planning to do?"

"That's the problem," he said ruefully. "I have no idea. I mean, what do women want these days? Roses? A violin? Maybe a carriage ride around Central Park?" He looked at her hopefully. "So can you help me, Ms Petraky? Advise me?"

"I'd skip the carriage ride," Colleen said. "In fact, I'd stay right away from horses altogether, if you're planning on going down on one knee." She tapped her pen against her teeth. "Leave it with me, Mr McCoy. When are you planning to do it?"

"Tomorrow night. It's our anniversary. One year since we tried our first case together."

Colleen raised her eyebrows. "You do like leaving things to the last minute, Mr McCoy. But I'll figure something out. Leave it with me. Now, shoo. I need to finish typing these submissions before I can do anything at all about your romantic problems."

McCoy grinned, and got up. "I knew I could count on you, Ms Petraky."

He could. Colleen had less than twenty-four hours but she had a telephone and a directory and an iron-clad determination not to let Jack McCoy down.

She also had a friend on the courthouse staff, which made everything a great deal easier.

When she passed McCoy in the foyer the next day he grinned at her and gave her the thumbs up. "The rose petals were a nice touch," he said. "I think that's what sold her on the idea. Where did you get them?"

"This is New York City, Mr McCoy," Colleen said. "You can find anything here." You could find rose petals, and string quartets at the last minute, and a catering company that could set and serve a romantic dinner anywhere, even in the courtroom where two colleagues had tried their first case a year ago yesterday.

And you could find good and kind and decent people in New York City, too, in places you'd never have thought to look for them, such as in the person of a far-too-charming ADA who had more than earned his reputation for a constitutional inability to keep his pants zipped around attractive co-workers.

He would break Sally Bell's heart, Colleen knew. She'd seen how Sally looked at him, and she'd seen how he looked at Sally, and she gave it a year, two at the most, before one or the other of them worked out that a marriage based on professional admiration and convenience wasn't going to go the distance.

But Jack McCoy didn't know that yet. He might not truly be in love with Sally, but he thought he was, and today he was smiling at Colleen like a man who had just won the lottery. "You've just won me the hand of the most wonderful woman in New York," he said. "Do you think you could possibly bring yourself to call me Jack?"

Colleen thought about it. "No," she said at last, as the elevator arrived. "No, I don't think I can. But — I don't think I mind if you call me Colleen."