Chapter Two

Even Elizabeth had to admit that there was something to be said for the high society, elite parties Lucy frequented, for, even though she had no ambition to travel in her boss' social circles or be invited to the teas, fetes, and balls the privileged and influential of Port Charles felt the need to throw incessantly for the most tedious, self-congratulatory reasons, the prep time Lucy put into getting ready for such an event gave her the opportunity to relax at work, avoid her boss, and disregard her duties. Instead of errands to run, meetings to attend, and obligations as her employer's personal test subject to perform, as soon as Elizabeth made sure the fashion expert, hair stylist, makeup artist, manicurist, pedicurist, masseuse, and fortune teller, the complete entourage required to prepare her boss for any formal gathering, had arrived, she was free to put her feet up, sit back in her chair, and take a deep breath. In essence, on the days when a party would take up Lucy's evening, Elizabeth got paid for doing little or no work.

Just as she was about to close her eyes and let the blissful relief of an afternoon nap take over her exhausted, petite frame, the soft and comfortable confines of the couch she was curled into too relaxing to deny, the door that led to Lucy's personal dressing room flew open and the agitated, high strung brunette was flying across the room, hair and silk robe streaming wildly behind her. Elizabeth instantly sat up, attempting to clear the sleep from her eyes in order to focus upon her boss. She knew the look etched upon the older woman's face all too well; it was desperation, sympathy, and, thrown in for good measure, a glimmer of mischief, a lethal combination with anyone, but, with Lucy, it spelled total and utter annihilation of Elizabeth's will and resolve.

"Oh, thank the stars, Miss Cleo, and Jimmy Choo that you're still here," the harried brunette gushed as she slid her lithe body into a regal recline beside Elizabeth's position on the couch. "I have never needed you so much in my life."

Before the younger woman could stand up, her employer's hand reached out and grasped her fingers tightly, keeping her on the couch and at the mercy of Lucy's whims. Leveling a clear, capable eye on her boss, Elizabeth asked in a steady voice meant to reassure and calm, "what happened, Miss Coe? Is it your costume, because I brought my sewing kit with me, and, if you need me to, I can repair any rip or tear as long as it's not too structurally significant." Instead of answering, her high strung boss simply shook her head in a negative manner meant to dismiss her concerns about the Marilyn Monroe inspired dress the older woman would be wearing that evening. "Well, if it's not your costume, what's wrong? Did the heel on one of your shoes break? Is there something wrong with Sigmund? Oh, no," she gasped, sudden realization striking the petite brunette. "Did the fortune teller see something bad in her tarot cards, because, if so, I have your personal acupuncturist, paranormal expert, and gypsy on speed dial?"

"It's nothing like that," Lucy rushed to reassure her. "Don't even think such terrible things. It's tempting fate." Taking a deep breath, she met her assistant's gaze with hopeful eyes. "This is about you….and the favor I need you to do for me."

Elizabeth released a sigh of relief. "If that's all it is," she stood up and moved to gather her things, "just let me know where it is I have to go, and I'll run whatever errand you need before I head home for the evening."

"It's not an errand. It's much more important than that."

"Okay," the younger woman agreed readily. "So then I take it you need me to finish up some of your work for you. Do you need me to sit in on a conference call for you or is it a meeting you forgot you had scheduled?"

"This favor has nothing to do with business," the taller brunette clarified. "It's more of a personal nature."

Elizabeth thought for a moment before replying. "Did you forget to pick up a gift for someone's birthday, because I normally mark all the important dates, events, and holidays in my calendar, and, as far as my notes go, you haven't missed anything?"

"Why don't you take a seat, sweetie," Lucy instructed, motioning towards the couch cushion beside her. "What I'm about to ask of you is no simple act of help. This is major. That's why I'm so worked up."

"Alright," the younger woman agreed, sitting down beside her employer, "you're scaring me, Miss Coe."

"I just got a call from Brenda Barrett…."

"You've got to be kidding," the blue eyed pixie of an assistant exploded in a fit of rage, interrupting her boss, "that no good, self-important, narcissistic, uncouth boor double crossed me! He never gave her those contracts I dropped off! Why, the next time I see him," she seethed, fisting her tiny hands in anger and imagined revenge plots, "he better have a doctor waiting at his side, because, by the time I'm finished shoving my black leather, stiletto boots so far up his…."

"Elizabeth, please," Lucy begged, silencing her employee, "there's no need to resort to violence. What did the shoe ever do to you? Trust me, it does not deserve that fate, but that's beside the point. First of all, Brenda did get the contracts, so let's forget those plans of torture, shall we, that you were dreaming up for whoever was stupid enough to wrongly cross your path on a bad hair day. Secondly, I need you to focus for me." As her boss waited for her to relax, Elizabeth had to stifle a laugh that the manic woman across from her was the one instructing her to concentrate. It was quite the role reversal. "Now, the reason Brenda called was because she was in a slight panic. She has a friend who suddenly decided to attend the party this evening, but he doesn't have a date. Caught up in the moment and wanting to ease her troubles, I might have, maybe, perhaps, slightly volunteered your services."

"My services," the younger woman questioned, confused. However, as the gleam in Lucy's eyes increased from hopeful to optimistic and expectant, she knew exactly what her boss was asking of her. "No way, absolutely not," she refused, once again retreating from the sofa and striding distractedly across the room. "This is ridiculous, Miss Coe," she complained. "The party's theme might be 'Old Hollywood Glamour,' but it's not 1939. It's perfectly acceptable for a man to go stag to a party."

"Maybe in your world it is," the older woman countered. The tone of her voice made it obvious she disagreed with her employee's modern minded statement. "But, if a man of prestige, power, and money goes to a party on his own in my circle, it means one of two things, he's either going bankrupt or he will soon be coming out of the closet, and neither are good for his company's bottom line or his little black book."

"Even if I bought into that line of nonsense, I still couldn't go to the party," Elizabeth continued to argue. "I have plans with Emily tonight."

"Oh, you must be mistaken," Lucy ignored the blatant lie, offering her assistant an excuse for the falsehood, "because I know for a fact that Emily will be in attendance tonight at Brenda's party."

Presenting a contrite smile, the younger woman continued with the story they both knew to be fictitious just to protect the illusion of decorum her employer strived for even if it was hypocritical and insincere. "You're right; our plans must be for next weekend, but, that aside, I still can't attend the party, Miss Coe. It's a costume party, and I have nothing to wear."

"That's where you're wrong," the older woman confided with a wink, uncurling her legs to stand from the settee. Disappearing into her dressing room, she re-emerged moments later with a garment bag. "I had two costumes designed just in case something went wrong," she explained, unzipping the carrier to reveal the outfit she intended her young employee to wear, "and I think this one will be just perfect for you and your figure."

"Lucy," Elizabeth gasped, all sense of propriety forgotten. "That's a playboy bunny costume!"

"I know," the older woman squealed with excitement. "Isn't it just adorable?!" Motioning for her assistant to follow her, she turned around and proceeded into the dressing room, talking a mile a minute and ignoring the look of abject horror flashing through the younger woman's eyes. "And the best thing is," the taller brunette finished with a pleased sigh, "it even has a tail!"

"Hello, is anyone here," Jason called out into the empty receptionist room at Deception. If this was the way Lucy Coe ran her business, it was suddenly obvious to him why she would hire such an incompetent personal assistant. "This is just perfect," he complained under his breath, glaring at the vacant desk before him. Here he was waiting to drop off the contracts Brenda had signed so that he could go home and have a night off, and no one was there to receive them. While his friend and employer would throw her ridiculous party, he would let the men under him take care of the security for the evening, and he would do absolutely nothing that had anything to do with high society, finger food, champagne, or waltzing. In fact, if Jason had his way, his night would consist of nothing but riding his bike, playing pool, and, perhaps, finding himself a willing bed partner for the evening, one that he could sleep with and then forget and never see again in the morning. It would be perfect, it would be peaceful, and it would be the complete opposite of what Brenda would want him to do.

"Excuse me," a voice behind him, a voice he only too well recognized asked, "what do you think you're doing in here? This office is closed this afternoon which means that you're trespassing and I'm going to have to call security."

"Go ahead and call them, Miss Webber," he taunted as he turned around, "and let's see if the jelly donut eating, game show watching, sorry excuse for security personnel your boss employs would be able to do a damn thing to get me off the premises besides quiver in their boots and, perhaps, wet their pants."

"You," the petite woman scoffed, leveling him with the darkest glower he had earned since their first encounter. He had to hold back a fit of laughter, because, with the beauty mask she wore, her glare only made her look like a disgruntled cartoon Martian. "Why are you here besides to annoy me and make this the official worst day of my life?"

"I see we're as melodramatic as before," he joked, "and that you and your boss are busy playing beauty shop again. Don't you get sick of being her potbellied pig?"

"It's guinea pig, you moron," Elizabeth returned snidely. "You really are all brawn and no brains, aren't you?"

"What, have you been checking me out," the bodyguard goaded her. "And, for your information, I knew exactly what I was saying."

"You're an ass!"

"And you're a bitch who can't do her job," Jason criticized. "Tell me, did you ever tell Lucy about Sinbad's little excursion around Miss Barrett's garden?"

"It's Sigmund," she snapped, taking a threatening step closer to him and lowering her voice, "and, to be frank, it's none of your damn business what I do or do not tell my boss." Sighing in exasperation, she placed her hands on her hips. "Now answer my original question. Why are you here?"

"Brenda wanted me to drop these off," he responded, shoving the contracts into her hands. "Try to give them to your employer before you melt all over them," he mocked, motioning towards the softening mask on her face.

"Thanks for the advice," she bit out harshly, "but I think it's time for you to leave now. I, for one, have seen enough of you to last me a lifetime."

"Same here, sweetheart," he barked, "same here."

"Plus," Elizabeth continued as if she never heard his retort, "I actually have things to do with my life besides managing to wear enough leather to make the cow an endangered species. Leave now, Mr. Morgan."

Turning on his heel, he strode confidently away, punching the down button for the elevator. "I'm already gone."

"Why hello there, best friend," Brenda greeted her scowling bodyguard upon his return from Deception. She had been waiting in his house, a small cottage he inhabited on her property, in the dark so as not to alert him to her presence. Already dressed in her costume for the party that evening, she sat reclining on the couch, reading a magazine and epitomizing the essence of the character she was embodying: Cleopatra. "My, my, aren't you looking especially fit and intimidating today. What happened? Did you get to pull your gun on someone this afternoon?"

"What are you doing here, Brenda," he asked her, his tone displaying his lack of patience. "I'm in no mood to play your games, so why don't you just get to the point. You have a party to host, and I have the night off. What do you want?"

"It's nothing really," the brunette dismissed with a wave of her bejeweled hand.

"No, it's something," he argued, "because you're complimenting me in your own patronizing, bothersome way." Eyeing her closely, Jason tried to figure out exactly what she was up to. "You're going to ask me for a favor."

Jumping up in surprise, she exclaimed, "how do you know that?"

"Because you're easy to read, Barrett; you don't disguise your emotions or your intentions. Whenever you need something," he waved his hand in a distracted manner towards her petite frame, "you always make it seem like you're the one who's going to be helping me, you play off how big of an imposition you're about to unload upon me, and you get this wicked gleam of trouble in your eyes."

"I do no such thing," she argued with him, tossing the magazine aside, one which he noticed was one she had brought with her, because there was no way he'd keep a copy of Cosmo in his house. "And I don't need a favor," she continued to claim her innocence. "I'm simply here to assist a friend of a friend. She has a problem that has to be…alleviated, and, because my associate knew of my benevolent nature, she came straight to me in the hope that I could prevent the disaster that is about to occur."

"What," he picked on his friend, "is someone going to break a nail? Let's call in the supermodel to save the day."

"You don't have to be so flip," she chastised him. "Not all of us live such important lives like you do." Her tone let Jason know she meant the exact opposite. Taking a deep breath, Brenda attempted to calm herself, and she turned to face the difficult man across from her, prepared to lay her cards out on the table. "Listen, let's be frank."

"This will be a first," he quipped, rolling his eyes at the petite, determined woman standing on the other side of his living room.

"My friend," the brunette spoke as if she never heard his taunting comment, "is also a colleague, and it would be both personally and professionally advantageous to me if I helped her. That's where you come in."

Sighing dejectedly, Jason collapsed into his recliner and roughly scrubbed his face. "I'm listening."

"This employee…"

"I thought you said you were helping out a friend of a friend," he interjected.

"If you would just let me finish my sentence before you interrupted me, you wouldn't be confused," she returned testily. "Anyway, yes, the woman I'm speaking of is both an employee and a friend of my business associate, and she suddenly finds herself in need of a date for tonight."

"Nice try, Brenda, but the Middle East would have to declare lasting peace before I would ever escort someone to any party of yours, especially a woman who isn't capable of finding her own date. What do I look like to you," he challenged her, "a man who dates other people's charity cases?"

"She's not a charity case," the younger woman snapped, glaring at her friend. "She didn't know she was coming to the party until the last minute, and, as for you dating her, who said anything about this being a date? You'd merely be her escort, a little small talk, a few trips around the dance floor, and you might have to sit beside her at dinner, that's it. Call the pope," she mocked, "because after that great sacrifice, Jason should be up for sainthood."

"I would have to agree to help you first."

"Jason," Brenda whined, stomping her foot in exasperation, "please do this for me. You know that if you don't say yes, I'm going to stay out here all night and continue to harass you, and then I'd miss my own party, embarrass myself, and become a permanent outcast in Port Charles. You'd be the only friend I'd have left which means we'd be together 24/7, 365 days a year."

"Well, at least I'd have one day off every four years," he pointed out sarcastically, earning himself a slap to the back of his head.

"Morgan," his irritated employer ordered, "you are doing this for me."

"I am doing this for you," he agreed dejectedly, standing up and making his way towards his bedroom to get dressed.

"And there's just one more thing."

"Don't push your luck, Barrett," he threatened her, turning around to face his best friend.

"About that badge of stubbornness on your face that you call a personal fashion choice," she motioned towards his beard and mustache, "it has to go."

"No."

"You, me, and going lingerie shopping together," she taunted him with a smirk, knowing her coercion of continuous bonding time would push him over the edge. "You, me, and horse back riding. You, me, and bikini waxes…."

"Fine!"

The slamming of his bathroom door alerted Brenda to the fact that their conversation was over, but it also told her that she had annoyed her bodyguard into submission. Dusting off an imaginary piece of lint from her shoulder, she chuckled to herself in a congratulatory manner. Jason had never stood a chance.

"This has got to be the most embarrassing night of my life," Elizabeth grumbled to herself under her breath as she slowly made her way through the throngs of people inhabiting the ballroom of the Port Charles hotel. Brenda Barrett had out done herself in regards to the guest list. Every person within a five hundred mile radius of their little, upstate New York hamlet with a bank account statement ending in several zeros on the left hand side of the decimal point was in attendance, and she was having a hard time weaving through the masses of richly adorned, heavily perfumed, and expertly coifed men and women. "I'm basically wearing a glorified piece of underwear," she groused, skittering away from an already intoxicated, wealthy gentleman's hand as he tried to pinch her tail. "My hair and makeup look like Lady Marmalade thanks to Lucy's supposed team of beauty experts, and my shoes scream stripper pole and one dollar bills. To make matters worse, she tells me I'm supposed to meet this mystery date on the balcony, as if our arranged rendezvous is something from a tawdry romance novel instead of straight out of page six's condescending, disdainful gossip column." Finally reaching the balcony, she moved to lean against the highly ornate railing and sighed in relief as the fresh night air enveloped her, never noticing the sulking male figure hiding behind her. Not even the crisp nature of the fall night or the goosebumps which immediately arose on her soft flesh could dispel her relief from escaping from the confines of the ballroom.

"Do you always talk to yourself?"

Gasping in shock, she whirled around to face the man behind her, the perilous heels of her shoes making her stumble slightly as her petite hand clutched nervously at her corset created voluptuous décolleté. "Don't do that," she instructed, taking as deep of a breath as her outfit would allow in order to quell her surprise. "You could give a girl a heart attack sneaking up on her like that."

"Or at least make her faint," he teased, making a reference to the consequences of wearing stays as he eyed her costume. Stepping out from the shadows, he advanced towards her. "As for sneaking up on you, I was out here first. I take it you're the friend of Brenda's friend whom I'm supposed to escort tonight?"

"I guess you could put it that way," she answered, slightly confused, "but I really think it's me who's here to help you out. After all," she insisted, "I'm not the one who needed a date at the last minute."

"Of course you did," the man returned. "Why else would I be here?"

"Because you're Miss Barrett's friend," Elizabeth stated as if it was obvious, "and I'm here because you were too much of a coward to go to a social event without a date."

She stood there calmly, letting the stranger across from her observe her closely. Although she would never admit it, she was using the lull in their conversation to access him as well, and, despite his wanting personality, she didn't understand why the man hadn't been able to find his own date. He was tall and athletic with broad shoulders and a chest meant for a woman to rest her head against when dancing with him, he had the most amazing blue eyes, glacier blue that belied a hint of his frosty personality but also a passion for life, a dry sense of humor, and a tendency to protect those he cared for, eyes that she, for some reason, found strangely familiar, he was handsome, and his voice oozed confidence and sex appeal. It was a voice Elizabeth was sure she had heard before, but his whispered words and low tone made it hard to place. Perhaps the night wasn't going to be a total waste after all, she realized to herself with a small, pleasant smile. If nothing else, she would be able to figure out just where exactly she had met the man standing in front of her and then, once she did that, she would be able to silently yell at herself for ever letting him disappear without making an unforgettable memory with him.

Finally, he broke the silence. "It seems as if we've been set up. You were told you had to come tonight to be my date, and I'm here as yours." Curling his fist in frustration, he fumed, "You're going to regret this Brenda!" He went to walk away, but the gasp of revulsion behind him had the man slowing and turning back around to face his blind date.

"You're you!"

"Great assessment there, midget," he taunted.

"Shut up, Morgan," Elizabeth snapped. "What the hell happened to your pet groundhog that lived on your face, and, more importantly," she asked, stalking towards him with a menacingly lethal pace, "why the hell would Miss Barrett ever let you mingle with polite society?"

"You know what, Webber," Jason returned hostilely, her harsh words jarring his recollection, "I've had just about enough of your smart mouth, so why don't you take you and your cheap, indecent costume and get the hell away from me before someone figures out that you're in desperate need of being put down."

He went to leave the balcony, but she followed after him. "Obviously, I didn't know it was you, because you shaved, but why didn't you notice me?"

"It's a little hard without red blotches or green gunk covering your face!"

"This is just perfect," Elizabeth ranted, barely suppressing an irritated scream. "Could this night get any worse?"

"If I have to spend one more minute in your presence, it will," he returned with a snarl. "Look," Jason instructed, "this place is big enough for the two of us to disappear into the crowd and not have to see each other. I'm going this way," he motioned towards the right, "and you go the other way."

"Gladly," she huffed, but, before she could do just that, he was gone and headed towards the bar where she watched him pick up a bottle of whisky, ignore the bartender's offer of a glass, and melt into the glittering horde of socialites.

"Oh, there you are," Lucy twittered animated as she looped her arm through her young assistant's. "Have you found your gorgeous date yet?"

"I did," the petite brunette answered, freeing her arm from her employer's grasp, "and he's the most insufferable, arrogant, nauseating, self-centered, vexing, odious jerk I have ever met in my entire life!"

"So you like him," the older woman mused while taking a sip of her champagne. "No woman ever says such terrible things about a man without harboring either a secret crush or a major attraction towards him."

"No, Lucy, I don't like him. In fact," the assistant continued without taking a breath, "the only thing I harbor towards him is a desire to cut off his 'you know what' and then feed it through a meat grinder while he watches. Then, and only then," she added, "will I scratch out his eyes, let loose a swarm of mosquitoes on his aching, vulnerable body, and watch him suffer a slow, agonizing, painful death while he bleeds to death."

"Whoa, Liz," the taller woman laughed, "I had no idea you were such a bad girl. That's quite kinky."

"Ugh, you're not getting it," Elizabeth yelled, stomping her foot in frustration. "But it doesn't matter," she calmed herself down, "because I'm leaving. Tell Brenda thanks but no thanks. She can keep her bigoted bodyguard for herself."

"Wait," Lucy yelled, stopping the younger woman's hasty exit. "You can't leave." When her assistant merely watched her, waiting for an explanation, she continued. "You know as well as I do that I can't go home without someone to walk me to my door and make sure I get there safely, and, because you insisted on driving us, my chauffeur has the night off."

"Take a cab."

"Ew! I can't take public transportation," the older woman protested with a lock of disgust on her face. "Face it, you're stuck here until I'm good and ready to leave."

"Whatever," Elizabeth relented, throwing her arms up in submission. "When you're ready to go, I'll be girl dressed like a tramp drowning herself in a bottle of tequila. Enjoy your party."

With a weary sigh, she walked away from her boss and made it to the bar, picking up the bottle of her preferred alcohol, tequila as she had warned Lucy, and weaving her way through the crowd until she found the fire exit and the door which would take her to the roof. What she needed was to get away from her entire evening, and the only way she knew how to do that was with fresh air and liquor. Her ascent to the roof was slow, hampered by the ridiculous heels she was wearing, but, by the time she got there, the door was propped open as if it was personally inviting her to stay a while. Removing the wedge of wood keeping it in place, she let it drift shut, but, before she could smile in celebration of her self-liberation, a voice she had never wanted to hear again assaulted her ears.

"Don't close that door," Jason yelled at her, running across the roof to grab a hold of the shutting entrance, but he was too late.

"Why not?"

"Because it locks automatically," he answered in a growl of exasperation. "Thanks a lot, genius," he mocked. "You just got us trapped up here….together."