Wednesday. How could it only be Wednesday? Preston groaned inwardly, made himself a cup of tea, and hurled his attention at the day's to-do projects. He wondered how Mister Dimas had ever managed to tackle everything, much less make time for touring the plant, and attend out of state meetings.

After he'd gotten home yesterday, Preston sat down with Antoine to discuss options for getting a himself car. Preston was growing weary of public transportation at odd hours. His day-shift employees got to leave at four thirty. He had to stay till his work was done.

Up till that point, Preston had been under the impression neither of them owned a vehicle. He was surprised when Antoine remarked, You can use Bessie.

Who's 'Bessie,' Preston asked, rather skeptically.

Oh, that's what I named my car. She's the first car I ever owned. Not much to look at, but she'd reliable.

Preston asked where Antoine even kept his car. Antoine insisted 'Bessie' was in the garage, where she'd always been. For all the times he had been in Antoine's cluttered two-car garage, Preston had never seen any car in there. Finally, he asked Antoine to show him.

Antoine lead Preston to the garage, and shoved several empty cardboard boxes out of the way, exposing a blue tarpaulin. He yanked the tarp off, sending the boxes toppling, and gestured proudly to the tiny, rusty vehicle underneath. It was a two-door Geo Metro; a hatch-back that appeared to Preston to be more rust than car. Preston half-listened as Antoine went on to extol the virtues of 'Bessie,' and explain how it was his loving maintenance that kept her road-worthy for all these years.

Preston imagined how his employees would look at him if he pulled up to his parking space in 'Bessie.' He winced inwardly, and tried to keep his expression grateful.

He didn't entirely succeed.

Antoine's face fell.

Well, if you don't want to, that's cool too, he remarked, hauling the tarp back over the car and stacking the empty boxes back on top.

Preston put a hand on Antoine's shoulder to comfort his friend. No, she's fine. But perhaps it's best I have my own car as well. That way, if you needed her for some reason, you wouldn't be out of luck.

Antoine had given him a weak smile; the sort that hadn't reached his eyes. If that's how you feel, Preppy, he replied. What did you have in mind?

Preston shrugged as they walked back to the living room. Something flashy, I suppose.

Antoine tilted his head. You do have a reputation to maintain. Antoine proceeded to list various makes and models, suggesting Preston might want to get himself a car that screamed 'player' for public perception. Unless you want people to get the wrong idea about us, Antoine added as he draped his legs over the arm-rest. That would probably not be the best move for your career.

Preston was perplexed. He considered himself unobtrusive. Why anyone would even care about his hobbies outside of work befuddled him. Antoine, however, seemed to have an understanding about those sorts of things. You need a baller car, he remarked, dropping his head into Preston's lap. Something that catches peoples' eyes. Whatcha got in mind?

Preston absentmindedly stroked Antoine's hair, and remarked he had nothing in mind.

The conversation had trickled off as Antoine became fascinated by some tattoo show on the television. Preston didn't mind. He didn't have much to say.

Tuesday night, before he went to bed, Preston looked at several different cars. His eyes kept going back and forth between a Land Rover LR4, and a Rolls Royce Dawn. He loved the Dawn, the suicide doors, the convertible top. He'd jabbed Antoine awake to show him the pictures on his tablet.

If you're gonna sleep here, Prep, you gotta actually sleep, groaned Antoine, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. What am I looking at? He propped himself up on an elbow.

Preston showed him the LR4, and the Dawn, asked Antoine what he thought.

Antoine's eyes lit up at the idea of the Land Rover.

Oh yeah! That one! I can take my bike up to the river trails now. At Preston's silence, he continued. You know, with your car.

The idea made Preston cringe. Absolutely not. I won't have your muddy bike, or muddy you, anywhere on or in my car.

It's an SUV, Antoine protested. What else are you going to do with it? That's what they're made for.

Preston flipped to the image of the convertible Dawn, then back to the Land Rover. Finally, he had to admit Antoine was right.

I am?

Yes. This settles it.

It does?

Absolutely. I'm getting the Royce. There's no way you'd be able to fit your bike in it.

Antoine snorted and laid back down, re-positioning his pillow. You won't be able to afford the Royce. Not out of the gate anyhow. That's like a quarter million dollars or something. That Land Rover's probably sixty grand. You could have that paid off in less than a year if you wanted. He yawned. Your payments on that Dawn would be insane. Take it from me, it's really best to stay in your income bracket. That's how you stay out of debt.

What do you know about debt management, Preston asked.

Antoine sighed and rolled so his back was facing Preston. I've been paying my own way for things since I was fourteen. Even before I was emancipated. That's part of how you get emancipated: you have to prove you can manage your own financial affairs. Food, rent, you know. So a full time job, and a proper budget. Gotta prove to the judge you're self-sufficient. Antoine stretched and shifted closer to Preston. And that's why I have Bessie, not some new car. Because, well, why spend the money? I'd rather have a nice house and be able to take vacations and stuff. Antoine sighed heavily and absentmindedly scratched his shoulder.

Preston set his tablet down on the nightstand and curled up with his back against Antoine's. The warmth of Antoine's skin was easy to feel even through both their tee shirts. Ever since they'd moved in together, Preston had started sleeping in Antoine's room, in the same bed.

It wasn't a sensual thing, their shared bed. It never had been. As far as Preston could figure it out, Antoine was essentially asexual.

Even now, Preston was still too shaken from The Incident to sleep well alone. Every time he closed his eyes in his own bed, he saw Rhodes standing with his crossbow pointed at Preston's chest. He heard Franklin's shrill and unbalanced laughter. There was Antoine, bloody-chested and dazed, a crossbow bolt lodged in his shoulder… then of course, the bullet that had tunneled through his own abdomen before rupturing out his back, just below his ribs. It was the last thing he remembered, and he couldn't forget it if he tried. If anything, the memories seemed to grow more intense with time.

Finally, Preston had sought the advice of the therapist. Since then he'd been going every Thursday, after work. His doctor had also prescribed medication for his nerves. Alprazolam, better known as Xanax. It helped. It took the edge off. Between the Xanax, and Antoine's warm body next to his, Preston was able to sleep.

Antoine seemed to enjoy Preston next to him as well. He tended to describe himself as a hugger; a big teddy bear, or a cuddly puppy dog. Preston had woken up more than once to find himself held against Antoine's strong chest. Antoine was his security blanket. The days didn't seem so long, the nights less dark, when Antoine was by his side.

That, Preston thought, remembering their car discussion the night before, was part of what made his days at the plant so taxing.

Antoine wasn't next to him; helping him remember to take a deep breath and relax. You're going to have to do that for yourself now, Preston instructed himself. Wednesday. He was halfway through the week. Human Resources would be doing the final reviews for his personal assistant applicants sometime this week.

Human Resources had asked if he wanted to be part of the selection process. Preston considered, then declined. I trust you to choose the best candidate, but let me have the final say, he announced. Delegating. Letting HR do the screening. It took some pressure off him. And having someone to organize his schedules and paperwork, handle calls, that sort of stuff? That would take a lot off his plate.

Preston finished reading his morning emails, and was about to start in on his paperwork when a parring sound interrupted him. Someone knocking at the door.

"Enter," Preston called out. He hoped his voice would carry far enough. The door opened and one of the clerical staff, a man who Preston didn't know, stepped in. He wore an ID badge, but Preston couldn't make out the name.

Preston made a come here gesture with his hand. The man seemed mildly nervous. Preston felt a hint of his comfortable arrogance return. He should be nervous, Preston thought smugly. I am his boss, after all.

Preston shuffled a few papers into a stack importantly, then rested his hands on the edge of his desk. "Yes? What can I do for you?

"Mister Tucci, sir, Vice President LeBlanc would like to see you at your earliest convenience, sir."

"Really." It wasn't a question. Preston's face remained unchanged, but inside his heart was pounding. "I see. Please let her know I will be by as soon as I get a free moment; unless she would rather come here." He gestured to his office.

The man nodded. "Very good, sir." He scurried off.

One the door had shut, Preston dropped his face in his hands, and muttered a brief profanity. LeBlanc. Rhonda. "Rowdy" as Antoine called her. His senior vice president. LeBlanc was a career woman in her fifties, possibly sixties, a no-nonsense personality. She'd worked with Dimas since his first days running the plant. Her knowledge was second only to the deceased Dimas himself. The dynamic between her and Preston was distant at best. LeBlanc gave him no quarter for his youth or past wounds. She saw a job that needed to be done, and that was her bottom line. Antoine had summed her up: If this plant had an avatar, a totem spirit, she'd be it. Rowdy knows how this very place feels, man! It's creepy. She IS the nuclear plant, Preppy. Antoine had then afforded himself a small shiver, and a grinned wickedly. She'd make a great character in movie or something.

Preston rubbed his temples, thinking.

His relationship with LeBlanc was professional, but frigid. Something about LeBlanc's piercing stare could make him feel as small and awkward as a child.

Presentation-wise, it would bolster his image to call LeBlanc to his office… but then he wouldn't be able to simply leave if the conversation started getting tense. If he brought her to his office, he could try to order her out, but there was no promise she'd leave. Despite the fact that it gave her the positional authority of summoning him, it was best not to get cornered in his own office by her. He felt he stood a better chance at controlling the situation if he tried cornering her.

Preston stood up, grabbed his tablet, and paused. In the top right drawer of his desk was a small stash of Xanax. His doctor had told him he could take one whenever he needed, not just at night. So far he'd abstained. I can get through this, Preston thought, looking at the drawer pensively. It's not so bad. He rubbed his palms together briskly, gave himself a little pep talk, then headed to LeBlanc's office.

Rhonda LeBlanc had a small corner office at the far end of the administrative department; the opposite end of the hall from Preston's own office. Unlike his, her office was glass-walled, a so-called fishbowl office, overseeing a small "farm" of administrative employees' cubicles.

Preston could see her now, head down, talking to someone on her desk phone. She was jotting notes down on a yellow legal pad.

Antoine's words echoed in Preston's head. She even looks like a cooling tower. I swear, she's literally part of this place! Preston shut his eyes tightly. It seemed Antoine could be just as distracting when he was gone. His words lodged in Preston's head like a song on the radio.

Perhaps that description wasn't so far-fetched after all. In form and color, Preston could see how one might say that.

LeBlanc wore a pale grey blazer over a soot grey turtleneck. Her hair was salt-and-pepper, cut in a chin length bob without so much as a single strand out of place. Her eyes were coal, almost blue. Preston couldn't see her legs, but he knew she always wore slacks that matched whichever blazer she'd put on that day. The woman was shades of grey, never wearing straight black, nor a defined color.

She was not a tall woman, standing shorter than average. Despite her stature, she was and broad shouldered and heavyset. "Solid" was the best word, Preston thought. Adjectives like "fat" implied laziness, and "plump" gave the indication softness. Rhonda LeBlanc was neither soft, nor lazy. It was as if she'd been sculpted from concrete: serious, hard-working, and indifferent to excuses. If Thaddeus Dimas had been the soul of the nuclear plant, LeBlanc was its heart.

So what does that make me? Preston wondered as he paused outside her door, and knocked lightly.

LeBlanc looked up from her notes, phone cradled between cheek and shoulder. Her eyes flashed with recognition, if not warmth. Her lips tightened slightly as she assessed his presence. She muttered something into the phone then dropped it into the receiver with a practiced shrug. LeBlanc tossed the legal pad into a vertical shelf, got up, and opened the door.

"Mister Tucci," she said neutrally. "Please come in. Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea? She gestured to the coffee pot perched atop a filing cabinet.

Preston shook his head. "No, thank you Rhonda."

He made his way to her guest chair, but didn't sit.

LeBlanc refilled her mug. It was an unmarked ceramic mug, a shade of grey like everything else around her. She took a sip slowly, set the mug on a slate coaster, and tented her fingers. She pursed her lips and scrutinized Preston from the tip of his head to his toes of his dress shoes, then back up. Her eyes locked onto his. She blinked once, slowly, as if thinking.

"Sit please," she finally remarked.

Preston placed his hands on the back on the chair in front of him. "I've been sitting all day, it feels good to stand."

LeBlanc's eyebrows raised almost imperceptivity.

Preston felt his palms beginning to sweat. Now began the dance, the silently intense battle for control. Preston didn't want to stand. His legs felt weak, but he knew if he sat down, that would put him at her eye level. Every time he and LeBlanc met, they followed the preordained steps of the corporate waltz. She would try to break his calm; he would try to exert his authority over her. It was the wolves all over again: the struggle for alpha. More subtle, with less tooth gnashing and hair biting, but no less intense.

LeBlanc appeared to be done sizing Preston up, and accepted he was not going to sit. She gave a slight tilt of her head, an almost disrespectful gesture in Preston's eyes, but he couldn't let that distract him.

She pulled out a thick lavender file folder from her vertical stacks and set it on her desk.

"The Board of Directors has been asking me 'how is young Executive Tucci handling his new position?' I must confess I have to reply 'I'm not sure how to answer that.'" She knotted her fingers together. "So that's what I'd like to find out from you: how indeed you are doing. You seem… a bit inundated with the job requirements. There are… some concerns about your longevity in this position."

"I have no intention of stepping down, if that's what you're hinting at."

LeBlanc raised her eyebrows in mock-surprise. "I wouldn't expect you to. However, that does not mean you won't have to, willing or not." She tapped the folder on her desk, the only spot of color in the room. "There are a few members of the board who have expressed doubt about your ability to handle everything. While you are managing to keep your head above water for now, they're not so sure how long you'll be able to keep paddling."

LeBlanc sighed suddenly and pinched her fingers over her right eye. Whether it was a gesture of distress or aggravation, Preston couldn't tell. In the split second her eyes weren't on him, Preston took a moment to look around her office. Professionally sterile décor. Nothing that gave any hint of warmth. The only personal touch was the recently-used ashtray in the corner. Her office didn't smell of smoke. Perhaps she was stepping out onto the balcony outside her windows. Preston didn't think now was the time to remind her of the no-smoking policy.

LeBlanc looked up suddenly. "So, how are you managing your affairs, Tucci?"

(No "mister," Preston noted.)

"It seems that you're trying to tackle everything yourself, including jobs that aren't yours to do. Scheduling, call-backs, petty administrative details. Why? What happened to Dimas' pilot? You were using him as a personal assistant, no?" Her eyes narrowed slightly.

Preston straightened his back and put on what he hoped was an appropriately condescending expression. "He was ultimately not qualified for that job. I've sent him down to Infrastructure to work on maintenance. I'm sure you know I've already tasked Human Resources with putting a hiring request for a designated assistant."

LeBlanc took a sip of her coffee, and peeked inside the lavender folder. She shut it hastily. "Well, Mister Tucci, that is one thing at least that you've done right." She paused, as if choosing her words carefully. "Mister Tucci, may I be frank with you?"

Preston gestured with an open palm. "Of course."

"Mister Tucci, sir, with all due respect you are not the best long-term candidate for the job. While your personal motivation and work ethic are admirable, you lack the hard experience in nuclear science. You also lack the years in a leadership role to have developed your own management style. You're figuring this out as you go along, yes, but not everyone on the Board is optimistic that you'll come into your own. Developing leadership often relies heavily on mentorship. That is something, sadly, you are no longer getting."

LeBlanc leaned back in her chair. "I have over thirty years with this company. I started with Thaddeus. I know this plant and its operations better than anyone else here." She held up a hand. "Now, before we misunderstand each other, you are my boss. Appointed by the Board to run this company. That was their decision, and whether I ultimately agree with it or not is irrelevant. It is my job to support the CEO, and so I shall… But honestly, Mister Tucci, you've got a long road ahead of you."

Preston tried not to let anything he felt show on his face, or in his body. His fingers were latched into the back of the guest chair in front of him. He was beginning to wonder if he'd locked his knees. His feet felt numb. He tightened his jaw, and refused to shift position even an inch.

"The Plateau City Nuclear Generating Station is a proud company. We employee over nine hundred people in round-the-clock shifts. More, if you count our outside contracted staff like custodians. We provide jobs, energy, we have a healthy investment ratio in the stock market. No one is going to want any of that jeopardized by poor decisions. When it came to the Board, the decision to move you from acting CEO to full time CEO was supported by the majority, but it was not unanimous. There are several people who have their doubts. You've got very big shoes to fill, Mister Tucci. As I've said, I'll do my job; and I believe I speak for everyone else when I say I hope you can do yours."

LeBlanc looked away again, and opened the folder. She riffled through a few pages. "Your credentials are impressive. We've found a personal assistant who I believe will be the best balance to your skills. The person will be starting either this Friday, or next Monday. Human Resources hasn't fully decided yet."

Preston's grip tightened more. He noticed his knuckles had gone white. He didn't even care. "I would've thought I'd have a choice in the selection of my personal assistant," he remarked as levelly as he could.

LeBlanc looked up at him, and her lips narrowed in an approximation of a smile. "Ordinarily you would, of course. But since you've been so busy with daily operations, I and my fellow Board members thought it best I handle this little task for you."

Preston felt a stab of confusion streak through his brain. Rhonda? Fellow Board Members?

The older woman must've immediately seen the slight change in his composure. Her thin-lipped smile widened ever so slightly. "I'm sorry, Mister Tucci, I thought you were well aware. I, as the Inside Director, have my own seat on the Board. It's a position I've held for quite some time, since Thaddeus appointed me. I have a duty and an obligation to this company." She gave Preston a predatory look. "I must apologize if I never made that clear before. I fear I'm to blame. I assumed you knew, considering I was there each time you petitioned the Board during your Interim-to-Fulltime transition."

The wolf was at the door.

"I, for one, opposed giving you a permanent executive position."

Preston realized with a brutal certainty that he was not going to with this battle, not today. He ground his teeth, smiled as best he could, and nodded. "Of course," he said. Of course 'what'? He had no idea, but he was not going to let on that LeBlanc had thrown him off balance. He smiled nonchalantly. "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. I suppose I shall have to trust your judgement in personal assistants. But, if it winds out he's a bad fit, then believe me, Ms. LeBlanc, I won't be keeping him."

LeBlanc raised her eyebrows. "That is your prerogative, but I think you'll find our selection to be an excellent candidate. And I think it would behoove you to keep her."

(Her? Preston's mind yelped.)

LeBlanc took a sip of her coffee. Preston figured it must be getting cold by now, but LeBlanc didn't seem to care. "That's all I have to say," she remarked casually. "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

Preston drew his own lips back, exposing his perfect teeth in a shark's smile; or possibly a grimace. "No, Ms. LeBlanc. You've been most helpful. I appreciate your time."

Reluctant as he was to let go of the chair he was leaning on, their meeting was at an end. Rhonda LeBlanc had already turned her attention away from him before he'd made it to the door. He caught the reflection of her face in the glass wall. She wasn't even looking at him. She was already picking up her phone.