Rigel handed a stack of papers over to Preston. "Here are the lists you requested for the upcoming Christmas Ball," she announced.

Preston leafed through them, and nodded approvingly. "Thank you, Miss Vought," he acknowledged. He sipped his tea. Every year in December, the Plateau City Rotary Club hosted quite the fancy charity ball and silent auction. Each year they funded a different main cause, but it was always comprised of two programs: one at the city level, and something global. The Plateau City Nuclear Generating Station always made a sizeable donation. Thaddeus Dimas would give some speech about the importance of whatever the focus of the charities were that year, and present them with one of those overlarge novelty checks. The real one was always hand delivered subtly, out of sight.

It was a formal affair, and perhaps the biggest social event of the year. Red carpets and white ties. Fancy little hors d'oeuvres and expensive champagne. Everyone who was anyone would be there. Preston had been twice already, following at the heel of Thaddeus and Evita Dimas. It was one of the few times Dimas had paid attention to his wife. They made the perfect "public" couple, walking arm in arm, and chatting in that pleasant but vague way that high society had.

Preston knew those gatherings, and the art of conversation. His parents had made sure he understood how to conduct himself. What had happened in Albany? Well, that had been a mistake and a gross underestimate when it came to the strength of a Long Island iced tea. It was one of those moments Preston wished he could forget. If Smithers hadn't joined him in that little karaoke duet, people would still probably be talking about it, Preston reasoned.

In many ways, Preston envied Smithers, and even Antoine. Those two, while so different, always seemed to have the situation under control. Smithers by his businesslike tenacity, and Antoine with his jocular smooth talking. And where does that leave me? Preston wondered as he reviewed the morning reports. He was sure he didn't know.

Preston had been secretly dreading the ball. Public speaking had never been one of his favorite things. Sure, the topic had been covered in excess during his academic years, but given the choice Preston preferred other people take the stage.

Rather preoccupied, Preston chewed through his morning projects. He had a meeting with a representative for their company health insurance. Open enrollment was still two quarters away, but Preston needed to negotiate rates. The prospective outlook put an increase in the expense employees would pay to keep coverage. A significant increase. Preston knew that wouldn't go over well. Even though insurance was deducted directly from the employees' paychecks, he knew no one would be happy to learn they would soon be taking home less money. There's got to be a way to keep rates reasonable, Preston thought in frustration. He drummed his fingers on the desk anxiously.

There were two issues he'd have to resolve soon: the charity ball, and health insurance. Three, technically. The spent fuel rods. He'd been dragging his feet on the last one.

Preston snagged a sheet of paper from his drawer. He wished Antoine were around. It was always easier to have someone to bounce ideas off of. After a moment, he relented, and called Sharon's work phone.

As usual, she answered by the third ring. "Sharon speaking," she announced.

"Sharon, it's Pres- Mister Tucci. When Antoine's available, send him to my office right away." Lord, he'd almost referred to himself as Preston. It was such a hard habit to break, especially with the few people he knew. Admittedly, Sharon probably didn't care whether he was "Preston" or "Mister Tucci" to her, but there was a certain level of professionalism he had to maintain.

"He and Laney are finishing up a joint project. He'll be up within a half hour."

"Thank you, Sharon," he said as regally as he could muster.

"No problem, sir."

Preston hung up. He glanced towards Rigel's office. "Miss Vought," he called.

Rigel appeared and hastily made her way to his desk. "Sir?" She pulled out her notepad and waited for instructions.

"Please make sure I have a good hour of uninterrupted time in thirty minutes. Also, please make yourself available for that time. I need to pick the brains of my two trusted advisors."

Rigel blinked twice. For her, that was an expression of extreme surprise. "Sir?" she asked. "With all due respect, sir, advise is not my role."

Preston rubbed his palms together. "If you're going to be part of my inner team, Miss Vought, you must be willing to give me your opinion when I ask for it." And if you're working for Rhonda, I need to make sure I include you so I know what you're doing, he added in his head.

Rigel blinked again. The young woman had a veritable poker face.

"Please, sit," Preston asked, gesturing to one of the guest chairs in front of his desk.

Obediently, Rigel sat, awaiting further instruction.

"When I was in your position, Rigel, my boss Thaddeus Dimas used to periodically pick my brain." It was a lie, of course. Dimas had never asked Preston what he thought about anything; but Rigel didn't have to know that. "In watching him, I learned it's wise to listen to the thoughts of those who work around me. Do you understand?"

Rigel gave a subtle nod. "Sir, you think it's important because I might catch something you'd miss."

Preston smiled. "Exactly." He leaned back and tried to appear comfortably in charge. It was hard for him to talk about Dimas, harder still in the dead man's office, sitting in a dead man's chair. Preston let his eyes go to the wave cresting in subtle rainbow shades. Evetide Breaks. He studied the still water for a moment. "Thaddeus Dimas kept the counsel of two people: myself, and Antoine Radson. I believe you've met him?"

"The pilot with the blue hair?"

Preston nodded. "Antoine served as my personal assistant briefly when I came on board as CEO. He's a man of many hats, though his ultimate skills lie in flying, maintenance, and reading people." Preston smiled at Rigel. "As such, I appreciate his input."

Now that he'd spoken well of Antoine, it was time to try flattering Rigel, and hope she believed it. Preston wasn't going to lie, she was exceedingly thorough in her job.

"You, Rigel, you have keen eye for detail. You coordinate timetables that would make would make a Swiss conductor envious. To the second, you have everything planned out. I needn't go into your clerical skills. Those are without reproach." He took a sip of his tea. "You're going to be at my side for most of your time here. One might accuse me of being foolish if I didn't ask for your input now and then."

Antoine's familiar knock came from the double doors to Preston's office. The quick rap-rap-rap from the back of his knuckles. Rather than hold his hand like a fist and use it to knock, Antoine held his hand so the back of it faced the door. He'd flick the back of his hand against the door so the knuckles struck light and fast. It made a distinctive sound. Distinctly Antoine.

"Antoine," Preston called out, "Come in."

Antoine opened the door partially and slid in, closing it softly behind him. "How'd you know it was me?" he asked, glancing over at Rigel.

Rigel's face asked the same question.

Preston smirked. "Knowing who's at my door is part of my job. Please, have a seat."

Antoine dropped into the second guest chair. Though his eyes were on Preston, occasionally he'd cast a sidelong glance at Rigel.

And here goes nothing, thought Preston. He took a breath, held it for a second, then dove in.

"I don't believe you have formally been introduced. Miss Vought, I'd like you to meet the company pilot, my pilot, Antoine Radson. Antoine, this is my executive assistant, Rigel Vought."

Rigel extended her hand. Preston noted Antoine hesitated a moment before taking it in his. They shook hands once, then returned their attention to the boss.

Preston felt like he was holding court between two rival nations. Antoine had never truly met Rigel, but Preston already knew his housemate disliked her for two reasons. Firstly, Antoine was quite convinced Rigel was a spy. Secondly, Antoine always wanted to be close to the center of Preston's attentions. He got miffed when Preston's focus wasn't on him. Not sulky, exactly, but Antoine had an oddly possessive side to him. Antoine had asked one night when they curled up together: You're mine. So that means I'm yours; right?

It had been an oddly insecure thing for Antoine to ask. Of course you're mine, qíngrén. Through the gentle haze of pre-sleep and Xanax, Preston had reached out and stroked Antoine's soft hair, twirling a strand around his fingers.

Cheen-ren, eh? Antoine had muttered, trying the word out in his mouth, getting the pronunciation mostly accurate. What is that? Japanese?

Chinese actually. Mandarin. Preston nuzzled up against Antoine's chest.

I see. Gonna tell me what that one means?

Preston shook his head into the pillow, and giggled. Nope. Not at all. But it's nice.

That's good then, Antoine replied, yawning. I like it when it's good.

Preston brought himself back from that memory. He focused on the two employees sitting before him. His employees, he reminded himself. Not Dimas', and definitely not Rhonda's. In this moment, they were both under his command, and awaiting instruction. Best not to keep them waiting.

"As I'm sure you're both aware, we have the Rotary Ball coming up in less than two weeks. This is a big event for the city, and our company especially. I'll be making a presentation and donation on behalf of the Plateau City Nuclear Generating Station."

Preston turned to his pilot and housemate. "Antoine, I know you've been to this before. You know what to expect."

Antoine nodded in agreement.

He focused his attention to Rigel. "Miss Vought, are you familiar with the event at all?"

Rigel folded her hands delicately over the notebook in her lap. "I've been following the news about it. Donating to both the local and global events. This year's theme is 'Home for the Holidays,' with donations going to support outreach programs for homeless families in Plateau City, and housing projects abroad." She glanced at the ceiling, remembering. "It's a white tie event, very posh. Significant media coverage. There's a silent auction; donations typically range from local artists' works to priceless antiques." She rolled her shoulders. "That's about all I know."

Preston smiled approvingly. "That sums it up in a nutshell. Naturally, I will be there; and therefore, both of you will be accompanying me as well."

Rigel and Antoine exchanged apprehensive looks. Preston caught it. He ignored it. Misery loves company, he knew. At least all Rigel and Antoine had to do was look good, follow him around, shake some hands. It wasn't like they had to make a speech and hand over a giant check. Preston's jaw tightened. We're all in this together, he thought firmly. Time to tell Rigel to do the jobs he used to do for Dimas. The irony was not lost on him. He'd rather do it himself; his station prohibited it.

"Miss Vought, we will be travelling together by limo, leaving from here. Please make that happen." Preston felt nervous. He knew he shouldn't, but the idea of releasing control to anyone was uncomfortable. What if she couldn't make this happen? Should he go though and create a back-up plan just in case. He took a sip of his tea and tried to look composed.

Judging by the neutral expressions on Antoine and Rigel, his illusion was working.

"Antoine," he began, "you already know all the major players. I'm not concerned about you." Preston turned his attention to Rigel. "Miss Vought, I'm going to give you a current list of who's-who so you can keep track of the names and faces. I've also made sure there are a few personal notes in there as well." Preston reached into his desk drawer and pulled out his familiar tablet. He ran a hand over the leather cover, then passed it across the desk.

"This is yours for the term of your employment with us, or until such a time as I decide otherwise. It's linked to my information. It will allow you to do your job in regards to scheduling and contacts from anywhere; and I do mean anywhere. It uses a TorusCom data link. You'll probably find it easier than a notebook, but I'm not telling you to get rid of your notepad. I do want you to start using this though. Get familiar with it."

Rigel took the tablet and set it on her lap.

Preston leaned over the desk and gestured to it. "On the homescreen is a database. It's divided into two sections: local and national. The local level, that's the who's-who of Plateau City. The national section lists the major players in atomic industry in the US, and a few other names and faces from some of the other energy groups."

Rigel opened the tablet and examined the application.

Preston snapped his finger, remembering. It was something he'd added for Dimas. "There's a third library, actually. It contains the names, faces, and contacts of various legislators that our favorable to our endeavors. You'll want to know them too."
Well, that's been easy so far, Preston mused. As long as he pretended he was in control, the illusion seemed a success. If I can't naturally be a CEO, at least I can play one on TV. He chuckled. That was an "Antoinism" right there, a pop culture reference, though he wasn't even sure from what. It really didn't matter right now. He found, strangely, he was actually enjoying this whole "being in charge" thing. The way Antoine and Rigel sat neatly, waiting for his words? Preston had to admit he liked it.

"I think that covers the ball," he concluded, resting his hands on the desk. "Any thoughts? Concerns?"

Preston's small crew looked at him, then at each other.

"No, Mister Tucci," replied Rigel thoughtfully.

Antoine merely shrugged. "I'm good."

Preston nodded approvingly. "Very well. I'll let you both get on with your days, but there is one other thing."

Both sets of eyes were riveted on him.

"Health insurance. We all need it, by law, we have to have it. Our insurer wants to raise rates for our employees. I've been kicking around a few ideas that might help lower costs. I want you to keep your eyes and ears open. See if you see areas where employee health could be improved. Like I said, I already have a few ideas of my own, but things are different at the entry and hourly levels than they are up here. You both have more interaction with the rest of the staff than I do." He folded his hands on the desk. "Whatever I decide, I want to make sure it's something applicable across the employee spectrum. So, keep that in the back of your minds."

Preston glanced from one to the other. "Do either of you have any questions about anything we've discussed?"

Rigel and Antoine shook their heads.

"Good," Preston replied with a businesslike smile. "Thank you for your time. I'm sure I've kept you both long enough." He made a dismissing gesture with a delicate hand.

Antoine and Rigel both rose in unison, much to Antoine's chagrin. He stole a mildly annoyed look at Rigel, then ambled out. Rigel had started to head back to her office, but Preston held up a finger. "Miss Vought?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I want you to use that tablet. If you need to add programs to it that will help you do so, you have permission to. Make it yours, get to know it."

"Yes, sir," Rigel replied. She paused to ask if she were excused, but Preston had already put his head down and was reading another sheet of paper. Or at least trying to give the illusion of doing so. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she returned to her office.

Only after he was completely alone did Preston allow himself a sigh of relief. Rigel hadn't let him down yet. He had no reason to believe she wouldn't be able to manage reserving a limo for them. If transportation was taken care of, and he already had a suit, all that was left was that speech.

Preston glanced at the ceiling thoughtfully. If he could fake being in control in front of two people, there was no logical reason he couldn't play-act the part in public.

I need a persona! Preston decided. Some public façade I can maintain easily at these things. He remembered how he'd acted around Smithers when the man had first come to Plateau City. He'd been intimidated by the older man's cool nature and credentials. As a defense, Preston had been downright haughty towards his guest. No, not quite that arrogant, Preston thought. That won't win me any friends. I'll ask Antoine what he thinks when I see him tonight. I'm sure he'll have some ideas.

Preston returned to his documents. This time he was able to focus.