Rigel Vought, Antoine Radson, and Preston Tucci fit themselves neatly into the modest limousine Rigel had reserved. Preston sat in the back seat; Rigel and Antoine on the bench along the side, maintaining a professional distance between them. Preston had to admit Rigel had done well with the choice, picking a vehicle based on comfort for the passengers, rather than sheer size.

It was a mistake, Preston knew, to assume that size was the most important factor. The vehicle she chose was modestly stretched: balancing the need to make a statement with the cost to the company. She'd made a remarkably savvy choice for such a young employee. Preston was impressed.

Antoine was also holding up well. Preston had been surprised to learn Antoine already owned proper attire for the evening. Admittedly he'd assumed Antoine probably rented what he needed, not viewing his friend as the sort to own a tailcoat. He'd only learned of it when he asked Antoine what he planned to wear.

The same monkey suit as every year, Antoine replied. Had to get it let out a little, he added, regarding his paunch without apology. Catching Preston's befuddled look, Antoine had paused. You don't really think I didn't own a dress suit, did you? I keep it in my tall locker, in the hanger. Keep my other suit there too. Never knew when Dimas might have something up his sleeve. Have to look the part, you know?

Preston had still been perplexed. But I've been in the hanger. You don't have anything there but a row of gear lockers.

Antoine smirked. I guess you didn't notice that back wall doesn't quite reach to the ceiling. There's a little hidden passage I put in at the end of the row. I've got my home away from home behind those lockers. TV, microwave, space heater… even a couch. He grinned at Preston. What? You can't honestly think I didn't stay at the plant some nights, right? I mean, Dimas and his odd hours. It was easier just to camp over.

Preston made a face. I guess that bothers me a little.

Why?

I don't like to think of you sleeping in a hanger.

Antoine made a face. I've slept worse places. At least that space is mine, and up till now, no one ever knew about it but me. A mildly concerned look crossed his face. You're not going to make me clear out, are you?

Preston shook his head. No, but you know you would be welcome to use the bunk room, or even my office if you needed a place to stay for some reason.

Antoine smiled, and clapped Preston on the back with a white-gloved hand. Thanks for the offer, boss. We'll see. But for now, I'm happies with my bolt hole beside my Little Diva. The helicopter. Lima Delta. Antoine always referred to the chopper as "Little Diva."

Preston had to admit as the rode, that Antoine looked sharp. He'd trimmed his beard neatly, and tied his hair back in a slick ponytail. He wore a traditional tailcoat and trousers, but there was a faint shimmery fiber woven into the black wool. It was subtle, but distinct. Not quite as lustrous as the suit Antoine had worn at a convention they'd attended in Albany, but it added a bit of flash. He wore a pair of gold cufflinks, monogramed with the initials AER. Preston realized he'd never asked about Antoine's middle name. Now, at least, he knew it started with an "E."

Rigel was perhaps the most changed of all. She wore an ankle length gown made of some deep red cloth. It was sleeveless and bare-shouldered, she wore a tailored coat in the limo. She had a modified clutch purse, a case for her tablet and phone, which coordinated perfectly with her dress. Like Antoine, she wore gloves, though hers extended up to the elbow.

Rigel's normally sharp-spiked hair had been softened, and she'd taken the liberty of having the tips frosted. If she wore makeup before, Preston had never particularly noticed. Tonight, her eyes seemed luminous beneath the smoky eyeliner she'd had professionally applied. Or maybe she did her hair and makeup herself. There was no way for Preston to professionally ask such a question.

He looked down and scanned the index cards, familiarizing himself with the speech he'd be giving. The giant check, that had already been delivered to Hillcroft House the other day. He'd pick it up backstage just before going out. The event wasn't rehearsed, but the Master of Ceremonies and the organization crew behind the scenes handled everything.

Getting on stage was the least of Preston's worries.

He'd have to survive the gauntlet of photographers along the red carpet, and extensive mingling before he made it to the stage. Then, once he got up there, as long as he didn't stumble or forget his lines it would be fine. No pressure, right? he asked himself sarcastically. He stole a quick glance at Antoine. He was glad that at least Antoine would be there. No matter what happened, or how badly he messed up, Antoine would still be in his corner.

Preston took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to put himself into character. You're a playboy, a stud. An Ivy League executive, he told himself. You are going to wow them with your sophistication and charm. He glanced at his housemate again. Be the man Antoine thinks you are, he encouraged himself. Pretend it's just you and him. You're talking to him, showing off for him. Strut your stuff.

It was easier to say than the believe. Preston cracked his knuckled nervously. Oh god, he thought as the car approached Hillcroft and slowed, I can't do this. I can't do this… I have to do this.

Their limo had drifted to a graceful stop at the foot of the walk. One of the ushers was already opening the door. Antoine gave Rigel a toothy grin. "Ladies first."

Rigel stepped out, extending her hand naturally to the concierge. He guided her to her feet. Antoine winked at Preston. "Showtime." He stepped out, and Preston could hear him remark: "I'm a natural, I'm unique, and the camera loves me!"

Antoine and Rigel already waiting, there was nothing left but for him to follow suit. Preston could barely here over the ringing in his ears. Preston climbed out gracefully, and stepped between his assistant and pilot. He took the lead, Antoine and Rigel dropping neatly into step behind him. Had he glanced back, he would've seen Antoine occasionally snapping his fingers and winking at a camera; always the ham. Rigel walked straight faced, pleasant but focused.

For Preston, it was the longest eight yards of his life, yet once he stepped inside the door and checked his overcoat at the desk, the moment seemed as if it had taken no time at all. Rigel and Antoine in tow, Preston made his way into the main gallery of Hillcroft House. He held his head high in a confident stance, and smiled. Like Antoine had said: showtime.

Rigel felt a bit overwhelmed by the event, but she couldn't let it bother her. Her first priority was to verify seating arrangements. Fortunately her fears that she'd have to juggle conflicting personalities had been unnecessary. Preston seemed genuinely liked by the few that knew him.

She watched as Preston slid gracefully through the crowd. He had long legs, it allowed him an easy stride. He had a glass of champagne in one hand, and was chatting with a member of the town council.

Rigel had done her homework, studied the names and faces. Plateau City was a far cry from her humble beginnings out near Ithaca, New York. She'd been born and raised on a hippy commune. She couldn't wait to leave. The urban life might've been different, but it suited Rigel far better. She observed her boss from afar. He moved like a dancer, pivoting gracefully though the milling throng. He seemed so demure at the office. Here she supposed he must be in his element.

She paused for a moment, to check the night's program and make sure she had everything timed properly. She needed to be sure she directed Preston to the stage no later than six forty-five. The presentations were between seven and eight o'clock. Dinner followed. It was five thirty now. There was time.

Rigel was about to make her way back to Preston's side when a hand closed gently but firmly around her elbow. She looked up in surprise. The pilot was standing at her shoulder, close enough for her to smell the slight piney scent of his cologne. He gave her a white-toothed smile that didn't meet his eyes. She couldn't help but notice the points of his eye-teeth.

"Miss Vought, Rigel," he purred with the charm of a wolf. "A moment of your time, please."

Rigel glanced nervously over towards Preston.

The pilot, Antoine, gave a slight squeeze. "Your boss will be fine without you for a few minutes. Come," he said, guiding her through the crowds to a quiet spot along the wall.

She stiffened in his grasp, but didn't resist. They passed a sharp dressed older couple. Antoine deftly positioned his body so they wouldn't see her arm in his hand. Antoine gave a cordial nod. "Doctor Belarus, Madam Belarus." They returned his greeting, and continued on their way.

Quickly, Antoine had her into a corner, pinning her arm to the wall. Rigel knew she couldn't break his grip if she wanted to. The man's hand wasn't tight, but his fingers had the locked grip of a bear trap. She felt a faint hint of panic, but decided to play it cool. He didn't smell drunk. She didn't think she was in danger.

"Miss Vought," Antoine began, his smile utterly devoid of warmth, "I thought it good we have a little minute to get to know each other. You've been here several weeks. We've barely had a second to chat. Such a pity."

A server with a tray of drinks noticed them. She came over, offering the platter. Antoine smiled, took a flute of champagne and passed it to Rigel, then he took one for himself. "Thank you." He bowed his head graciously.

Rigel set her flute the edge of a table just within reach, but didn't drink it.

Antoine shrugged, and took a quick sip of his.

"Look, let's cut to the chase." He didn't feel like wasting time. The longer they stood in the corner, the more attention they'd draw. The last thing Antoine wanted was to make a scene at Preston's debut. He relaxed his hold on her arm, but not enough to let her leave. "I know why you're here. You're Rowdy's little spy. She hired you, and I'll be she's given you pretty specific instructions to make sure that guy there," he gestured to Preston, "doesn't do a thing she wouldn't want him to; right?"

Rigel squirmed uncomfortably and looked away. It was all the affirmation Antoine needed.

"Well, Riley, you seem like a good kid. But I'm gonna warn you this and I'm only gonna say it once: don't side with Rowdy. You lump yourself with her, and you'll get caught in the crossfire. It won't be pretty. Don't volunteer as tribute for team Rhonda; you know what I'm saying?"

Rigel's dark eyes met his unflinchingly. She raised her thin eyebrows. "Mister Radson, Antoine, I'm not on anyone's side. I have a job to do, and that job is tend to the needs of that man, that executive there." She gestured to Preston who was shaking hands with some man on the other side of the room. She gave Antoine a stern look. "What is this even about, anyways?"

Antoine snorted. "As if you don't know."

She folded her free arm across her chest. "Then humor me. Pretend you're the villain, and start monologuing."

Antoine glared at her. "Don't 'Disney reference' me, Riley. I can out-quote anyone one on any movie anywhere." Antoine took her champagne off the table and passed it over. She relented, and took it. "If we sit down, will you stay put?"

"If you let go of my arm so I can sit."

Antoine growled, but did just that. He held her chair for her. Heavily, he dropped into the seat next to her. "Okay," he began, pointing a finger at her chest. "As if you don't know… which you do… we're gonna take this from the top." He folded his hands on the table in front of them, but didn't take his eyes off Rigel.

"Rhonda hates Preston. She hates him because she thinks he should never have been made CEO, even though the Board approved it. He became CEO after that incident in the news, that kidnapping one where our old boss got killed." Antoine twirled his champagne flute by the stem. That's not how it happened, he thought bitterly, watching the bubbles. That truth didn't matter. Right now, the Rhonda one did.

"So, kidnapping. Fail. We all got shot at. I took an arrow to the chest. Prep- Preston there took a bullet to the stomach. Our boss tried to stop another arrow with his heart; but the arrow won and he died. Then I was in the hospital with a blood infection for a while, and when I got out Preston there – he used to be Dimas's assistant – was running things as interim CEO. You go away for a few weeks and everything changes, eh?" He laughed hollowly.

"Anyhow, Preston decides he wants to run for CEO, and we're all like, 'why not?' because we like him and who better to run it than someone who has been living in the boss's pocket for the past two years. Right?"

Rigel nodded slowly.

Antoine took another sip of his nearly empty glass and glanced around for a refill.

"Right. Well, ol' Rowdy there. Rhonda. Ma Proton. Whatever you want to call her, she takes offense at that. See, she started with Dimas from the very beginning, and honestly she's a damn fine vice-prez. I mean, if that place was to grow itself a human representation, she'd be it. She even looks like concrete too, when you come right down to it. You know, grey and square-ish."

Rigel shrugged her bare shoulders.

Antoine continued unhindered. "And I suppose this is kinda where I messed up. See, I was acting as Preston's personal assistant for a while. Doing your job because someone had to, and he couldn't do everything himself. I was the one who suggested he talk to Rowdy, get some ideas how to be a fantastic administrator. I didn't realize she already didn't like him. When he went to her, I guess she gave him some advice and all, but she also decided that was proof enough he couldn't do his job. So… now she wants him gone."

The flute was empty. Antoine sighed and pushed it away.

"That's where you come in. I've been around the block a few times. I may not be book smart, but I know how people can act. It seems to me an astronomical coincidence that shortly after Preston asks Rowdy for guidance, and puts in a request for a personal assistant, Rowdy magically pulls you out of a hat without running it by him first. So you're here as a spy, and your mission is to feed evidence back to Rhonda so she can sink my boss."

All the while he'd talked, Rigel had sat straight and proper, arms folded neatly at her sides. She waited a beat to see if Antoine was finished. When he didn't speak again, she interjected. "Well, Mister Radson, I can definitely understand how you see it that way. And maybe, quite honestly you're right-"

Antoine puffed out his chest…

"-About Rhonda," the young woman finished. She took a sip of her champagne, then poured the remainder into Antoine's glass. "But you're not right about me." She made a move to stand. "Mister Radson, I don't give a damn about the little power struggled and politics at your nuclear plant. If I'd wanted to play that game, I'd be a campaign manager."

He started to speak, but she held up a hand. "You had your time to talk, now it's my turn." She gestured out towards Preston. "My career is contingent upon his success. Do you think I'd honestly be stupid enough to sabotage myself? If he goes down, I go down too. What sort of future do you think that sets me up for? Do you honestly think, when the plant got a new CEO that they'd keep me? There's a high turnover in this field. I'd be rolled right out the door with him."

Antoine's lips drew back. He actually hadn't looked at it that way. He had to admit Rigel was accurate though. In the ten years that he'd worked at the nuclear plant, he'd seen Dimas go through at least four assistants; five if one counted Preston.

"Your so called 'Rowdy' would thank me for an excellent service to the company, then offer to write me a sterling recommendation for my next job. Good bye, so long, good luck. So yes, Antoine, I get it your suspicions, but don't worry: I'm not playing your game. Understood?"

Antoine held up his hands. "Fair enough. I'm not going to apologize, if that's what you're looking for because I'll still be watching you… but as long as you're on Preston's side, I guess this is a truce." He finished the champagne she'd given him and offered his hand.

"I'm not on any side. A truce, or just a cease fire. Either way, I'll take it." She grasped his outstretched hand, and Antoine was surprised by how firm her grip was.

"So," Antoine said, sliding her chair out for her. "Wanna go see what our boy's gotten into now?"

Rigel couldn't give a small chuckle at Antoine's words. "It's what we're paid for." She accepted his arm up. "Oh, and by the way, I wanted to say thank you."

"For what?"

"For calling me 'Riley.'"

Antoine was taken back. "Really?" He tilted his head. "Rigel's an awesome name."

Rigel laughed. "Yeah, no. Not when you have to live with it."

He walked slowly next to her, the crowds parting around them. "Sounds like there's a story there," he observed.

"There is, but it's definitely not one for tonight."