Preamble Binds

by JazzyGirlFriday

After five years Jo Polniaczek returns to New York City and Blair Warner suddenly finds herself in a newly appointed corporate position. Relationships change over time...so do hearts. Jo and Blair are suddenly thrust into a tumultuous journey in learning about what they want in life and love.

11. Chapter 11

Thanks to Z for hanging in with me again!

---

"Thanks."

Jo picked up the long necked bottle then tipped it back and winced as the smooth liquid slid down her throat. It was beer number three, and she sat face forward on the bar stool in the dimly lit place that was located in an inconspicuous alley. Angelo's had gone from being a pizzeria to being what it was now: a dive bar. Still, Stefano, the owner, held on to various pieces of the buildings history, including the pinball and Pac-Man machines.

A figure slid onto the stool beside her. Jo barely glanced at the patron before letting out a sigh as the bartender addressed him.

"How many?"

"Two. One coffee, one beer."

Jo took another swig, not exactly acknowledging Eric as he adjusted to the barstool. "What are you doing here?"

"Making sure you're alright." He tapped on the bar top.

"Course I'm alright. I'm a trained agent of the United States," Jo said under her breath. She watched as a cup of coffee and a bottle of beer was placed on the counter.

"Thanks… drink up," Eric slid the coffee cup over to her.

"Not my speed tonight."

Eric raised a brow at that, taking a sip from his beer.

Jo set her bottle down. "I didn't ask for a back-up."

"C'mon," Eric looked at her.

"I'm fine," Jo said firmly, taking a sip.

"No you're not."

She slowly turned her head to face him, "I have to be."

Eric sensed a harshness in her attitude. He eyed her. "You need sleep."

Another sip. "Yep."

"Jo."

Jo twisted in her seat. Her eyes were bloodshot. "I don't know anything, anymore, ya' know that?!"

Eric gauged her for a few beats, then nodded, choosing to stay quiet on this one. He dropped his gaze from hers, going back to nursing his beer.

"Agent handbook procedure fifty-four. If the case involves too many unknowns: step back, retrace, solve all unknowns before… lifting off…" Jo swirled her bottle in the air, "something…"

They were quiet for a bit, the sounds of the bar playing out. A low toned blues song played in the background. Eric looked around. The place was, maybe, half full. There was a pool table off to the side, and a little area where a few people were dancing to the music.

He turned his attention back to Jo, who held on to her bottle as she stared forward. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Eric saw her hand tighten around the bottle. "You barely drink socially, Agent," he observed.

Jo sucked in her cheeks at that.

Maybe an occasional glass of wine was usually Jo's style. Eric would've pegged her for a beer drinker when they'd first met. He was quite amused to know of her low threshold for alcohol, hence when they'd all go out for a drink after work, it was Jo that would get one bottle and work on about half of it before leaving.

"I want off the case," Jo's voice was gruff.

"I don't think this is the right time for you to make that decision." Eric saw her roll her eyes at his assessment. "You're drunk, Jo."

"Good," Jo slapped the top of the bar, "best decisions are made while drunk."

Eric watched as Jo downed the last drops of her beer. She turned to face him.

"Fire me."

"No."

Jo nodded, "Kay, then I'll fire myself," she lifted her bottle. "You're fired!"

"Jo, c'mon."

"No. I'm good, really," she toasted him, winking, "you can go." She put the bottle to her lips realizing it was empty, then loudly put it down on the bar top. "I'll stay here."

Eric watched her for a moment. She looked weary. Jo sighed deeply before closing her eyes and putting her elbows on the bar. She threaded both hands through her hair, and left them there, staring at the top of the bar; then scrubbed her face with her palms.

"She's almost twenty-eight."

Eric turned his head. Finally. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yep," Jo sighed, "four months older than me."

Eric lifted the bottle to his lips, "didn't know that." Of course he knew that, he'd read her file. A smirk.

"Yep. Lotta' people think I'm older," Jo picked at the label on her bottle. "She hates getting older. Hate's it. Call's thirty a death witch… witch…"

Wish. Eric cracked a side smile. "It's not so bad." He smiled to himself, quite aware of his own thirty-four years.

"You would put a tail on me."

Eric looked up into glaring green eyes. "It's important for me to know where you are at all times," he explained.

"Why'd you follow me?"

It was the opening he had been waiting for. "Because I'm giving you 24 hours to get yourself together, and it starts now." He looked directly at Jo, his voice low. "I thought I'd tell you in person."

Jo stared for a long moment. "I just needed a break," she said resolutely.

Eric hummed; considering her explanation. He placed his elbow on the bar and leaned closer. "You're running," he saw the sharp cut of eyes, "You're running; that's what you do when you're scared."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Jo growled.

"I know exactly what I'm talking about," he paused. "This case is just like any other, Agent," he moved close to her ear. "Get your heart out of it!"

"What makes you think my hearts in it?" Jo turned. "Huh?" she hiked an angry brow.

Eric leaned back, shaking his head. "You're clueless."

Jo curled her lip at that. "I'm glad you feel that way, not that I asked you for—"

"Look, none of us thought this was going to be easy!" Eric's voice was harsh; he looked around the bar, lowering his voice. He noted Jo's subtle reaction to his words. "It's what we swore to; and fucking hell, it's a lonely life agent Polniaczek!" he took in a breath, "but it's what we do."

It hit in the gut, and Jo swallowed hard at the truthfulness of it. They both took a moment; grasping the reality of their own situations… the lives they led.

Eric glanced at his bar mate. "C'mon. You gotta' report to Warner in the morning," he reached for his wallet.

"I'm working from the office this week."

"You sure you want to do that?" Eric pulled out his credit card, putting it on the bar top. "I've got this, on me."

Jo nodded her thanks. "Yeah," she said softly. "I think its best."

Eric paused. "Your client just made it clear she's scared and feels unprotected, Agent."

They both held their silence as the bartender took Eric's card, then moved across the bar to cash them out.

"I'm aware of that," Jo purposefully avoided his eyes.

Eric craned his neck toward Jo. "Are you?" he faced her fully. "Because it seems to me you still have a few things to work out, and like I told you, you have 24," he looked down at his watch, "scratch that - 23 hours 53 minutes and fifteen seconds to get your act together."

Jo's lip twitched, "What do you want me to do!?"

"Face what's bothering you. Admit it, deal with it, then move on and do your job!"

Jo swallowed then looked down. "There is nothing to admit."

Eric huffed a disbelieving laugh. "Oh really? That's why I'm sitting here in a bar in the Bronx with you babysitting at almost midnight!"

"You can leave anytime," Jo responded mildly.

It was the dismissive nature of her manner that truly irked Eric… the downright disregard. He knew better… knew her better than she probably did at that moment. She was scared, but he didn't have time for a scared agent to get her shit together. She was trained for this, and it was time to be frank, blunt.

… honest.

"You want her."

He saw the back stiffen, it was subtle but marked by rapid blinking and he guessed a lot of restraint. He continued. "You want her and it scares you to death."

A sharp breath. "You're nuts."

"I'm trained in psychological profiling, and I'm spot on." He noticed she wasn't meeting his eyes this time. "I've been doing this for over ten years, Jo. I've had to pull agents off cases for far more than this."

There was a long moment of silence. "Talk to me."

A shrug. "Nothing to talk about," Jo was adamant.

A faint determined expression graced Eric's face. "We're going to talk this out if it takes the next 23 hours to do it." That was met with more silence. "Alright, I'll start. Ever since you became an agent under my supervision, I've listened to you go on and on about her."

Jo started to move off of the barstool. "I don't need this."

Eric stopped her, grabbing her arm. "Yes you do, and you're going to hear it!"

Green eyes bored into his. Jo scowled but propped herself back on the stool.

Eric cleared his throat, "I've seen you try and get over her."

"If you're talking about Terry…"

"I'm talking about the fact that you find a way to work her name into our conversations. After work, at the gym, the bar."

Jo blinked at that.

"It was safe. You felt safe to talk about how much she got on your nerves or how wrong she was about something. You had her all made up in your mind: the rich, socialite, man chaser."

Jo let out a held breath. "That's what she is."

"Is she?" Eric questioned, "It's safe to think she is. Or was," he added, "now you feel completely confused because what? You find out she has a girlfriend?"

Jo interlaced her fingers, staring at them, "It's not, she's—"

"Amanda is her girlfriend."

It needed to be said, to soak in and Jo shook her head at the thought. "They're j-just, th-they…"

"Blair's gay."

"S-she's… she's…" A deep breath as green eyes slowly tracked to Eric. She looked bewildered.

Eric sympathized a bit. "She is. And that scares you."

Jo shook her head defiantly.

"That's why you ran, because now, you have to face facts… about yourself and about her," he pressed. "It was safe when you thought she was straight. It was easier for you to ignore any signs she gave you. Dismiss them as being all in your head."

"She lied to me! Okay? SHE LIED!"

Okay, that was a better reaction. Eric slowly acknowledged her declaration. "Yeah, yeah she did."

"I can't forgive that!"

Jo clamped down on the swirl of tumultuous feelings that suddenly ran through her. They had been building since she'd been back in the city… since she'd been thrown out of The Warner building… since she'd laid eyes on Blair Warner after not hearing from her for almost a year of trying.

"Why?" Eric felt he had the right to ask. It was a side of Jo she'd kept to herself, well guarded, and tightly controlled. "Why not forgive her, Jo? You wanted her to accept you, and she has."

"Natalie told me she was mad at me for coming out," Jo said. "She wouldn't talk to me!"

Ah, now we're getting somewhere. "Did you ever really find out why, Jo?" he lifted an inquisitive brow. "When you came out to your friends in California, how did she react?"

Jo thought for a second. "I was with Terry and she…." Her thoughts went back to the moments before Blair abruptly left the table, visibly upset.

"Did she seem jealous?"

It was a fair question. Jo shook her head. "N-no… she... w-we… she always has something negative to say about any of my friends."

Typical Jo type explanation. Deflect to self protection. "Could it be possible, you've been missing cues, Jo?" Eric asked.

"I—"

"She's been giving you hints all along," Eric stated. "I've had to be present for a few of them." He sounded a little annoyed.

Jo looked at him. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you're a fucking idiot," Eric said pointedly, noting the glower from his top agent.

He grabbed his credit card as the bartender returned it to him with a receipt. Leaning toward Jo, he made sure he could be heard loud and clear.

"Listen, Jo, I want you to own this then move on. That's what you have to do, but I'll be damned if I'm going to watch you feel sorry for yourself because you can't face the fact that the woman you want just might want you back, and you don't know how to handle it."

"She doesn't feel that way about me."

Eric sat back at that. "Are you kidding me? She can't breathe without you." He held an incredulous look on his face. "This whole time you thought it was one sided, didn't you?" He could see the wheels turning now. Jo was contemplative. "Safe. More comfortable to pine for her from afar," he supplied.

"I don't pine for anybody," Jo said hastily, under her breath.

Eric took in a breath, rubbing his jaw. He decided to ignore that… all of it. "I was there, right after you graduated from college. Remember, when I first met your friends at the house in Peekskill?"

"That was five years ago."

A nod. "A lot has happened since then, Jo. Somewhere during that time and now, Blair came to grips with her sexuality." Eric noticed Jo work her mouth to say something, then decide against it.

"She's always chased men, I don't…"

Eric gazed soberly at her. "Jo. Listen. I don't claim to be an expert on women, but sometimes a person realizes things when something in their life changes," he paused. "All I'm saying is maybe, maybe when you left Peekskill, she realized something." Eric noticed green eyes staring at him. "That she missed you, is a big part of it," he concluded.

"Tootie and Natalie missed me."

Eric blew out a frustrated breath, shaking his head. Jo had always had problems facing personal matters head on. It wasn't a flaw to say the least, but more so a weakness.

"She wanted me to do this!" Jo said loudly.

"Wanted you to do what?" Eric asked.

"Get a job! Get a life! She pushed me to get on with my life, without her!"

"Jo." Eric shook his head.

"She told me she'd always pictured me in a job with a company. She wanted that!" Jo hammered her finger on the bar top for effect.

Eric crossed his arms over his chest. "And you gave it to her."

"Yes!" Jo caught herself, hearing her reaction, then closed her eyes, realizing… "Yes..." She shifted in her seat.

A moment passed between them, then. "I was going to be a teacher. She convinced me it would be a dead-end job. That it would be a waste of my talent."

"And you wanted to please her."

"No!" Jo's eye's snapped to Eric's. He gave nothing away. His stare was steady. He could see through the façade, and she looked down in discomfort, "No…"

"Yeah," Eric watched her. "So you took the job with JTI."

"I—"

"Yeah." Eric, gave her a knowing look, then got up from the barstool. "Alright, look, we've been at this enough. You have some decisions to make, Agent."

Jo followed suit and they headed for the door. "Know this agent. You get your head on, get over to Warner in the morning and do your job."

They stepped out into the night air, it was cool and the traffic noises were loud as cars whisked by.

Jo held her hand up to hail a green taxi that was driving close by. "I'm taking the day off from there." She saw her superior shake his head in disappointment. "I just need one day." Eric remained quiet, not saying anything. "I need it," Jo stated. "I'll explain it to her… so she won't worry," she finished.

A slow nod, then, "Good. And remember, she can't know what you know about her." Eric supplied.

"I know."

The car finally pulled up to the curb and Jo opened the door, then turned, facing Eric. "How do you do it?"

Eric pushed his hands into his pockets. "Do what?"

"Not get involved, not get…." Jo gestured, leaning on the car door a bit.

"I don't." Eric said, "I just... I have me to rely on. That's all I need."

Jo bobbed her head a little at that. She glanced around the street they were on. The streetlights, those that weren't broken, illuminated the corner pub in a beige light. The building was between a Laundromat and a liquor store; and she noted the surrounding buildings were run down, unlike the skyscrapers of Manhattan. "What if you need… more?" she asked, not looking at Eric.

There was a pause, then an intake of breath. "You don't. You just… don't." Eric said. "You pick your poison, Agent, because you can't have a civilian life and be an agent, you can't have both. It was hard enough for you and Terry as agents, and look what happened."

True. Pick your life. It went straight to the heart. Jo caught the pained expression on Eric's face before he quickly covered it. He was right. Terry got sent away on assignment and Jo broke it off… both agreeing to just be friends.

He moved closer to her. "You're an agent, a sworn agent. That's what you are. That's what you chose. That's what we all chose," he said sternly, "not her."

The cab horn honked knocking both of them back into the reality of the moment.

"Going back to your apartment?" Eric asked as Jo got into the car, and put the window down.

"Nope." She saw his face change to a concerned look, "got something I gotta' do," she paused, "alone."

Jo tapped on the partition as the car was jerked into drive. She gave Eric a small smile as the window was drawn back up.

Eric watched as the car got tangled into traffic and moved far away. He took in a deep breath, then hailed his own car; watching as it pulled up to the curb.

Good luck my friend.

---

"Nat." Tootie tapped on the bathroom door. There was no answer. "Natalie Green!"

"What?!" The muffled voice asked from the other side.

"I need to get in there, would you hurry up?"

There was an 8am curtain call. All front-runners and their understudies were to report for a run through. Tootie was nervous, and she'd been on edge about opening night for the entire week.

The bathroom door finally opened, revealing the robe-clad reporter. Tootie scowled at her as she made her way into the front room. "I told you we should've picked the apartment with two bathrooms," she stated.

"It was five hundred dollars more, remember?" Natalie answered from across the room.

"What were you doing in there all this time anyway?" Tootie said around the toothbrush in her mouth. She had left the door open.

There was a long span of silence, and Tootie spit then wiped her mouth, leaning out of the bathroom she spied her friend sitting on the couch, deeply engrossed in her pad.

Tootie put a hand on her hip. "Natalie," no reply. "Nat?"

"What?!"

Tootie moved closer. She stopped in front of Natalie. "Something's bothering you."

Natalie kept her head down. "I just have a lot of work to do." She typed in a few characters.

Okay. Tootie squinted at that. "There's oatmeal on the stove."

"Again?" Natalie paused her typing.

Tootie moved to grab her purse. "It's my turn to cook breakfast and I chose oatmeal." She checked her bag for her shades and key's then made her way to the door.

"Tootie?"

Tootie stopped then turned. "Yes?"

"Nothing." Natalie put her head down, going back to typing.

Tootie's brow creased with concern. "Okay, now you're worrying me, what is it Natalie?"

She walked back over to the couch and set her purse down on a side table.

"I just… really dread going into work today."

Tootie observed her. "Harris?"

"Harris, my job…" Blair's expose.

Natalie looked tired; like she hadn't slept all night. She had come in late the night before, waking Tootie who had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for her. She had been watching a few tutorial films for tips on method acting.

Tootie put a hand on her shoulder. "I know what you mean. I'm having disputes about how to play a few of the scenes I'm in. There's a lot of head-bumping," she smiled.

Natalie patted her hand, giving her a half smile. "Somehow I don't think that's quite what I'm getting at, Tootie."

"Well then tell me what's really bothering you," Tootie inquired. She carefully sat down on the arm of the couch.

Natalie sighed. May as well. She had tried to call and text Jo all night, after stopping by a late night diner for a cup of coffee to calm her nerves. Apparently Jo's phone was off. She doesn't want to talk about it. Understandable. She knew Jo was all right… somewhere. Usually that's how she handled things… by going into hiding for a while. She looked at Tootie who was waiting for an explanation.

"You ever feel like you know someone, then you find out something about them and realize you really didn't know them at all?"

Tootie took a moment to think about that. "Yes, that's happened to me." She gave Natalie a contemplative look, aware of her friend's hesitant behavior. "You want to give me more to go on here, Nat?"

Natalie fiddled with the sash of her robe, then sighed. "I don't know how to say this Tootie, but I'm tired of keeping it to myself."

Tootie simply raised her eyebrows and shrugged. "It's okay, Natalie," she moved to stand up.

"No, no, you should know," Natalie said adamantly.

Tootie slowly sat back down and waited. She felt like something detrimental was about to tumble out of the reporter's mouth. Interesting. Okay. "Is this someone a person we both know?" She felt a hunch coming on.

Natalie answered with a head nod of confirmation, complete with rounded blue eyes.

"Who?"

"I—"

"It's Blair isn't it?" Tootie wore the most noncommittal expression; it almost made Natalie gape with awe.

"How do you do that?"

Tootie snorted softly. "I can't reveal all of my secrets Nat," she said a little slyly, then thought, "does this have something to do with the exposé?"

Natalie paused. Why lie about it now? "Kind of."

That was met with a disbelieving look from the stage actress. Natalie sulked at her expression. "Not really," she admitted.

"Something you've uncovered?" Tootie knew she was digging now, "something personal?" Tootie saw Natalie nod, then put her head down with her eyes closed.

"Oh, then it must be that Blair's gay." Tootie stood up and grabbed her purse, checking her phone for the time.

Natalie's head snapped up, giving her exasperating friend a glare, "Tootie!"

Tootie scoffed at that. "Don't give me that face."

Natalie stood up, her arms failing. "You knew?!"

A small, smug grin. "She told me about a month ago," Tootie replied.

"And you didn't tell me?!" Natalie accused.

"I guess I am quite the actress after all, aren't I?" Tootie 'pretend fluffed' her hair, giving Natalie a leering smile. She halted. "Oh, and you don't give me—"

"Enough credit, I know, Tootie." An eye roll. "She told me during the interview for the expose but didn't go into any detail," Natalie quickly stated.

She was careful not to give anything away. The last thing she needed was Tootie asking more questions. "We kept things cordial. Basic. Safe." In other words, I want to know what you know Tootie. She hinted at the actress, who was looking at her innocently.

Natalie waited a few moments, then stared at Tootie, giving her a 'spill it' look. Natalie crossed her arms; her foot tapping.

Tootie gave her a 'not amused' expression in return. Oh, alright. "She didn't want anyone to know." She sat her purse down on the coffee table. "She'd just separated from Cliff and she didn't want to explain all of that. Then she told me a few personal things and maybe, after about an hour or so later of crying, wailing and shouting, we devised a plan."

Natalie stared, unblinking. "You wouldn't happen have Blair's actual life confused with a recent script you've read, do you, Tootie?"

Tootie smirked, "Nonsense. Seriously, she came to me because she felt she could trust me."

"She can trust me!" Natalie felt a little stung by that.

"You're a reporter, Natalie." Tootie pointed out.

Oh, yeah, that. "Well… I can see the hesitance…" Natalie smiled guiltily.

"I work in the theater. I'm used to a diverse group of people, so Blair felt it was safe to talk to me." She held up a hand at Natalie's intake of breath – she sensed a question she didn't want to answer was about to be asked. "If you want the full story about Blair's love life, talk to Blair about it."

Natalie cocked her head. "Tootie, you realize this is something that cannot get out. That Blair's gay." How weird does that sound? Blair Warner is a lesbian.

"Nat?"

"What?"

"You're the reporter. I'm just an actress. Tell me, which one of us would fit the description of getting information out to the public that would be detrimental to Blair?"

"I get it. She's our friend, and I totally support her," Natalie said.

Tootie picked up her purse again, moving toward the door. "You'll have to write around this."

"I know." Natalie ran a hand through her hair, her finger catching on a pencil she'd apparently left in there at some point last night. She plucked it out, throwing it on the couch. "To be honest, I'm actually still in shock."

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this. I just wanted to honor Blair's wishes. It's a very delicate subject for her right now."

"I understand." Natalie waved a hand. "Just one thing though, Toot." That was met with a questioning brow raise. "How'd you find out?"

Tootie pursed her lips then decidedly walked to the center of the room. "She needed a beard."

Natalie gave her a deadpanned face. "That doesn't sound like Blair, a beard? Is she changing sexes now?"

Tootie laughed, "No, a beard… a date. Someone to make her look, like… she's dating, again – heterosexually."

"Oh." Natalie filed that bit of information away. "Who?"

"John." Tootie checked her phone, noticing a new text message.

"Who's John?"

"A fellow actor." Tootie typed in a response.

There was a bit of silence then. "Tootie don't make me drag it out of you."

"He's Paul's fiancé."

"And?"

"They agreed to let Paul be the beard, since John was all tied up with our production," she glanced at her phone again. "I'm late."

"Hold up Tootie. Why Paul and not the actor?"

Tootie opened the door. "Because John is well known, and he and Paul have decided to keep their relationship quiet. No one really knows Paul. Besides, Paul was in the army so his records have been sealed, so no one would suspect him of being gay."

"It's 2017, who would care?" Natalie pointed out.

Tootie nodded, "It was a mutual decision."

"And they're getting married," Natalie reiterated.

"I know. So does Blair," Tootie checked the time again. "He was all I could come up with on such short notice."

Natalie accepted that. "So what now?"

"I'm going to head over to talk to Blair when I get a break."

Natalie bit the inside of her lip in thought. "You're going to tell her I told you, aren't you?"

"Probably." She looked at her friend's forlorn face. "I'll make it easy on you and tell her I told you awhile ago, and you kept quiet."

"Yeah, you did tell me. Good idea." Natalie was well aware Tootie was still unaware of the circumstances of how she'd actually found out about Blair's sexuality. For all she knew, Blair told her for the expose – in confidence, of course.

She watched as Tootie left the apartment, then went back to figuring out how to write an intriguing piece on Blair Warner: heiress to greatness.

---

"Oh God, Ma, why?"

The plastic blinds had been peeled back briskly, letting in the bright light of the new morning. A tray with a cup of coffee and a steaming pot was placed on the coffee table… right in front of the blob on the sofa.

"Sweetheart, I made coffee."

A blanket was peeled back as a green eye squinted then rolled around to view the woman standing by the couch.

Rose Polniaczek was dressed for work: dark dress pants, a white buttoned down cotton shirt and a blazer with the company logo on it. It was her second month on the job as a manager at the midsize diner chain located in midtown Manhattan. Jo was proud of her. She'd been thrilled her mother wanted to finally complete her college degree in business and even sent money to help her get through.

It was the least she could do to help pay her back for working herself to the bone in order to give her the finest education.

She sat up, pushing the rest of the blanket from her still fully clothed form. She grabbed the cup, bringing it to her lips before blowing on it and taking a sip. "Thanks."

Rose smiled. "Better?"

"A little." Jo scowled at the piece of toast her mother placed in front of her. "I can't eat anything right now, Ma."

Rose watched as her daughter struggled to get up from the couch then stretch, in order to fully waken herself. She checked her phone, noticing she had a half hour to get to work. "Jo, what happened last night?"

Jo took another sip of coffee. "I don't…" she set the cup down on the table, "a lot."

"I can see that," Rose touched her arm. "You can talk to me, you know," she said carefully.

Jo glanced at her skeptically. "Can I?"

"Of course," Rose said, a bit uneasily.

Jo faced her. "I need to know something."

Rose laced her hands together. She knew where this was leading. "Okay."

"Do you see me, Ma?"

"Sweetheart—"

"Really see me!" Jo had moved closer, trying the gauge the myriad of emotions she could see darting across her mother's face.

Rose looked up into her daughter's eyes. They were unsure, skeptical… sad. "Of course I do," she said gently.

It had been a touchy subject at first. Jo had little trouble with her father the moment she'd told him about her sexuality. He'd been understanding, thoughtful, and it calmed her. Her mother had struggled at first. She had prayed the rosary, gone to confession, and over the past few months, had accepted that she should at least try to understand. It was an ongoing process for her.

"Do you accept me?"

Rose dreaded the question; but she didn't shy away from it. "I-I've been working on that," she paused. "Jo, is that why you showed up here drunk?"

"No... maybe… I don't know anymore," Jo ran her fingertips through disheveled hair.

"Know this," Rose squared her shoulders. "I love you. You are my daughter."

Jo took a breath. "Be honest with me, Ma,'" she said, doubtfully.

Rose sighed. She took a seat on the couch. "Alright. Honestly, I didn't understand your sudden… change."

Jo sat down beside her, listening. She noticed her mother wringing her hands together, something she always did when she was anxious.

"I've been reading and trying to understand, but it's a process for me," she faced Jo. "Please understand."

Jo grinned a bit at that. She's been reading. That's a good start. "I'm glad, you were reading about…" she gestured, indicating, "the gay stuff," she said.

"Yes. And the one thing I know for sure is you're still my daughter, and I love you very much," Rose repeated.

A moment passed between them. Jo felt like a breakthrough had been established, an understanding between the two of them. "You're trying to understand my sexuality," she said, hopeful.

"Yes, well… give me time," Rose gave her a smile. "Okay?"

"Okay," Jo smiled back. Breakthrough, indeed.

"Now, you need to tell me what's going on," Rose watched as Jo suddenly stood and made her way to the kitchen.

"I just… had a bad night is all."

"Had a bad night? Jo, you barely drink socially," Rose had followed her into the kitchen.

"It's something I can't talk about right now, you'll have to trust me," Jo opened the refrigerator door.

Rose crossed her arms over her chest and studied her daughter as she picked an apple out of the bin, only to make a face and put it back. "Does this have anything to do with the fact that you're now working with Blair?"

Jo swung around, rather surprised. "How'd you—?"

"Your father. Ran into him at the diner. He came in for lunch last week," Rose stifled a giggle at the aggravated look on Jo's face.

Jo twisted her lips a bit. Never said a word. "I'm working on a project with JTI with their outreach program over there," she got out.

"Seeing her every day," Rose observed quite furtively.

Jo hiked a brow at that. "Yeah. Well, we have to," a shrug.

"I see."

Jo didn't like the sound of that… the incredulous tone Rose had always displayed when she wasn't quite so convinced.

"It's mandatory for the project, Ma."

Rose held up a hand. "I never said it wasn't."

Jo watched her. She's thinking something. "What, Ma?"

Rose thought of the best way to say it. "I'm just surprised you two haven't killed each other by now." She saw the eye roll as Jo moved back into the living room. "I figured that's what would've driven you to drink."

Rose slowly walked closer to Jo. She waited. Knowing her daughter, first, there'd be a moment of denial…

"No, that's not it, Ma."

Then a period of realization…

"She's the most frustrating woman I've ever had to work with."

And lastly, an emotional plea for help…

"God, I don't want to go into work this week, anything… Ma' back me up, say I'm sick or something."

Rose shook her head negatively. She sensed the severity of Jo's situation was more than she'd be willing to deal with at the moment. Truth be told, she was waiting for this day to come. She didn't really know how she would handle it… not sure who would be on the receiving end of it, but not exactly surprised nonetheless.

"Sweetheart."

Jo's shoulders slumped as she sat on the couch. "Yeah?" She felt the couch sink as her mother sat next to her, putting an arm around her. She took in a breath then blew it out.

"I don't know what you've been through. What you've faced; and I don't fully understand the path you're on now, but one thing I do know is you. My daughter. And right now? In this moment of your life, I feel the need more strongly than ever to tell you…"

Jo heard the slight crack in her voice. Her mother had always given her the best insight of her intuition. It grounded her, made her feel whole. She looked into soft green eyes. "What, Ma?"

Rose squeezed Jo's shoulders then softly moved the bangs from her face; smiling. "Follow your heart."

---

The Century Building, downtown Manhattan, and home of The Café: a favorite breakfast spot for the Warner family. It was right across the street from Warner headquarters, so quite convenient as well.

Blair checked her watch as she entered the wide-open and airy atrium. She rounded the corner toward the eating area. The porcelain floors echoed her fast footsteps as she spied her father sitting at his usual table; his face hidden behind the morning Times.

David bit into a piece of toast, hearing his daughter pull up a chair. "You're late," he said without looking up from his paper.

"I had something I needed to do," Blair glanced at the menu out of sheer habit, then put it down.

David looked up, "I already ordered for you. Your regular right?"

"Fine," Blair sighed, then thought better of it. "I could just take a coffee."

David heard the nervous tenor in her voice. "What's the matter?"

"Have you heard from Jo?"

"Jo? No, why?" David took a sip of orange juice, fluffing out his paper.

"I haven't either. Neither has anyone I've talked to… Tootie, Natalie."

"I'm sure there's a good explanation," David went back to reading.

Blair glared at the back of his Times, noting his offhanded dismissal. "She left the office yesterday, I texted her to see if she made it home," she said.

"Did she?"

"She never texted me back," Blair announced. "Security hasn't reported anything suspicious, so I assume she's alright," Blair admitted. Her father hadn't said a word to that. She frowned. "Daddy?"

"Maybe her phone's off," David said.

"She wouldn't do that, deliberately have me worry. No, something's not right," Blair glanced at her watch. "God, I have a meeting."

"What about breakfast?" David looked from around the paper, finally folding it and putting it on the table.

Blair got up from her seat, pushing it back under the table. "I'm just going to grab some coffee."

David sat back, watching the nervous fiddling she always did with the strap of her briefcase, as she threw it on her shoulder. She started to move toward the coffee bar on her way out of the building. "Blair?" David called after her.

Blair turned around. "Yes?"

"She's fine."

It was a stern look. The familiar expression David always gave Blair when he was quite sure of himself. Only this time she didn't want to be comforted by his word. She wanted proof of Jo's whereabouts. She nodded to him; accepting his reassurance, for now. She made her way to the coffee bar, the attending barista having already made a cup for her – hot and ready to go. She thanked him, tipped him, then diligently made her way out of the building and toward Warner Textiles headquarters.

---

"Can I come in?" Eric had cracked the door of the small office open a little.

Jo was busy reading a report on her monitor, and didn't bother looking up. "Couldn't stop you if I tried."

Eric took a seat on the edge of her desk, crossing his arms over his chest. "How'd it go last night?"

"It went."

A nod, then a quiet observation. "You look like hell."

That got a small smile. "Thanks," Jo opened a new screen.

"You're welcome." Eric took in the small space Jo called her home away from home. Her office. She'd been in the room for all of two weeks, yet had managed to incorporate a few personal accessories to decorate the space: a signed baseball from Derek Jeter sat on her desk, a couple of Yankees poster's, and a motor bike calendar where on the wall behind her. "In house work day?"

"Working on some personal items."

"What about the capstone over at Warner?" Eric asked.

Jo looked up at him. "I'm taking an office day, I told you."

Eric agreed. "Did you inform Ms. Warner?" he asked.

"Not yet."

C'mon Jo, pull yourself together. "Jo." That was met with silence. "Are you handling this?" Eric asked.

Jo's fingers paused over the keyboard, "I'm…" she sighed inwardly, "handling it. I'm taking my time. In the meantime, I'm going to finish this case."

Eric stood. "This case ends for us when we are no longer necessary, Agent," he looked at her.

"I know that," Jo said a little annoyed. She went back to reading. "I've put in for another assignment." She glanced up and saw the surprised widening of her superior's eyes. "Effective immediately," she added quickly; then. "Overseas."

It was said so quietly, Eric had almost asked her to repeat it. Overseas? Oh, Jo… distance doesn't cure all things, my friend. Time does. He waited for her to finish.

"I need this," she finally breathed. It was hard to concentrate now and Jo stared at the computer screen then leaned back in her chair. A slightly desolate look graced her features.

Eric moved to the door, then glanced at the agent before exiting. "Okay."

---

"So how do you suggest we go about creating events for revenue recognition?"

Emily glanced up at Blair after not getting an answer for several moments. They had been preparing their presentation to the board for the Asian Division. "Blair?"

Blair's head snapped up. "Yes?" She had been absentmindedly moving through the contents of the report; slumped in her office chair, with a fist propped under her chin.

"Do we need to take a break?" Emily had been trying to communicate with the distracted woman for the past hour. She closed her pad.

Blair sat up a little. "I'm sorry, absolutely not," Blair clicked on a screen. "Where were we?"

Emily watched her. Blair was totally unfocused today. "Revenue streams," she huffed a perturbed breath.

The cursor moved to the bottom of the screen. "Right, um…" a click, "here."

"In the south region?" Emily shifted in her chair.

"Oh…" Blair moved the cursor then tapped it. "Northern region, of course," she smiled apologetically.

"I think we should take a break." Emily stood up.

"I'm fine, let's keep going," Blair highlighted the northern region numbers.

Emily eyed her, then turned to head for the door. "Well, I need a break." She gave Blair a final look before leaving the room.

Blair sighed. I need a break. She noticed her incoming email had pinged, and she clicked on the inbox seeing a message from Jo Polniaczek. She sat up quickly, then clicked it.

Ms. Warner,

As denoted per our contract with the Warner Textiles Corporation, outreach program – I am exercising an office day to work on the capstone. Each analyst is required to put in at least four days per month at regional headquarters (JTI, New York), in order to fulfill the program's specifications.

I, Jo Polniaczek, have determined today as an in-house office workday.

If you have any further questions, please contact me via my given email address.

Joanna M. Polniaczek, JTI, HR Department

"Well at least I know you're alive," Blair hit the reply button and typed a response:

Ms. Polniaczek,

Was there something wrong with your phone last night? I don't like worrying when it's unnecessary. A simple, 'I made it home safely' would have sufficed; instead, I'm without a good night's rest.

I hope to see you tomorrow morning bright and early.

Blair

"Send," she told the voice recognition on her computer.

"Message sent," the computer complied.

Blair sat back then drummed her fingers for a second. What is up with the formalities all of a sudden?

"Blair?"

Blair watched as her mother pushed her way through the door and entered the office. She was, of course, dressed to the nines – though the splash of fur she often carried around was a bit much… especially for summer.

"Hello, Mother."

Monica's eyes were roaming all over the office, taking in the lack of décor, dull walls, and the monstrosity of a couch Russell had insisted on keeping. She made a face. "Darling, when on earth are you going to get a secretary?"

"I'm still interviewing… for an executive assistant," Blair enunciated.

Monica smirked at that. "Whatever, dear." She stood in front of Blair, then moved her finger along the surface of the desk. It was at least dusted, she mused, though the rest of the office probably needed a thorough going over.

Blair remained quiet, then put on a friendly face she didn't really feel. "What brings you here?"

"Well, dear, first I wanted to see what Paul had done with the office." Monica said that a bit flatly, already having made known her assessment.

They had called a truce on discussing any subsequent suitors for Blair at the moment – at Blair's request; and Monica had agreed to hold her opinions and her tongue on the matter, for her daughter's sake… for now.

"He hasn't been able to schedule me in, yet," Blair picked up a few papers.

"Oh, well…" Monica moved to sit in the visitor's chair facing the large desk. She looked at her daughter expectantly.

"Mother, I have a lot of work to do," Blair started looking over several documents.

Monica drew her fingers through the mink fur on her shoulder. "Well, you know I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't something important," she smiled.

It was the way she smiled. Blair knew the slight hike of an eyebrow, the widening eyes, then the playful twist of lips - meant her mother was about to tell her something she found exciting. Blair dropped the papers then leaned back in her chair, crossing her fingers together.

"I'll bite."

That was all she needed. Monica excitedly scooted to the edge of the chair. "The festival in St. Tropez," she said animatedly, clapping her hands together. "Oh, darling - shopping, art, jazz! Darlene and George are going. Bailey's taking off from school. I'm pulling her out for three weeks with a tutor. Now I just need you to consider."

Monica held her hands together in a hopeful embrace, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Well?"

Blair drew in a breath, thinking, then shrugged, "I wish I could go."

Monica's face fell then she stood, moving to stand beside her daughter. "Blair, you're the president, make it happen, this is St. Tropez, France we're talking about," she said flippantly.

Blair watched as her mother put a defensive hand on her hip. "It's not that simple."

A frown. "Why not?" Monica gave her a tart look. "Darling you need to take a break." She bent over and lifted Blair's chin a little, "you're starting to show the signs," she inspected.

Blair shook her head from the hold. "Mother, I can't," she said strictly.

Monica straighten, pretty sure of herself. "You'll change your mind."

Blair sighed. She knew her mother wouldn't leave her alone about it. "I'll see what I can do, that's all I can say right now," she offered, before picking up a pen.

Monica smirked at that. She didn't move, staring at Blair, who stopped her motions and looked at her questioningly. I know that look. "Was there something else?"

"There's a sale at Tiffany's."

The magic words. Words that furtively changed the blood chemistry of the average Warner woman. Blair was far from immune. "How long is it on?" she asked, shamefully.

Monica smiled tightly. "This weekend only." She was surprised Blair hadn't known about it. She was working too hard. She had a plan for their outing. "We'll start the day with brunch at Lucien, then—"

"Incoming," the loud voice from Blair's computer interrupted.

Monica sputtered to a stop then watched as Blair clicked on her screen. "Blair?"

Blair held up a finger. One moment. "Open."

Ms. Warner,

I have all the information, software and equipment I need to carry out my job here at JTI for most of the week. That being said, I will be reporting to you tomorrow, in which I will schedule a two hour session consisting of questions for the capstone, then job site work to complete for the day. The hours for this will be determined at that time, in which you will be informed beforehand.

Joanna M. Polniaczek, JTI HR, Department

"Blair did you hear me?" Monica's eyes darted from the computer to her daughter.

"In a moment, Mother." Blair typed her reply, then hit "send."

The computer buffered for a few seconds, "Message sent."

Jo,

Is there a reason why I can't reach you on your cell phone? Is it even on?

Also, while I appreciate your formal prose, I feel it unnecessary considering we know each other quite well and can drop the formalities.

If you're trying to tell me you are cutting back on your hours here, then fine. I appreciate the heads-up.

I would also appreciate a phone call, formal or regular.

Blair Warner, WTC President, Extraordinaire

"Now, where were we?" Blair looked up, giving her mother her full attention.

"The sale dear. This Saturday... our plans?"

Ah, yes. Blair twisted back and forth in her chair. "Mm. You said brunch at Lucien?"

Monica's eyes lit up. "Yes! Oh, darling then the afternoon to devote to Tiffany's and of course the whole row if you want," she finished. They usually made a day of it, hitting all of the stores down the strip.

Blair smiled brightly. "Let's make a day of it," she said confidently. She was certain security would be tight for their adventure, so no worries there.

"Really?" Monica stood.

"Absolutely," Blair felt poised. "I feel like a little retail therapy, especially after this week."

"Oh, darling, I'm so glad you're coming!" Monica clapped her hands together.

"Who else is going with us?" Blair leaned back in her chair.

"Aunt Gloria and Darlene… you know our regular group," Monica said.

Blair nodded, "Fine."

Monica gave her a smile. "Well dear, I'm off," she turned, "I have a full schedule today. Trustee meeting then the hairdresser. It will take me all day, believe me."

She had reached the door, then glanced over her shoulder to see Blair engrossed in her computer again.

"Incoming," it announced.

Monica rolled her eyes at that. "Oh, for heaven's…"

Blair sighed, "read."

Ms. Warner,

The construct in which I chose to inform you of the business between our companies is necessary for communication to be conducted and clarified in a professional manner. As far as our knowing each other, well, that is neither here nor there.

I will be busy for the rest of the day and not taking any calls. If you need to communicate with me, please honor the channel I have available and have requested.

Joanna M. Polniazeck, JTI, HR department

"I'm leaving." Monica lingered in the doorframe. She got no answer from her engrossed daughter. "Call me before Saturday, darling."

Blair glanced up briefly, waving a hand. "I will. Bye Mother."

Monica eyed her, then sniffed, closing the door behind her.

Blair poised her hands over the keyboard. What the hell is going on? She breathed, thinking of a sharp retort for the indigent, grating… the sheer gall of—

"Blair?"

Brown eyes snapped up. "Hi, Daddy." She hadn't heard him come in, and she quickly changed her demeanor.

"I just saw Monica," David made his way over to her.

"Play date for this weekend," a smile.

David grinned knowingly, and not at all surprised. "Ah, well…" He looked back out into the lobby. "Where's Jo?"

"She's working at the office today," Blair barely hid a smirk at that.

"Oh. I guess you finally contacted her?" David sat down on the edge of the desk.

Blair nodded, not wanting to get into the brief, yet cold, contact she'd been making with Jo. She cleared her throat. "Anything new with the case?"

David shook his head. "Nothing so far."

"No threats?"

"No, thankfully. I just came over to check up on you."

Blair sighed. "I'm doing just great."

David nodded then looked around the desk. He laughed a little to himself at Blair's neat piles of paper. Once a lawyer... It was the need to keep tangible evidence that kept her from using the regular computer filing system, even for bids and proposals. Proof on paper – she had said. And she had the nerve to make fun of him for reading the Times every morning.

"You didn't eat any breakfast and you seemed upset this morning," he pointed out.

"I'm fine," Blair gave him a somber look, then scooted her seat under her desk. She focused on her computer screen. She could see him judging her from her peripheral vision. "Really," she said with finality.

David let a few beats go by then clasped his hands together. "Alright. Look, I need you to talk to Robert."

"Where is he?"

"At his apartment, mostly. He came in yesterday for a few hours."

Blair looked up at her father. "It's hard to catch him when he does that."

"Try," David was serious, "then play nice with him. It's been a rough couple of weeks. He's trying to pick up and carry on with his life."

They had all been trying to make sense of the past couple of weeks: the new revelations about the case, Robert's innocence in the matter. It was something they'd all agreed to let him have his space… to finally grieve the loss of his father.

"I will, don't worry," Blair was adamant about that. Family first. She would try and smooth over things with her cousin for the sake of the company… for the sake of the family.

"Good, thanks."

David smiled at Blair then made his way out of the office almost bumping into Emily. She had moved her coffee cup just in time.

"Oh, hi David."

"Emily," he grabbed her arm to steady her. "Sorry about that," he apologized.

"We were just going over the numbers for the new proposal," Emily switched her cup to her other hand, gesturing toward Blair. "Blair, are we all set to continue?" she asked from across the office.

"I'm ready," she said. "Daddy, we'll do dinner before the week is out, I promise," she stated.

"Alright," he gave the two of them a smile. He watched as Emily took her seat in front of Blair's desk. "Have a good day."

"You too," the two women said in unison.

David closed Blair's office door, then made his way around the corner to the executive elevators. He knew about their proposal, though he hadn't pressed Blair to inform him about the details. He figured she'd reveal all when they were ready; especially when they were ready to face the board of directors.

---

"Hey."

Agent Mendoza had taken advantage of Jo's open door and made his way over to her with a hand full of documents.

"Hey," Jo was busy typing up the final specs for the capstone. "What's up?"

"Just got this from analytics," Mendoza handed her the top few papers.

"What is it?"

"You tell me."

Jo read the top few lines. They were mostly numbers. Accounts. It was from Marketing, the division Mendoza was assigned to. He had been working directly with Barry Winstead on a daily basis.

"Looks like Winstead's been keeping his records balanced so?" She started to hand the papers back to him.

"You don't think it's a little funny, this guy's been keeping up with large sums of money?" Mendoza asked.

"What large sums?" Jo pulled the papers back, glancing over them again. She shrugged. "Marketing gets a budget, right?"

The agent nodded. "They all do," he waited.

Jo handed him back the papers. "You cleared theirs with operations already. What's your point?"

"My point is - duplicates." Mendoza handed them right back to Jo. Who gave him a puzzled look then snatched them at his revelation.

"What duplicates?" She looked at the numbers again.

"See the dates?" Mendoza pointed to the top right hand corner of each transaction. "They're doubled. Which means he duplicated the amount operations gave him then put the other part of the money somewhere else."

Double dated, well I'll be damned. "He was able to get twice the amount of funds from operations," Jo scanned the document more closely.

"Possibly."

"How?"

"That has yet to be determined," Mendoza scratched his head. "My hunch is he already had the money. He just hid it by gradually allocating it to the marketing budget, recently; which is how I eventually caught it."

"Russell was head of operations for a lot of this, so he approved this?"

"Looks like it."

"But why? I mean. It would explain why he had his hard drive replaced every month. I just happened to catch the last few numbers from the overseas account."

"Looks like that's where the money had been coming from that Winstead's hiding. You just saw last month's before he could hide it," Mendoza said.

"The one hundred eighty mil…" Jo tapped on her desktop.

"Let's not jump to conclusions, Jo. We don't know exactly how much he's been hiding as of today."

"I'm willing to bet he snatched the one eighty mil when he realized someone was on to him," Jo surmised.

Mendoza thought for a moment. "Looks like a possibility. I'm guessing Russell and Barry had a system going. That is, until Russell's death."

"Blair's still approving the budget for marketing, though," Jo acknowledged. "It seems he's getting a lot of funds past her."

Who knew how long Winstead and Russell Warner had this whole racket going. The question was why? Jo exhaled. This was going to be a tough one to figure out. Either way she didn't want Blair to find out, or to be caught up in the middle of it.

"My question is: where is he hiding everything?" Mendoza turned to leave. "I'll get on that then let you know what I find out."

"Sure, sure…" Jo started to feel a little weary about the whole thing. They were getting closer, which meant imminent danger was a possibility. "Hey, Norm?" she saw him turn and lift a brow. "I, uh… you remember that case you worked on in Chicago?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

The Chicago case was four years ago. It was a sore spot for him. The six foot four, dark haired agent had gotten personally involved investigating a crime family planning to take out one of the higher officials of the state. He had taken a liking to the official's daughter, who returned the sentiment. They'd fallen in love, and unbeknownst to her, Norm Mendoza was only there to protect her father then move on to the next case. When the case was over he was ready to quit; but was quickly reminded of his duty. He took two weeks off just to gather himself together. It was difficult for him but he had decided he couldn't afford to let something like that happen again.

"How'd you…" Jo faded a bit, knowing he knew what she was referring to.

"Get over it?" Mendoza let out a heavy sigh.

"Yeah."

"You don't. You deal, you adjust, then you move on."

Jo stared at him. Sounds vaguely familiar.

Agent Mendoza moved to leave, his steps were soft, thoughtful. He didn't normally, voluntarily, try to think about his time in Chicago - the case. He much more tried to squash anything that reminded him of it… of her.

He turned around. His face was grim, but Jo could tell he was still quite affected. "You never really forget."

Jo absorbed that, and for just a few seconds, they shared an impactful realization. Of their duty, their responsibilities… their chosen fate.

Mendoza offered a quiet, sad smile. "No more walks on the beach," he said hoarsely. "See ya," he said softly, then left Jo's office.

Jo's eyes were half lidded. Yeah… I get that.

---

Partly cloudy, with just a hint of a breeze. Eighty five degrees, and humid. So much for the forecast of an almost perfect day in Manhattan; especially when trapped inside four walls all day. Eric had been standing in front of his office window for ten minutes. The light on his desk monitor flashed indicating an agent or informant was trying to contact him. He moved to click his computer screen.

It was Natalie Green. Wondering when I'd finally hear back from you.

He turned her on speaker. "Ms. Green."

"Hi. I was wondering when I could come by and pick up my phone," her tone was clipped.

They hadn't exactly left in good spirits the night before. There was no blame thrown, just a lot of confusion and anger misdirected. Natalie had told him, rather politely, to go to hell before she'd stormed out of his office. That was par for the course, Eric had concluded. He'd heard much worse through the years.

"Anytime, we'll have it wiped and ready for you," he informed.

The infamous phone. Seemed like the device was getting everyone that touched it into trouble of some sort, recently. He opened his desk drawer to take it out.

"Great, thanks, I'll be by shortly," Natalie hung up.

Eric looked at the phone. He had put it in his desk drawer right after Natalie had left his office last night - not giving it a second thought... especially after Jo had reacted so acutely to the new information they'd received. He turned it on, then went to the screen that held the conversation Natalie had recorded. It still had quite a few minutes left.

Eric's brow creased. Should've finished this. It wasn't like him, he admitted, not to follow through with procedure, which meant allowing the recording to finish. They'd all figured they'd heard enough, especially after the revelation Blair had unknowingly admitted to them.

Eric sat, and got comfortable in his chair. He put the phone on his desk and turned up the volume, then hit play.

The recording picked up right after Blair had excused herself to talk to Natalie on the balcony... which left Amanda alone in the living room.

Hi…

…No, she's not in the room.

Bad news...

You know that friend of Blair's? She's a fucking reporter, for the Times!

…Yeah…

I don't know, but she could start digging in the wrong places.

… No, no, don't do that. We don't want her getting suspicious.

… Alright, I'll keep her off of our tail, don't worry. You don't have to resort to what you did to her other friend.

… Yeah, I know but that could have been a fatal accident – that's all this one needs is a reason to investigate further.

Yeah… I'll handle it. Bye.

Eric sat up, then played the sequence again.

"Shit!"

He fast forwarded up to when Blair and Natalie re-entered the living room, noting Amanda had already left the room to go to the bathroom.

…and Natalie

Yes?

Next time call…

He stopped the recording. Holy fuck! Eric wanted to kick himself for getting too personally involved with an agent and letting valuable information get by him.

He'd played nursemaid at the bar last night, and though he'd done it before, he felt it necessary when it came to Jo. Truth was, he wanted Jo to succeed as his lead agent and eventually become a supervisor. She had great potential to be a leader. Now, he wasn't so sure.

"Almost a whole day wasted." Not to mention the potential danger. "I can't let this happen again."

Eric rewound the recording back to where he'd started, then clicked on all three agents listening devices. "Get in here now!"

It only took three minutes before agent Polniaczek, Mendoza and Summers were all facing their supervisor.

Eric eyed them.

"Listen to this!" he tapped the play button, then leaned back in his chair gauging the reactions of his team. He tapped it off when it was done, noting the brief silence, save an exasperated breath or two.

"This is not good," Agent Summers drew a hand through blonde hair.

"So what exactly do we have here?" Mendoza asked.

"Who the hell was she talking to?" Jo's face was red with frustration.

Eric thought for a second. "I get the feeling once we find out, the missing pieces will start falling into place."

Mendoza looked down, realizing in his haste he'd carried in the papers he was working on with him. "You may want to look at this," he handed them to Eric.

"Marketing report… Winstead's numbers?" Eric flipped through them.

"Look closer."

Eric examined the header's. "Huh, duplicated. That's a lot of money." He looked at Mendoza. "Where to?"

"Don't know, but read the last page," he leaned over and pointed to the paper. "I just got those back from anaylitics. Those are account numbers I've never seen before."

Agent Mendoza watched as Eric scanned the sheet. He was just in the process of working on finding out whose account numbers they belonged to when he'd been called into the office.

Eric slowly peeked up at him. "These are not Warner accounts."

Mendoza nodded his head. "He's been filtering money somewhere else it looks like."

Eric grimaced then handed the papers back. "We need verification, Agent, not speculation. Find out whose account these numbers belong to."

Eric stood and addressed all three agents. The new information they had now needed attention and to be moved on fast.

"Barry Winstead has made duplicate dates on accounts, which usually means he had in his possession, enough money to do so, folks. As we know, it's an old trick used by embezzlers to hide money that's already been allocated."

Jo crossed her arms over her chest. "I think he snatched the one eighty mil, then tried to hide it," she said bluntly.

Eric gazed at Jo. He pursed his lips a bit. "We have to prove that, Agent. Don't get me wrong, I feel like he's our guy but—"

"Proof? I'll get proof," the resentment was rolling off of Jo in waves. Eric could tell she was keeping a professional restraint.

"No hunches, Agent Polniaczek." It had to be said. Emotional hunting was forbidden. He wanted her to focus on the facts.

"Not a hunch, just a lead," she said, overtly calm.

"To?" Eric was skeptical.

"Ms. Palmero," Jo's eyes were twinkling fervently and Eric knew what that meant. He also knew she was hungry to find anything on the woman. I'll eat this if I'm wrong. It could be a good thing for an agent to be this determined... though with the recently developed circumstances, he wasn't so sure in Jo's case.

Eric ignored her for the moment, turning his attention to Agent Summers. "What do we know about Barry Winstead, other than preliminary stuff?"

"You want me to mine Winstead?" she asked.

Eric nodded, "I need that information like yesterday, Agent," he pointed at her. "I want to know the good and the bad about him. Everything. His hopes, dreams, failures."

"What about Palmero?" Agent Summers asked, her eyes sliding over to Jo.

"Leave her to me," came the low toned reply. All three sets of eyes were now on Jo.

"Jo," Eric shook his head.

"I can handle this," she was determined. "Don't worry," she hiked her head toward agent Mendoza. "Mendoza can be my backup."

Agent Mendoza gave her a nod, which earned him a small smile in return. She faced Eric, confidently. "I have a plan."

A plan. How many times had he heard that from his field agents... sometimes they worked; sometimes... he didn't have time to worry about the details. Given Jo's competence, he'd have to trust her. He looked over at his team. They seemed eager, ready. What more could he hope for?

"Okay. Let's go, I want full reports," Eric watched as Summers and Mendoza left his office.

"Jo, hold up."

Jo braced herself, then faced him. "I'm not going to do anything irrational."

Eric took a few moments to consider the task at hand and Jo's emotional stability to successfully see it through to fruition. She had always worked well under pressure. Although, present circumstances involved a variable factor that was unpredictable; and for Jo – volatile: Blair Warner.

"I know that," he said. "I trust you," he reiterated with more conviction. "Just remember to keep it strictly professional."

Jo grabbed the doorknob then cracked a side grin, her demeanor resolute.

"Oh, I intend to," she closed the door behind her.

---

Blair had instructed Hamilton to wait for her outside of the apartment building. It was located three blocks from Warner headquarters. Robert had bought the two-bedroom apartment right after college graduation. And now, he liked to be close to headquarters whenever he was in town; it just seemed logical.

She'd signed in at the front desk, then took the elevator up to the 30th floor. The complex was fancy, ritzy, though not as ritzy as her own building. Still, the Warner's had always insisted on high profile living accommodations. Robert was no exception.

She arrived at his door, only to ring the bell several times. The concierge had announced her arrival downstairs to no avail, and she would've concluded Robert not being there if it weren't for the fact that he hadn't bothered to leave his apartment since yesterday.

She was almost ready to give up when the door cracked open. A brown eye recognized her. then She heard a sigh as the door widened a little more.

"Wow, you look like hell."

She had meant it in jest, but saw the 'not amused' expression of her cousin - he was still in his nightwear: shorts and a tee shirt. He hadn't shaved in a while, judging from his five o'clock shadow. His hair was disheveled and out of order.

"What do you want?" Robert's eyes were red around the rims.

"I need to talk to you."

Robert glared at her for a moment, then opened the door for her to come through. "Make it quick, I have a date."

That was a lie. Blair glanced around the apartment. It was unkempt; a mess. There were newspapers and clothes strewn around the floor. The couch had old take out food in boxes sitting on it and the side tables were littered with wine glasses, beer bottles and half-eaten sandwiches. This wasn't like Robert. He was normally a neat freak.

"Jesus, open a window!" The stench from it all hit Blair as she moved to raise up the sash in the living room.

Robert ignored her displeasure at him.

"What's up?" he asked as he plopped down on the couch, knocking a pizza box to the floor. Several, old and dried-up half eaten slices fell out of the box.

Blair chose to ignore that as she moved aside a few clothes to sit on the couch. Robert sat slumped down in the back cushions. He had propped a foot up on the coffee table.

"How are you doing, Robert?"

Robert turned his head regarding her. "How does it look to you?!" he'd said harshly. His head hurt and he closed his eyes, wiping his brow, then mouth. "Sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Blair felt quite a bit of empathy for him.

"I feel like I do," Robert felt remorseful. "I don't know. It's just been a rough couple of weeks," he admitted.

Blair shook her head. "You have no idea."

She sounded serious, and Robert looked at her.

"I know. You're right. I don't."

He had purposefully stayed out of the loop. The new information about his father, the money, the case - was all he could process for the time being. "Why are you here, Blair?" His voice sounded dry and fried.

Blair gave her cousin a sincere expression. "I needed to see how you were doing." That was met with an incredulous, unbelieving stare.

Robert smirked at her. "And now the real reason."

Blair let out a soft laugh. "You know me too well."

"I know, I skipped the meeting," Robert confessed.

"I covered for you. They understood," Blair informed him.

"Good, good," Robert scratched the side of his rough face, as he looked at Blair. "Thank you," he gave her a weak smile.

"No problem," she smiled back.

Robert let out a long shaky breath. He ran his hands through his disorderly hair, making it even more unruly. "I'm going to take a few days off. Go up to Hartford to see Mother."

"That sounds like a good idea," Blair said softly.

Isabella Warner had kept her last name. Even after the divorce from Russell, three years ago. She'd known about his business dealings, his backroom negotiating - though not the details, but it was enough to drive them apart. She'd kept in touch with him, nonetheless. They'd always remained friends.

Robert bent his head down, his mouth downturned.

"She misses him," he said, his voice cracking.

Blair could see him trying to hold himself together as he wrapped his arms around himself, stroking his shoulders as he rocked slightly. He peeked at Blair, his eyes forming tears that fell down his cheeks. "I do, too."

Robert's body shook as the overwhelming sorrow engulfed him and he sobbed openly. Blair moved to enclose her arms around him, holding him as they sat there, letting the moment wash over them; her own tears falling down her cheeks. Oh, Robert…

---

They had gone over the plan on the way there in the taxi, which was to get into Palmero's office: extract the information from her hard drive, then get out.

Simple.

Jo had even put on her crispest suit for the occasion: navy blue with a white dress shirt, completed by footwear with just a hint of heel – just enough to look professional. Business-like. Her hair was down, and she had even dabbed on a bit of make-up, which served to accentuate her green eyes.

"Ready?" She addressed agent Mendoza, who gave her a smirk. He was in disguise: a brunette wig that had long hair, and a thick mustache… he was supposed to look hip.

Jo smiled at him then playfully brushed off his tie-dye shirt. "Just checkin' out some art, dude," she laughed.

"The things I do for you," he said as they approached the front doors of the Villa Manzi Gallery.

"Here goes," Jo jerked a door open; while agent Mendoza hung back a bit, pretending to smoke a cigarette. They didn't want it to look like they were together.

Jo came up to the front desk of the lobby. The lady attending watched her approach with a wide plastered-on smile. Customer service at its finest. "Hello," Jo put on a fake face of her own.

"Welcome to The Villa Manzi Gallery, May I help you?" came the overly friendly reply.

"Yes. I'm here to see Ms. Palmero," Jo said.

"Do you have an appointment?" the lady queried as she moved to retrieve her appointment book.

"No. But I'm sure she'll see me. It's very important," Jo kept her face stretched in a grin, as she noticed the lady's slip a bit.

"I'll just give her a quick call," she picked up the phone and hit a button. "Your name is?"

"Jo Polniaczek," Jo said as she tugged at her jacket sleeves.

The woman paused, trying out the last name in her mind before nodding.

"Hi. A Miss Jo Pol-nia-czek, is here to see you. She said it's an important matter," she said, uncertain if she'd said the last name correctly, only to be relieved when Jo nodded her head positively. She listened for a second, then, "I see…alright, thank you."

Jo hiked a brow. "Problem?"

"Actually no. She said for you to please come to her office," she looked at Jo skeptically, then pointed. "Down the hall and take a right. Her door is the first one."

Jo gave the woman an impish grin as she made her way down the hall. She took a peek back over her shoulder right before turning to see Mendoza enter the building. This should be easy. If there was one thing Agent Mendoza knew how to do, it was how to get a woman to leave her station. He was a big flirt.

Jo smirked, as she found the door. The plaque on the outside read: Amanda Palmero, Head Curator. She tapped on it, pulling her suit jacket straight as the door swung open.

"Hi, remember me?"

Amanda fixed her facial expression before it soured; giving Jo a counterfeit smile full of teeth. "Ah, yes, Blair's friend," she gestured for Jo to enter her office. "Joanna was it?"

Jo kept her eyes even-keel. "It's Jo." Nice try. Jo gave the woman a quick scan, still not sure what Blair saw in her.

"Of course," Amanda crossed her arms over her chest. "What can I do for you, Jo?"

"Oh," Jo glanced around the decorative office. There were many paintings and artifacts on walls and shelves. "I thought I'd come by and look at some of your artwork. Blair likes a lot of the stuff you have going on here."

"Oh?" There was a slight twitch in her right cheek, as a brown brow rose in question. Jo thought Amanda looked defensive.

"Yeah. She told me over dinner the other night."

It would've been almost comical at the sudden stiffening that was systematically snapped into Amanda's back at the words… so laughable at her reaction; but this was a serious matter, Jo had reminded herself. Nothing wrong with getting a dig in here and there… that's what you've wanted to do for a while, isn't it, Jo? She quietly admitted.

Jo smiled at the woman's obvious discomfort. "Just kept saying something about Brian Brown."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Brown's work is a favorite of Blair's. Has been for quite a while," Amanda was twisting a pen she had in her hand.

"Really?" Jo casually put her hands behind her back. She felt relaxed, and in control.

"Absolutely."

"That's funny," Jo's brow dramatically crinkled. "Because she told me he was quite new and only had a few pieces out."

"Well, yes… that's true…" Amanda's face fell as her eyes bored into Jo's.

"Well, which is it?" Jo was blunt, perhaps too blunt as she saw the woman draw up her face, then decidedly chuckle at her. She half chuckled back not quite sure what angle she was now on, but willing to play along.

Amanda chose to change the subject instead, "Is there something in particular you wanted, Jo?"

Jo almost laughed out loud at the sudden change in manner . She knew she'd bought Mendoza enough time to clear the front desk. She made up her mind.

"A quick tour of the exhibit would be nice," Jo glanced at her watch for effect. "I don't have a lot of time," another crisp smile.

Amanda's face was tense. "I think I can arrange that," she opened the door and allowed Jo to move past her.

Jo waited for Amanda to lead the way, but not without glancing down the hall and seeing Mendoza causally making his way toward her. She nodded then winked, as she followed Amanda toward the Brian Brown exhibit.

It would be twenty minutes before Mendoza would send her an all-clear text. Jo cleverly put her phone back in her pocket as Amanda was wrapping up her tour. A few patrons had joined them as she outlined the artist's profile and explained his art pieces.

"So, what do you think?" Amanda asked.

There were about fifteen paintings and nine sculptures in the exhibit. Jo had spied a midsized painting in the far left corner of the exhibit. It was, truthfully… quite breathtaking, she'd decided. The colors were vibrant, alluring and mellow all at the same time; and for some reason her eyes kept going back to it.

"I think she'll like that one," she pointed.

"Where?" Amanda looked around the exhibit.

"Over there," Jo took a few steps toward it.

Amanda shook her head, chuckling rather cynically. "Oh, that's not quite Blair's taste," she chastised.

Jo's eyes were riveted to it. She tilted her head. "I think she'll like it."

"Really?" Amanda squinted, unconvinced, "I was thinking something more down to earth. She likes subtle colors," she directed.

Jo heard the inflection… the small demand in her tone. She drew her eyes to Amanda's. You think you know her better? "Mmmm… no. I think she'll like this just fine," she threw a defying look at her.

"Are you sure? It's got a hefty price tag."

There was a sharp glint in her eyes accompanied by a lazy grin that grew on her lips, as Amanda openly challenged their exchange. She knew what she was doing, rather, boldly sure of which buttons to push.

So, you've done a little homework on me. Jo held the eyes of the curator. She pushed back a sneer before it formed on her face. "I'm fine with that," she stated assuredly

Amanda held her ground, and the two actually faced off for a quiet moment before she relented. She tilted her head, deferring, "As you wish, Ms. Pol—"

"Ah, ah ah…" Jo corrected odiously.

"Jo," a quick retort. "Yes, well…" Amanda uncomfortably scratched the back of her neck, "It's going to take a while, we have to prepare it then—"

"Wrap it up, I'll wait," Jo said loudly. She'd meant to interrupt, and quite enjoyed the momentary distress she'd caused. "Please," she added for good measure: her smile never reaching her eyes.

If looks could kill. Jo rocked back on her heels as she watched Amanda order her staff to unhook, then gently take down the painting in question – a bit angrily, she surmised. A quick, curt nod, then a brisk turn, as Amanda stalked her way down the hall, back to her office.

---

Blair had just ended a three way video conference call when she heard a faint knock on her door. Tootie's face peeked in.

"Blair?"

"Tootie?" She watched as the thespian made her way through the door. "Hi, what are you…"

"I just came by to tell you that your cover's blown." Tootie stated, significantly.

Blair didn't like the sound of that. She sat back in her chair as Tootie seated herself in front of her desk.

"What did you do?" she eyed her skeptically. Her friend had on a dark pair of sunglasses.

Tootie sat her purse down on the chair beside her. "I told Natalie," she said matter-of-factually.

Blair's face fell. "What!?"

Tootie blinked. "Everything."

"Why would you do that!?" Blair's eyes grew big, not really believing what she was hearing.

"She… I … I was drunk," Tootie pushed up her glasses.

"You don't drink," Blair said incredulously.

"Which is why the dark glasses, Blair. I have a splitting headache."

"Please tell me you're kidding," Blair's voice was now rising and Tootie squirmed a bit.

"I'm not kidding." That was met with silence. "She's not going to tell anyone," Tootie added, hoping to sound persuasive.

"Tootie, I trusted you!"

Tootie took a deep breath then whipped off her shades. She looked at the very agitated woman in front of her. "Think about it this way, Blair. Nat's a reporter," she noted the annoyed curl of Blair's lip at that. "She was bound to find out about Paul and John anyway," she finished offhandedly.

Blair closed her eyes, then shook her head. True. She couldn't deny Tootie was correct about Paul and John's upcoming wedding. "They're getting married soon," she admitted a bit reluctantly.

"Were."

Blair's eyebrow's shot up. "What do you mean?"

Tootie crossed her leg daintily over her knee. "They postponed it."

"Again?"

"The play," Tootie stated simply.

It took a moment to register before Blair conceded. "Oh, right."

"Not good to overshadow your fellow actors by announcing a wedding right after opening night," Tootie explained.

Blair still felt on edge about the matter.

"So what's your point?"

"Face it, Blair. You only had two weeks left before everything came out: breaking news, Blair Warner shocked as boyfriend marries boyfriend. Explain that!"

"I was going to say I had no idea then swear off men for the rest of my life, remember?"

Tootie stared at the president of Warner Textiles for a few seconds. "Did we go over that?"

"Yes, Tootie!"

Tootie swallowed, then decidedly waved it away. "That's full of holes, Nat would've seen right through it, " she paused, "but you know… you could still use that, only now Natalie's agreed to help you bridge everything." Tootie saw the unconvinced look on Blair's face, "the exposé?" she clarified.

It was a fluff piece, a shallow, vanilla look into the family, the business and…"my private life," Blair said softly, an idea forming. "Not a bad idea."

"Really?" Tootie looked surprised.

Blair nodded more firmly as she thought about it.

"Really. Think about it. We'll let the information about Paul come out naturally, I'll fake shock and awe, then Natalie can cover my emotional turmoil, and my plans to swear off men with the exposé."

Tootie held her tongue. It was the excited look she was getting that halted her decision to go along with the plan. "Swear off men? Blair why don't you just admit that you're gay?"

Blair blew out a breath. That was a tough one. She felt no qualms personally. She was content with herself, her sexuality. It had taken a while, but she'd learned to accept and love herself for who she really was. Her parents? The board? That was a different matter. Everything screamed unpredictable when it came to them; and to take chances…

Tootie studied her friend. She saw the subtle changes in Blair's mood. She was never one to hide her true feelings: her demeanor and body language giving everything away.

"Tim Cook," she said.

Blair came out of her thoughts at the words. "I'm sorry?"

"He's the head of Apple. The CEO, and he's gay."

Blair was quiet for a moment. She could feel her heartbeat; her breathing was quicker than usual. Is this what it's always going to be like when faced with uncertainty? For Christ sake it's 2017.

Was it a new revelation? No, truth be told. Blair had teetered on coming clean with her family, quite recently. She just needed time… time to…

What?

She glanced at Tootie, straightening herself in the chair.

"You're right. It's time to be truthful and live my life the way I want to." It sounded great coming out of her mouth as she'd said it. But hearing the words spoken out loud shot a nervous twinge through her.

Tootie sported a genuine smile. "Good for you Blair, I'm with you one hundred percent."

Blair just smiled, pushing down any further feelings. "What about Natalie? How's she taking it?'

"Actually, she's still a little in shock," Tootie said truthfully.

"I can understand. She used to worship my ability to land a man with one flick of my hair and a wink."

She demonstrated the move for Tootie who laughed at the way Blair had always flirted when there was a man she wanted attention from around.

"How did that feel?" she asked. She had always been a little in awe of Blair's physical beauty, and her ability to use it to her advantage.

"Powerful," Blair let out a quick, wry laugh. "But empty," she thought for a moment. "It's like you finally catch the biggest fish in the pond; then once you do, all of the excitement wears off and all you want to do is throw it back."

Tootie watched her for a second. "It's been like that for you, really?"

"I've come to discern, yes." Blair gave her friend a sad half-smile, "It's always been about power. That's all I've ever known, really. I was raised to be in control and to gain power through my social standing. Men were seen as powerful figures in my life, something I had to match, so…"

"I think I get the picture," Tootie said.

"Do you?" Blair questioned. "Men were like trophies. An arm piece when I needed notoriety. Nothing more," she finished softly.

Tootie leaned forward in her chair, "I know it hasn't been easy for you, but I'm glad you figured it all out."

"I did, eventually," Blair admitted. She shyly looked into the understanding eyes in front of her.

They let a companionable silence fall between them for a while; Tootie suddenly realizing the day was getting away from her.

"I've got to go, rehearsal starts soon, they gave us the afternoon off, but," she glanced at her watch. "Crap, I have to go."

Tootie made her way across the office. She only had ten minutes to get back over to the theater house. She opened the door. "Blair?"

"Yes?"

"I meant it before when I said I want you to be happy," Tootie gave her friend a reassuring look.

Blair let the warmth of that sink in to her. She treasured her friends. "I know. Thanks, Tootie."

Tootie waved, then quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.

It was the end of the work day; Blair twisted around in her chair facing the windows behind her. She stood, then crossed her arms over her chest and let out a nervous breath, as she took in the tall buildings in front of her. The scenery was beautiful from up here… quiet, peaceful, safe.

Alone.

She'd gotten used to it. Security was tightening, so being isolated was a given at times. Blair absentmindedly traced the windowpane with her finger. Should I settle for what is? She dropped her hand then hugged herself, letting out a shaky breath; closing her eyes. Or go for what I want…

Want…

Perhaps it was all just immaterial. Perhaps it was fate or drive or whatever binds two or more people together for whatever reason during a lifetime. Blair shook her head to clear it. She felt no need to examine it further. Just acknowledging it was enough for now.

She tapped in Hamilton's number, then moved to shut down her computer and pack up her briefcase.

"Hi, could you bring the car around please?... I want to pick up my car... Yes, I'm sure Admuir is finished detailing it... I'll be using it for the rest of the day. I'll be down in five minutes."

Blair closed her briefcase, and exited her office, locking the door. The lobby was quiet. She looked across the hall at the Marketing Departments door. She assumed Emily had already left for the day. Barry had been a no show for their meeting earlier. He'd used the excuse of representing the company at the networking event that was in town. She was glad. No one else wanted to do it.

Blair took the elevator down and met Hamilton in the executive garage where he'd already opened the limousine's door for her. She thanked him, then got in making herself comfortable as the large black car maneuvered its way out of the garage.

---

It was becoming more and more of a ritual – Monday through Friday at about six o'clock Charlie would make his way out to the small stoop at Jo's apartment. He'd sit in the chair he'd left out, and prop his crutches against the rail. Mrs. De Palma would be puttering around in her flower bed next door, and they'd often quip and quibble about the day's latest news or comment on various strangers passing by.

It caught their attention - the slow arrival of a fire engine red convertible. Charlie squinted then used his hand to shield the sun as he couldn't quite make out who was driving the car. It stopped in front of Jo's apartment, parking at the curb and giving him a better view.

The engine was cut as two shapely legs fell out of the driver side of the car. Charlie let out a low whistle. "That's a beaut!"

Blair smiled a bit self consciously, not sure if he meant the car or…

"Hi Charlie," she said, taking off her sunglasses.

Charlie's head shot up as he realized who the owner was. "Blair! How ya' doin!?'" he yelled, then gave her a guilty smile. He cleared his throat. "Jo's not here."

"Where is she?" Blair had closed the car door, locking it - then made her way to stand on the sidewalk.

Charlie shrugged. "Still at work, I guess. She left early this morning."

"Oh," Blair said quietly. She noticed as the woman who had been working in her garden came up to her.

"Hello," Blair gave the woman a curious greeting.

"You friend of Jo?"

"Yes," Blair said politely, still a bit curious; her eyes flicked to Charlie then back to the woman, who appeared to be checking her out, or sizing her up – whichever, it made her feel a little uneasy.

Meo De Palma finally nodded to herself in conclusion.

"She have good taste," she barked out.

"I'm sorry?" Blair frowned at her.

Charlie chuckled at the exchange, deciding to come to Blair's rescue.

"Eh, Blair Warner, that's Mrs. Meo De Palma our next door neighbor, there."

"Nice to meet you, Blair Warner," Meo greeted her.

"You too," Blair said. She allowed herself to relax at the formal introduction.

Meo squeezed her arm then turned and shook her garden hoe at Charlie. "Charlie, you get more herb for Jo wound when ready!"

"Yeah, yeah, sure thing," he said lazily.

"She need heal fast!" Meo stated, then turned and went back to her tilling.

Charlie watched as Blair stared after the peculiar woman for a bit, then made her way up the stairs of Jo's apartment building.

"You wanna' come inside for a minute?" he stood, grabbing his crutches before opening the door. "Somethin' to drink?"

Blair caught the door, allowing Charlie to hobble through. She hadn't noticed his cast when she'd pulled up. "Well, I… sure," she decided as Charlie made his way to the kitchen.

She looked around the apartment. Jo's done well for herself. She didn't know why, but that tickled her; made a giggle almost escape her.

"Jo will be here any second," Charlie announced over his shoulder as he retrieved two glasses from the cupboard.

Blair nodded then sat down on a stool at the kitchen counter. "What happened to your foot?" she asked.

"Eh, happened while I was on the road. Had a heavy delivery, and macho me thought I could just carry it in there. Machine part fell on it. Took out two bones. Jo's puttin' me up here until this thing comes off." He pointed to his casted foot; then poured two glasses of orange juice.

"How nice of her," Blair took the glass, taking a sip; then set it down, "Mrs. De Palma mentioned she has a wound?"

Charlie paused bringing the glass up to his lips, "What? She didn't tell ya?"

"Of course not," Blair said tersely.

Figures. Charlie shook his head. "Lil' brat was speeding and hit a pothole. Went right off the bike. A sharp rock slices her side wide open on the way down." He moved his hand - simulating the slice over his midsection.

Blair watched him, curling up her face at the thought. "Ouch."

"Had to have seven stitches. I warned her about goin' so fast," Charlie downed the rest of his juice.

"She's stubborn," Blair said.

"Doesn't listen," Charlie agreed, then burped a little. "So, uh, you two s'pose to be goin' someplace?"

Ah, the reason I'm here. She didn't expect Charlie to be here, in fact. "No. I just needed to talk to Jo about something is all," she paused to take a sip of juice. "I'm sure she's mentioned her company's working on a project with Warner?"

"Yeah, yeah, she did say somethin' about havin' to work over there all the time. How's it goin'?"

"It's been going pretty well," Blair grinned slightly then drank the rest of her orange juice.

Charlie waited for her to finish then took her glass, putting it in the sink with his. He turned, and rubbed his chin hesitantly. "So, uh… I know it's been a while but… how's your mom?"

Blair lifted an amused brow.

"Monica? She's doing fine," she offered. She was aware her mother and Charlie had formed a friendship of sorts. If that was what you would call it. They laughed together... got along, unlike their children.

Charlie smiled a little nervously. "Oh, good, good… that's good."

It would be almost an hour before they would look at the clock – having caught up on everything, and everyone: school, the job, a little politics.

Blair glanced at her watch. "It's getting late, I really need to go," she said hopping off the stool.

"This was nice," Charlie said.

Blair looked at him appreciatively. "It was. We should do this again."

Charlie nodded, then remembered: "Oh, hey, I sent her a message…" he checked his texts… nothing. His face looked forlorn. "Sorry about that. You wanna' leave her a note or somethin?"

"No, thanks, Charlie. I've been trying to reach her all day too," Blair smiled. She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice, "I'll just see her in the morning," she said.

"Kay."

Charlie walked her out and watched as she made her way down the steps.

"Say uh, what year is that?" he pointed to the car.

"It's a '76, limited edition," Blair said, "very rare," she couldn't help adding. David had gotten it for her sixteenth birthday, and she'd taken excellent care of it.

"Oh yeah? Good year," Charlie admired the show car for a few moments more. "Oh, hey I'll let Jo know you came by lookin' for her."

Blair smiled at that. "Thanks Charlie, bye," she waved at him, then got in the car and turned on the motor.

Charlie watched as she peeled out, and down the street.

"Fine piece of machinery," he mumbled.

A yellow taxi pulled up to the curb and Jo's head popped out of the back seat door. Charlie frowned. "Hey! Hey, you got rotten' timin' you know that?!"

He saw the puzzled look from his daughter as she reached into the car and grabbed Ace's leash, unhooking it as the dog barked then quickly ran up the apartment stairs. Jo had been late picking him up from doggy camp. Charlie barely held the door open for him, as he dashed to his water bowl.

"What?" Jo had just gotten around to addressing her father. "What did I do now?"

"Blair. She just pulled off," Charlie pointed down the street, and Jo looked as if she was still there.

"What was she doing here?" she asked as she tipped the cabbie, then lifted a large square painting from the trunk. It was wrapped, tightly in brown paper.

"She came by to talk to you about somethin,' I dunno. Don't you check your messages?"

Jo struggled a little carrying the painting and her briefcase, which was hanging off of her shoulder, up the stairs. "Phone's dead," she answered as she went inside.

Charlie followed her in.

"What's that?"

"Just a little something." Jo left her briefcase by the front door, then carried the painting to her room; shutting the door.

---

It was 8:15am and Blair had agreed to meet Meg at The Café for a quick breakfast before going into the office. They'd both ordered their usual and had settled into a light banter.

The waiter set a bowl of sugar on their table. "Thank you," Blair said wiping her mouth.

Meg spooned a little sugar into her coffee. "I'm glad you could meet me for breakfast. It's been so hard to keep up with you now-a-days."

Blair hummed in agreement. "We just have a lot going on." She said around a mouthful of eggs.

Meg sipped her coffee. "How's Jo doing?

"She's doing fine," Blair cut a piece of ham then chewed it.

Meg watched her for a bit. "You sure about that?""

"Why wouldn't I be?" Blair grabbed a piece of toast and buttered it.

"Nothing… just…" Meg sat her cup down.

Blair eyed her. "What Meg?"

Meg thought of a good way to say it. "Usually you two would be at each other's throats by now."

Blair chuckled. "We probably would be if it weren't for the fact that we have to keep things professional," she cut another piece of ham.

"Has Amanda met her yet?"

Blair swallowed then slowly placed her fork and knife on her plate. Sighing, she wiped her mouth with a linen napkin. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?" her expression was one of annoyance.

Meg waved a spoon. "Wha-nothing, nothing. I was just wondering since Jo is right there everyday," she scooped some oatmeal onto her spoon.

Blair pursed her lips. "Yes, Amanda's met her," she conceded, hoping that would be the last of the interrogation.

"And?"

"And?" she shrugged. "They were cordial and that was it," Blair took a bite of her toast.

Meg watched her as she chewed. "Oh."

Blair stopped chewing and frowned. "Meg."

"What?" Meg saw the brow of question rise. She sighed, "I was just wondering if Amanda was maybe a little—" she let it hang there, knowing Blair would understand what she was asking.

"Jealous? And why would she be?" Blair felt irritated.

Meg shrugged dubiously. "Nothing. You're right, she has absolutely no reason to be jealous of Jo."

Meg ate another spoonful of oatmeal, aware of brown eyes staring at her. She added a few raisins to her bowl then stirred it without looking up. She heard the loud sigh from her tablemate.

"She is," Blair admitted. "She sees Jo as competition."

Meg glanced up from her bowl. "For?"

"Me, of course," Blair gave her a slightly offended look. "My attention… it's silly." She fluffed the napkin in her lap.

"That's not so silly, Blair," Meg stated.

"What do you mean by that?" Blair asked curiously. Meg's insight was something she often sought out whenever she felt vulnerable. They'd built a comfortable companionship the fourteen years they'd been lucky enough to be sisters.

Meg sat back in her chair. "Well. Jo doesn't know you're gay, does she?"

"I haven't exactly disclosed that bit of information to her, no." Blair picked up her fork and stirred around little leftover pieces of her breakfast on her plate.

"And she doesn't know you and Amanda are dating?"

"We're not really dating, just seeing each other," a breath. "She's helping me," Blair said quietly.

Meg's blue eyes shot a look at her. "Helping you?"

"Feel more comfortable with myself. My sexuality," Blair clarified. She wondered if that was the right way to explain her relationship with Amanda. It wasn't exactly serious… it felt more… casual.

Meg peered at her, then waited a beat. "So, she's like a stand-in."

"Yes… no… what?" It was just like Meg to stir the pot. She wasn't entirely sure if she minded or welcomed her insight this time around.

"She's your little test dummy," Meg prodded.

Okay, now that's going too far. "No, no nothing like that," a sharp shake of the head. Blair felt a little offended. "Meg!"

"What? I'm just observing, Blair, no judgments," Meg said protectively. She ate another spoonful of oatmeal.

Blair squinted at her tablemate. "Well, it sure feels like you are," she drank the last of her orange juice.

Meg dabbed her mouth. "Ok, look. Can I be forward with you?"

Blair had to weigh the question for a moment. Meg's forwardness often meant prying. She decided to be tough today. After all, what did she have to hide anymore? "I can take it." She folded her arms in her lap giving her stepsister a try me look.

Meg blew out a breath. "It's like Amanda's just filling in, breaking you in for when Ms. Right comes galloping along."

Blair gave Meg a disbelieving stare, then laughed a bit nervously. "It's not like that." God, not at all!

"Isn't it?" Meg got no answer, just silence. She sensed she'd stumbled onto a bit of reality for Blair. She made up her mind, straightening a bit in her seat. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"That depends," Blair said a little incensed.

Oooo, hit a nerve for sure. Meg blinked.

"How personal?" Blair hiked an inquisitive brow.

"Pretty personal, and you said you could take it," Meg smiled deviously.

"Fine. Shoot," Blair was not one to back down from a challenge.

"Have you kissed Amanda?"

Meg saw the hesitant and almost guilty look Blair tried to cover up. That pretty much indicated she was on to something. She knew it was the right question.

Blair inclined her head in a warning manner, shaking it. "Meg."

Meg gave her a stern look back. Don't try to flip this Blair. "You said you could take it. It's a simple question."

Blair closed her eyes then exhaled. "Okay. No." Satisfied?

Meg opened her mouth a bit surprised by the answer. "No?" Her brow wrinkled. "Why not?"

Why not indeed. Blair had tried to make sense of it all. There was no logical answer. Amanda was a very attractive woman. She was smart. Witty…

"I don't know," Blair breathed out, not meeting the puzzled eyes.

So now we arrive at the hard part. Meg softened her voice. "I think you do."

Blair tentatively looked at Meg who was waiting for her to react. Do I want to face this now? She shook her head slightly. Oh God, I don't know anything anymore.

Meg sympathized with her step sister's sudden confusion. Oh, the wonders of matters of the heart. She decided to soften her rhetoric.

"Blair, look. I won't pretend to have all the answers; or even a hand full of them." A soft smile, "All I know is… you know your heart the best. What makes it beat, what makes it race… what makes it fall." Meg watched as brown eyes avoided hers, looking down.

Blair's gaze fell to her hands in her lap. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to clear her thoughts – those of confusion and… longing, perhaps. She didn't feel like evaluating it. It being something that was always in the back of her mind… and recently to the forefront, and yet…

"I think once you figure out what or who causes that, well… then you can finally start putting your life together." Meg smiled.

Blair looked up. "You mean my love life?" she said with a little frustrated laugh. She placed her entwined hands on the table, staring at them.

Meg reached over, and rubbed them soothingly, then smiled tenderly. "I mean your life."

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Sorry for the long wait, peeps. Chapter 12 is coming very soon. Thank you for hanging in there with me on this slooow burn story. I have really loved all of the reviews, you guys rock!