September 20, 1984 – Fairfield, CT

Angela turned her head on the pillow and looked at her alarm clock. It wouldn't go off for another …25 minus 7… 18 minutes. Smiling, she stretched out and flipped onto her tummy. Sunshine came in the window, the red and orange leaves of the elm outside waving hello. She turned off the alarm.

What a pretty morning.

It was about then that her lumbering to-do list barged into her thoughts.

It started with the pillowcase. She'd put on a new one from the linen closet a few days ago, but she was not looking forward to tackling the sheets again. The previous times she'd done it, it had taken forever. But she now noticed, rolling in them, that they felt a little bit grimy. Eww.

She'd been so busy with work, purposefully trying to interact with Jonathan, grocery shopping, dish washing, and decluttering, that she'd had time for nothing else. I'm exhausted.

Then Angela remembered the last load of laundry she did was four days ago. Well, actually, she'd done two. She'd split the first load between hers and Jonathan's things, being sure to pour plenty of detergent - and, this time, fabric softener - directly onto the clothes. Curiously, it had come out with brown stains over almost every piece. Of course, being a matter of triage, she'd put the most crucial items in that first load, which were now destroyed. After an embarrassing phone call to her mother, she learned the error of her ways and the second load went much better. But, again, that was four days ago, and she wasn't sure if either of their supplies were still holding out. She knew she was out of pantyhose. How do people wash those? I can barely put them on without tearing them!

Mrs. Hiller was a nightmare, but I do miss clean underwear. Angela knew she should get up and figure out if they both had something to wear today, but she didn't want to.

Snuggling her chin into the pillow she wished were cleaner, Angela escaped into a daydream…


Angela bought all new clothes for her date with Grant last Friday. He picked her up at exactly 8pm, and even though she'd already dropped off Jonathan at her mother's, there was no way she was inviting Grant inside. Even having straightened up, she hadn't gotten to the downstairs bathroom yet. And her fear of him asking for a tour had her hurrying out to meet him just as he shut the door of his black Bentley.

She stared right at him, each step of her heels clicking directly in front of the other. His walk was much slower, but he was watching her, just the same.

They met in front of the grill and in a low, quiet voice, he spoke first, "You look beautiful."

She smiled slightly, and her answer came out as a whisper. "Thanks." He was looking sharp in his crisp Polo suit, his thick gray hair a stark contrast to his youthful blue eyes. "You look fantastic," she said softly.

His small smile was …mature, somehow, and Angela's heart started to pick up the pace. There was something madly sexy about Grant. He put one hand near the small of her back, and with the other he motioned toward his passenger seat. She followed his lead, and he kept her eyes locked with his when he shut the door behind her. As they drove up I-95, Angela took stock of what they were doing.

She knew him being her boss turned her on in some underground kind of way, but even if she'd just met him tonight, she would've been attracted to his confidence, his smile – she glanced sideways without moving her head – …his body. She remembered how incredible he'd felt up against her those nights at the office, and she had to disrupt her thoughts by lifting her chin and looking out her window. I always did have a thing for a well-deserved swagger.

After a glamorous dinner that barely more than whet her appetite, Grant took her to a jazz club in New Haven. Not surprisingly, he was a smooth dancer, holding her close, providing a solid structure, making covert, flirty, little glances throughout. His whole demeanor was bold but clearly restrained, and it was driving her wild. And there was a vulnerability at play she hadn't anticipated. He knew her. He knew the way she operated. He knew her weaknesses. Her mannerisms. She put her whole heart into her work, and this man had seen that, participated in that, 40 hours every week for the last 8 years. And now they'd crossed the line into the personal, and she found the compounded reaction violently hot.

When the band took a break, Grant led Angela to a back table and they each ordered a glass of wine. One thing that had remained preeminent throughout the evening was how much they'd stared at each other. Sure, they'd talked and laughed, but more than occasionally, Angela would find them fixated on each other, apparently trying to read something they weren't ready to ask.

It was just such an episode, back in the low-lit room, cigarette smoke billowing through every porous surface, strangers' voices in the background both negligible and necessary, that Grant interrupted. "Angela, I want you to know something."

His voice was smooth, and he kept watching her intently with those piercing blue eyes of his. Making a quick lick to his lips, he continued, "Do you remember when I told you to keep your nose clean, because something good was coming and I wanted you to be part of it?"

Instinctively, Angela tensed up, but tilted her head in a stab at nonchalance, "Yes."

"I'm taking over the Board of Directors," he smiled.

Angela's face lit up, "Grant!?" She laughed, and got up, coming around the little, circular table to hug him. "Congratulations!"

He pulled her into his lap, and Angela stopped smiling. They sat there for a moment or two, Grant's arm draped across her legs, holding her close, and she was thinking they were about to begin another likely-short-lived staring contest. But again, he brought them out of it, speaking distinctly.

"My position will be open, and you and Jim are going to be the nominees to take it." Angela was still coming to, adjusting to feeling Grant's warm strength underneath and around her, but after a second or four, her lagged attention caught up to the conversation.

"Jim and I are up for the presidency?" Angela whispered.

Grant rubbed her thigh and nodded confidently, "Soon enough."

Again, Angela took a moment to collect herself, trying to sort the different sources of pleasure in a logical way. Ironically, what came to mind was Michael - him and his crazy manipulation at the Waldorf. This was indeed a strange mashup of forces.

Grant placed a kiss on her lips, then looked in her eyes, speaking inches from her face. "When the Board meets next Friday, Bennington will be nominating Jim, while I'll be nominating you. The plan is that you'll both then receive your official notifications, and the Board will reconvene on the 24th for their final decision. But I wanted you to know. It's the final week for the Board to observe you. Hit it hard: cross all your Ts, dot all your Is. Be aggressive, but controlled."

Angela couldn't believe it. She was a 33 year old woman, already a Vice President at the twelfth largest advertising agency in the U.S., and in a matter of days, she could be the President. She looked steadily into Grant's eyes, not bothering to close her parted lips. And she discovered with increasing clarity that she didn't want to. The whole prospect was starting to feel very sexy.

Her ever-deepening breaths sought relief and found Grant's mouth. She kissed him fast and deep, having a difficult time restraining her smile. But somewhere in the back of her mind, Michael's voice pushed its way to the front again: There's always a quid pro quo. Furious for allowing herself to hear such a tainted case, Angela forged ahead and continued to kiss Grant hungrily, her hips mildly rocking toward him with the excited push of her mouth. He took it well, and their hands went all around each other, seeming to celebrate a great many things.

Still, the harbinger had spoken, and even as she kissed him, Angela found herself with a nagging discomfort.

She wanted Grant. He wanted her. She wanted the presidency, and he wanted her to have it. But the combination felt more at odds than in agreement, and her confusion grew the more they made out.

As the band returned to the stage, each member at their own pace, Angela heard them testing their instruments. She pulled back from Grant with one more gentle kiss to his lips.

Her arms hanged loosely around his neck, and she looked down into his eyes, "Thank you for your confidence in me, Grant."

Grant answered clearly, "You're amazing, Angela." He glanced down and up her body. "I know you can do this."

Angela looked down at Grant in awe, flooded with approval and acceptance, the feeling was almost surreal.

The band started to play, and she and Grant looked up to watch. I'm not interested in your opinions, Michael. Angela reached over for her glass of wine. Suddenly, she felt a devilish reward at the irony of the situation. Michael would be reeling if he knew just how toasty is my frozen ass. Taking a delighted sip, she looked down at Grant, "Do you mind if I stay here?"

Grant chuckled, "Be my guest."

She kissed his cheek and took another sip, appreciating the musicians' talents almost as much as her seating arrangements. "This band is extraordinary."

Grant nodded, "They're regulars, here."

"Do you come here often?"

He shrugged, "It's a good place to brood."

"Indeed," she said, glancing around the room.

Grant watched the musicians as well, aimlessly rubbing her legs. It felt great, even if she had to push down unwanted thoughts of ambivalence. She'd missed physical connection with a man, and Grant seemed more than willing to bring her up to speed. He smiled up at her, "It's better with company, though."

Angela looked down and smiled back. "Thank you for taking me here."

"I'm glad you could get away. I was starting to worry we'd never get out."

Her smile turned sad. "My schedule is extremely tight right now."

Grant squinted his eyes a little, wondering, "What is it you do on the weekends, anyway?"

Angela sighed, considering. "Well, recently, I've been bombarded with housework – I have GOT to get a new housekeeper, and soon!" Grant nodded. "But I'm also trying to reclaim my son. I've been emotionally absent these last few years, dealing with the pain of everything in my marriage by isolating and trying to languish without witnesses, and I haven't engaged my son. And it's hurt us both a lot. So, we've been trying to spend more time together."

Grant blinked and hesitated. "…Okay, but the whole weekend, every weekend?"

"Well, it's not all going to the park and playing go-fish. I have errands to do, and he goes with me. He plays with his friends when I'm trying to get the house situated and get caught up with work projects." She shrugged, "It's just normal life stuff, and I'm swamped."

Grant nodded silently. Looking back to the stage, he held her tighter. "You do need a housekeeper."

Angela waited a couple beats, then proceeded with caution, "Do you not often get to see your kids?"

Grant's face noticeably tightened, and he looked up at her. "…We were never that close." Compassion relaxed the awkward tension in Angela's face. "…The marriage was bad and ended worse. Kids always have opinions on those kinds of things."

"That, they do," she said softly.

After a moment Grant shook his head and shrugged, speaking a little louder. "Anyway, my youngest is a senior in high school this year, so they've all got their own things they like to do."

Angela tipped a half smile of empathy, and they returned their gazes to the stage. Angela set her wine back on the table and leaned purposefully into Grant.


Angela smiled and snuggled deeper into her pillow, remembering how solid Grant had felt.

The clock came into focus from her peripheral vision, and she jumped.

Oh, shoot! I'm late!


A/N: FYI - This is the point in the story where I go to "in-between scenes", because this is the date the Pilot starts. Therefore, every scene after this should be understood to be in canon, just in-between the scenes that actually aired. Thanks!