Guilty, I jumped, spilling coffee on my shirt. No real damage--it was a day old, and it was black. The shirt, I mean. Still...

I checked Cassie's expression. She was looking at me as though I were from Pluto.

"It may be time for us to have a long talk about decaf," she finally said. "Or about the Betty Ford Center, if they have a coffee program. You may even want to consider..."

"Don't start with me. It's not even 9 yet. Why are you here?"

"I had a breakfast meeting with a client. Why are you here?"

People had been asking that question for days, it seemed, and I was beginning to resent it. So I ignored her and took the carafe back to my desk.

"If I thought you'd slept," she continued, "I would say you look like you slept in those clothes. What in the world have you been doing?"

"Working. Couldn't sleep, so I came in to work. This idea came to me, and..."

"What time couldn't you sleep? What day?"

I considered. "I don't know. But never mind. Since you're here..."

"I'm calling my doctor. This minute."

"Whatever. But come here first. I want you to look at this."

"What is it?"

"A storyboard. Nobody was in Illustration, so I had to draw it myself. So it's crude. But take a look anyway."

"What's it for?"

"Rumours," I said.

Still suspicious, Cassie took the storyboard. For a long time, she didn't say anything.

Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. "So? What do you think?"

"Dangerous."

"I know. But..."

"Very dangerous."

"Right. But do you think it'll fly?"

Cassie smiled. Relieved, I sank back into my chair.

"Oh, it'll fly," she said, "and I want to pitch it. Let me run it past Jenner for you."

"You can't do that. I have to have Jack sign off..."

"Trust me--you need me for this one. Never mind Jack. I'll go over his head."

Evidently the chain of command wasn't the only thing that she didn't understand. "You can't take this to Jenner, dammit. I did the creative."

"You don't like him."

"True. But neither do you."

"Neither do his wives," she agreed, "or his girlfriends, or his hookers. But I don't have to sleep with him."

"He wants to sleep with you." Jenner wanted to sleep with every woman, actually, and he was trying to do just that. But he'd always had a particular thing for Cassie, and only her sweet recitals of sexual-harassment law kept him on his own side of the desk when she was around. "You're going to go up and see him with that dress on?"

She laughed and examined her figure under the Italian knit. "I like this dress. It's lucky."

"For who?"

"It's just insurance, baby duck. The old boy's never going to get any part of me. But can I help it if I know he likes to look?"

Sadly, I shook my head. Cassie was shameless...and extremely good at getting what she wanted. While I pondered her dark art, she picked up my phone and called Jenner's secretary.

"Five minutes," she told me, pressing the switchhook before she dialed again. "Beth? It's Cassie Wolfe. I'm in Dev Kerry's office. Could you send somebody here to photocopy a storyboard for me? On a color copier?...Right away. I've got to see Jenner in five minutes....Yes. Thanks." She hung up. "Anything you want while I'm up there?"

"You're going to get caught one of these days. He's dumb, but he may not be terminal."

"Don't bet your life." She mussed my hair. "We make a good team, even though I don't like you. We ought to have our own agency, just like on 'thirtysomething.' Remember? The Michael & Elliot Company? We'll call ours The Cassie & Devvy Company."

"The Devvy & Cassie Company," I corrected. "And they went broke on 'thirtysomething,' remember?"

"Fiction," she said airily.

One of the interns arrived at that point to pick up the storyboard. We briefly discussed percentage of reduction, degree of contrast, size of paper until I realized that he wasn't listening; he was too busy reviewing Cassie's insurance.

"Today," I suggested.

The boy nodded, backing away with the storyboard so he could keep gaping at Cassie as long as possible--and tripped over a wastebasket for his trouble.

I scowled first at him and then at her. "You may be carrying too much coverage, Cass."

Her only response was a moué. Sometimes, the woman was impossible.

"One second, sir. My copywriters are here. Will it be all right if I put you on speakerphone?"

Not getting a definite answer, I put him on speakerphone anyway. Jenner continued to yammer away--some howling madness about how exciting the concept was. It was a meaningless word, because all concepts around that place were exciting, and interesting, too. "Interesting" was a Chinese curse.

The man had three speeds: Manic; Depressive; and Quick, Get the Butterfly Net. He was cruising along in the third or fourth gear of the bad speed at the moment.

"...your concept," he was saying. "Very exciting. Risky. Cutting-edge. Miss Wolfe just called the clients from here. They're on their way over. We'll have the pitch up here in 15."

"Sir? Excuse me--I'm going to pitch today? With that storyboard?"

"Not you; Miss Wolfe and I. She says you look like something that came in with the tide. She thinks you'll scare the clients. So we're going to keep you out of sight. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Aye, captain. Yes, massa. Whatever you bleat, you filthy old goat. Where are your hands right now?

"Hello? Miss Devlin? Are you still there?"

Kurt and Heather snickered; I gave them a silent warning. Seven years I'd worked for the man, and he still couldn't quite get a grip on my name. "Still here, Mr. Jenner."

"Miss Wolfe says you were here all night. She thinks you should take the day off. I think we can spare you. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir. But..."

The phone clicked down on the other end.

"She's wearing the peach dress, isn't she?" Heather asked. "Did you tell her to tell him to give us raises?"

Late in the afternoon, I was en route from the bathroom back to bed when the doorbell rang. Just what I needed--an account manager in a lucky peach dress, bearing takeout Chinese.

"I gave at the office," I told her, and started to close the door.

Cassie put her foot in it, though, and outleaned me. Then she invaded my privacy the rest of the way.

"I'm in my pajamas!" I protested.

"Why? Were you sleeping?"

"Of course I was sleeping. Who wears pajamas when they're not sleeping? Who do I look like--Hugh Hefner?"

"You're a little prettier. But not much. Were you going back to bed?"

"I was on my way when..."

"Then don't let me interrupt you," she said, pushing past me.

"Wait a minute. I never asked you to..."

"We signed the contract with Rumours half an hour ago. You'll never believe what we're billing. And we're both getting bonuses out of it, because I told Jenner that bonuses would be awfully sweet of him. Come on. We're celebrating this."

Outmaneuvered, I gave up and followed her back up the stairs to my bedroom. Cassie opened the bottles of Chinese beer, and we had several Szechuan courses, with chopsticks, out of cartons, on my bed. I knew I'd be finding rice in the sheets until laundry day, but better rice than many other things.

After a while, we turned on the little TV and watched commercials with the sound off so that we could supply our own narration. Then Cassie entertained me with a reenactment of the pitch meeting. She played all the parts. She did a great Jenner.

"This is the most fun I've had in bed in six years," I remarked.

Cassie laughed. "I'm working on it, Devvy."

Weary, I got into bed, turned out the light, and rolled over--right into someone.

"Alone at last," Monica crooned. "Sleepy?"

I rocketed across the room, where it might be safer.

"Not sleepy?"

"You've got to stop this," I told her shakily. "You're making me crazy."

"You're making yourself crazy. You'll feel better if you let it out."

"You are out."

In the half-dark, I saw her sit up. "Great Satan, you're literal. Relax. Don't fight yourself so hard. You're human. You can't help what you want."

"But I can help what I do about it."

"Can you?" she asked, amused, and switched on the bedside lamp.

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard that it may have cracked one. She was wearing a black-lace X-rated number, and not much of it, but enough to stop a speeding train.

"If you pull on the ribbons with your teeth," she said casually, "the cups will come open. Tempted?"

Yes, I was, after all, come to think of it, now that she mentioned it, and we weren't going to play this game anymore. Determined to end the temptation once and for all, I leaped into the bed.

She was gone before I landed.

(c) 1999, ROCFanKat

Continued - Part 8