---

The incessant ring of the phone penetrated through Mina's dream where she was torturing that sleaze bag Vinny with various sharp and pointy objects. Why must she wake up when her life is so much better here? Mina buried her head under the pillow and growled, willing the phone to stop ringing. Who the hell was calling her at this ungodly hour? It was only—she peered out from under the pillow to check the digital alarm clock on the floor—one o'clock in the damn afternoon!

God, she could use a smoke. Too bad she and Serena quit together two years ago after having smoked since they were in their teens. They supported each other, policed each other, bitched at each other when the cravings were at their worst. It was a good thing they had each other to lean on—getting over those damn nicotine cravings were a bitch and a half. Yep, the Lombard sisters took family bonding to a higher level.

Realizing that the phone wasn't going to stop ringing just because she was using her as-of-yet-undiscovered telekinetic powers, Mina slammed a hand on the handset and growled, "Yes?"

"Is this Mina Lombard?" a bland female voice asked. Mina sucked her teeth grouchily, peeved that she was brought out of her lovely dream for this.

"Shouldn't you know who you're calling before you actually call?" The woman started to bluster but Mina didn't let her get a word in edgewise. "Yeah, this is Mina. What the hell do you want?"

The woman's voice was positively icy when she finally regained her powers of speech. "Please hold for Mr. Cutter."

Mina was about to protest against being put on hold for a call she didn't even place when there was a click and the line was silent. Damn. She didn't know who the hell this Cutter person was, nor did she want to know. She just wanted to sink into her bed and lose herself in the oblivion of sleep.

Just as she was about to hang up, the line clicked again and a deep male voice greeted her. "Mina Lombard? This is Nathan Cutter of Cutting Edge Talent."

Mina's eyes widened as her jaw dropped. Nathan Cutter, the big-time Hollywood agent? Nathan Cutter, the man who represented some of Hollywood's up-and-coming new stars? Nathan Cutter, the person who held practically all of Hollywood in his fist?

What the hell was he doing calling her?

Mina tried to sound cool, as if she didn't give a rat's ass who he was and what a call from him meant to a struggling actress like her. "What can I do for you, Mr. Cutter?" She was so conscious of not sounding like a prepubescent teen that she ended up sounding like Kathleen Turner on crack. Oh well, better her than Peewee Herman.

Papers rustled in the background as Mina waited on tenterhooks for what one of the most powerful men in Hollywood had to say to her. "I've seen some of your earlier work and while I wasn't impressed with the material, I was definitely impressed with you."

Mina's slowly sat up on her mattress, not believing her ears. Nathan Cutter was impressed with her? Her skin started to tingle as if she somehow knew on a subconscious level that her life was about to change with this one phone call. Maybe she was just imagining this whole conversation. After all, not getting any fresh air and living off of macaroni & cheese for a whole week had to do some funny things to one's system. She switched the phone to her other ear just to be sure she wasn't hearing things.

"Listen, Mina. I know this is a bit unexpected but I'd like to schedule a meeting with you, just to see if you're as magnetic in person as you are onscreen. If that's all right with you, that is."

"Of course it is!" Mina exclaimed. She cleared her throat, forcibly restraining herself from gushing like a teenybopper. "I would like that very much, Mr. Cutter."

"Good. You can set up an appointment with my secretary. The sooner the better."

Mina nodded her head, forgetting that he couldn't see her. "I'll do that, sir."

"I'll see you then. Let me connect you with my secretary," he said.

"How may I help you?" the disembodied bland voice asked. Mina wondered if this woman's face matched her voice, and if it did, then that was very unfortunate indeed.

"I would like to book an appointment with Mr. Cutter as soon as possible, please."

The wide grin that was slowly starting to spread threatened to split her face. She could hear the clicking of keys as the secretary searched for an opening in Nathan Cutter's schedule.

"I can put you in next Thursday at ten thirty." Her tone left no room for discussion; if she passed up this opportunity, she was never going to get another chance with him.

"I'll take it," Mina said quickly. She did a lot of stupid things but screwing up her career twice in one week was too much, even for her.

"Good, we'll see you then." Mina was feeling too good to notice that the woman had already hung up on her.

She squealed and spiked her cordless phone on the bed like a football, which was appropriate since she felt like she had just won the Super Bowl. It had been a week since she had been falsely accused of being one of Vinny's harem girls and she had spent every single day since then holed up in her apartment. Somehow she managed to stretch her mac & cheese supply to last her an extra three days, but then again, it wasn't like she had much of an appetite.

She sniffed the air around her; after wallowing in her pajamas for a whole week, she was more than a little ripe. Perhaps today was a good day to finally take a shower. She gathered up some clean clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.

A half-hour later, she emerged from the steamy bathroom in a clean pair of shorts and a tank top. Her hair had been scrubbed clean and was pulled back in a ponytail, and her skin glowed after a vigorous exfoliation. It was amazing how a simple thing like a shower lifted her spirits and made her feel like a new person. She thought of her upcoming appointment with Nathan Cutter and grinned foolishly. If things with him went as well as she hoped, she was going to be a household name sooner than she thought. That would show her mother.

Mina's eyes widened. Her mother! She still had to tell her parents what had happened last week. She started to panic for a minute, wondering how she was going to break the news to them, when she remembered that Nathan Cutter was going to represent her. There was no room for false modesty here—he was the one who called her, after all, not the other way around. So let her mother bitch at her—it wasn't as if there was anything new about that. Let her try to wrap her brain around the fact that her daughter was this close to becoming a star. She opened her mouth in a silent shriek—her neighbour worked the night shift and didn't like any noises during the day.

Vinny, her parents, those "producers"…they could all kiss her tight white ass for doubting her talent. If Nathan Cutter was impressed by her work, who were they to try to bring her down? She could just picture it now: she, in a sleek black Valentino creation, beating out Julia Roberts for Best Leading Actress at the Academy Awards, snubbing all her detractors in her acceptance speech. What a great way to give them the finger without actually doing it!

Someone started knocking on her door and she jumped. She still lived in fear that her door was going to be kicked in by police officers looking to arrest her on another trumped up charge. Then she realized how silly she was being; she couldn't live the rest of her life in fear of cops, especially when she did nothing wrong. It was probably just Serena at the door, finally sick of always getting the answering machine no matter what time during the day she called.

She raced to the door, eager to share her good news with her sister. She pulled open the door and said, "Hey, guess what?"

Mina stopped short of what she was about to say. It wasn't Serena after all; it was a cop. Detective Andrew Mulligan, to be exact. He was leaning against the doorframe, clutching something in a brown paper sack, an easy grin on his face that under different circumstances Mina would find remarkably sexy.

"What?" he asked, playing along. He flashed her another smile and Mina found it very difficult indeed to remember why she was mad at him. But there was no easy way to forget the person who had arrested you and falsely accused you of being a prostitute.

"I thought you were someone else," Mina answered stonily. She didn't invite him in but she didn't tell him to leave either. Instead she just walked away, leaving the door open. "What can I do for you, Detective?" she asked over her shoulder.

He took the open door as an invitation to come in. He surveyed the apartment with the shrewd eyes of a cop but didn't comment on the sparse furnishings. Even though the place had a 'just-moved-in' look, he had a feeling she'd been here for a while. "I think I have something of yours."

She turned to him. "And what's that? My dignity? My self-respect?"

Andrew held up the paper bag like a peace offering to appease an angry deity. "I'm afraid it isn't as fundamental as that. Your purse, Ms. Lombard," he said, pulling the item out of the bag with a flourish. "Somebody dropped it off at the precinct yesterday and I happened to recognize it from your…er, visit with us."

Mina looked at the bag disinterestedly and shrugged. "You can set it down over there," she said, pointing to the garbage can. That bag held too many reminders of that awful day and she wanted it out of her sight. Besides, if all goes well with her meeting next Thursday, she can replace that bag with a million other bags sporting labels like Kate Spade, Prada, and Louis Vuitton. That thrift store purse could go to hell along with Vinny for all she cared.

Andrew turned the purse over in concern. "Are you sure you want to throw this out?" he asked. "There wasn't any money left in your wallet but everything's in pretty decent shape."

Mina snorted in contempt. "The wallet's empty for the simple fact that there wasn't anything in it to begin with. Look around you, Detective. Does it look like I'm rolling in money?"

"All the more reason for you to keep your purse," he insisted, setting it down on a milk crate/table.

"Look, is there some other reason you're here?" Mina asked irritably. "I don't think returning lost and stolen items is in your job description. Besides, isn't this a little out of your jurisdiction? I know I'm living below the poverty line, but last time I checked, I'm not quite in the projects yet."

"I just thought you wanted to know that Vinny is going to be sentenced next week. If the judge is a real hard-ass, I'm thinking he's going to prison for a very long time," Andrew said. He levelled a serious gaze at her, his emerald green eyes narrowed and focused. "You could make a victim-impact statement to help the judge make his decision."

Now here was an opportunity to get back at that worm. Mina had to admit the good detective came up with a good one there. "What day and what time?"

"Next Thursday at ten." Mina made a sound of regret and shook her head.

"No can do, Detective. I've got a meeting with a prospective agent that day at ten-thirty. As much as I would love to pound that last nail in Vinny's coffin, I don't want to give him a second chance in screwing up my career," she replied sadly.

"Hey, it's okay. There are two other girls from your former agency that were victims just like you, and they're willing to give statements. Having yours would've been great, but I'm sure the DA can do without it, especially since Vinny already confessed." He looked around for a place to sit down that wasn't on the floor but was unsuccessful.

Mina noticed this and tried to hide her embarrassment behind her usual brand of sarcasm. "I'd tell you to pull up a chair, but you'd have to bring it from home."

"No, it's okay," he assured her as he pointed towards the door. "I was just leaving."

"Well, thanks for dropping off my purse and letting me know about Vinny." Mina brushed past him and held the door open. "Goodbye, Detective."

Andrew paused just as he was about to cross the threshold and looked at her over his shoulder. "You know, my friends call me Andrew, or Drew for short."

"That must be such a privilege for them," she drawled. "Please don't take this the wrong way, Detective, but I hope never to see you again."

Andrew shrugged; well, he couldn't win over everybody, especially the ones he falsely arrested. He usually didn't like being wrong about his suspects, but in this case, he was mighty glad she had been innocent of the charges. Well, except the resisting arrest charge, which he never formally filed, but he could understand her reaction since he would've done the same thing in her place. He gave her a small salute and smiled to show no hard feelings. "Well, you never know Ms. Lombard. Good luck with your meeting."

Mina watched him walk down the hall, his steps long and sure. He seemed so self-confident and her petty insults just kept bouncing off him as if her attitude didn't bother him at all. She closed the door moments later when he reached the stairwell and she couldn't see him anymore.

"'You never know', my ass," she muttered under her breath. She picked up the purse he had been so kind to return and tossed it in the trash after going through it to make sure she didn't leave anything important behind, like her keys or her ID. It was sad, parting with her favourite purse, but she didn't think she could realistically look at it without thinking of that terrible day.

Just like her life-altering shower, tossing her purse was another signal to the start of her new life. Oddly enough, it took hitting rock bottom to realize just what she needed to dig herself out of the hole she had made with her own bare hands. She sighed and inspected her nails. This was going to be hell on her manicure.

---

Six days, seven nights. That was how long Greg had been following Ms. Amy Miller, a.k.a. The Most Boring Person on Earth. From home to office to the park for lunch back to the office and finally back home: that pretty much made up Amy's—and now Greg's—whole day. He supposed he could've eased his watch on her since she was practically an automaton programmed to live her life with as little variety as possible, but with his crappy luck, the day he ditched her would be the day she did something useful like burn down Shields' house or rob the bank of all its money, thus rendering Shields bankrupt.

One can only dream.

Sometimes Greg thought it would be wiser to move on with his life and forget about his vendetta against Shields, but he knew that was impossible. The day he lost his job at Global Advertising was the day he vowed to get even with Shields for ruining his life. He envisioned himself as a modern-day Zorro, avenging everyone Shields had wronged. Shields didn't care whose lives he fucked with when he decided to axe their jobs at Global Advertising, so he figured anything he did to Shields would just be karma repaying him for being such an unfeeling bastard.

Well, that's all about to change. Greg was going to make sure of it. By the time Greg exacted his revenge, Darien Shields wouldn't know what hit him. And little Ms. Amy Miller was going to help him do it—she just didn't know it yet.

He patted the pocket that contained his pack of smokes and wished he could just light up as he contemplated his next move. He needed to figure out how to use Amy Miller to get in MediaWorks. From there, it shouldn't be too hard to blend into the MediaWorks atmosphere, to fly below the radar, biding his time before crushing Shields like the bug that he was.

But before he could do any bug-crushing, he first had to play shadow to Amy while she did her grocery shopping. To do this, he actually had to walk around with a basket of food he couldn't afford, just so he wouldn't look suspicious walking around a grocery store without buying anything.

Greg watched Amy pluck two boxes of wheat crackers. Oh for God's sake, she was comparing the nutritional labels on the boxes. Again. Greg mentally groaned. They had been in the store for almost two hours now because she had to examine, analyse, compare and contemplate over each item before she put it into her cart. She treated grocery shopping—as with every other aspect of her life, it seemed—like a science experiment. No wonder her life was as bland as the fat-free, cholesterol-free, sodium-free and, most likely, taste-free food she took a shining to.

She was just as particular about her produce, Greg noticed. Of course, it was kind of hard not to notice, given that she must've rejected about thirty apples before finding six that met her high standards.

For some reason, that made Greg smile. He could take a few lessons on proper nutritional intake from Ms. Miller. He looked at the items he had absently put in his basket: a bag of marshmallows, a can of squirt cheese, a package of caramel candy, and a can of dog food.

Dog food? Greg took the can out of the basket and discretely buried it in a pile of oranges. He was allergic to the vile beasts. Or at least, that was what he claimed every time he came across one.

He quickly ducked behind a display of olive oil as Amy pushed her cart past him on the way to the checkout counter. Finally, the end was near. Greg left his basket of junk food beside the display and hurried past the checkout counters, keeping his head towards the windows overlooking the parking lot to make sure Amy didn't notice him. He would wait for her outside and take up the surveillance when she comes out. Stalking a person as anally retentive as Amy Miller only made his nicotine cravings that much stronger.

He picked up a discarded newspaper and opened it, pretending to read a scintillating article about the plight of the rainforests in Brazil (his only thought was: there were rainforests in Brazil?), waiting for Amy to pay for her heart-healthy purchases so he can follow her home again. He just had to keep reminding himself that all this stalking was going to pay off eventually; the mental image of Shields' bloody face helped keep him focused on the end goal.

Greg frowned and lowered his newspaper to look at the sky. Was bloodying Shields' face really the end goal for him? If messing up his face was all he wanted, then why the hell was he going through all this trouble to stalk Amy Miller? He could just abandon this half-baked plan of his and jump Shields in the underground garage at the end of the day. No, that would be too simple and too lenient for what Shields had done to him and every other employee that was laid off at Global Advertising. He needed Shields to feel a pain that was deeper than any he could inflict with his fists. To do that, he had to get within spitting distance of that bastard.

He needed Amy Miller to take him there.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amy walking out the door clutching two paper bags. The corner of Greg's mouth lifted in a tiny half grin. It figured she'd be the paper bag type. If she wouldn't pollute her body with preservatives and additives, then she wouldn't pollute the environment with non-recyclable plastics.

He hid the lower half of his face with the newspaper but he might as well have been invisible. The woman was oblivious to everything except what was directly in front of her, kind of like a racehorse with blinders on. If she was this way in her relationships it was no wonder she was single. He slowly started following her, being careful not to get too close just in case she got wise to him. She didn't live too far away from the store, which made frequent trips very convenient for both of them. Amy commuted everywhere she went—she didn't have a car—so that made it easy for Greg to keep up with her as she went about her daily business.

A car horn behind him caught Greg's attention. He just barely dodged getting hit by a Corvette being driven by what looked like a panicked teenage girl.

"Shit," he muttered as the car jumped the curb onto the sidewalk. "What the fuck's that kid doing?"

The car swerved to avoid hitting a mailbox as outraged and frightened pedestrians yelled obscenities at the driver. Greg's eyes widened as he saw the car barrelling down toward Amy who, unsurprisingly, was completely unaware of the drama unfolding a few feet away from her.

He ran towards Amy, determined to stop this crazy teenager from running over his little foot-in-the-door. When the horn blasted again, perhaps in warning, Amy turned around, an annoyed expression on her face. She saw the car heading straight for her and froze. Her hands went slack and her bags fell on the sidewalk, spilling their bland contents on the concrete. She opened her mouth in a silent scream, which never had a chance to materialize because Greg tackled her to the ground before the car could mow her down.

They hit the ground hard, Greg covering Amy's body with his. Nothing was going to happen to this girl before he got his revenge—he was going to make sure of that. The car sped off without even stopping, and turned at the first corner.

Greg hoisted himself off Amy and leaned down over her. She had turned white as a sheet and her pupils were slightly dilated. She was going into mild shock. Quickly, Greg lightly tapped her cheeks. "Hey, are you okay? Stay with me, now. Don't go all weird on me." He continued to gently slap her cheek until her colour started coming back and her pupils became normal again. "You feeling better?"

Amy nodded jerkily. She struggled to get up, but the man who looked so familiar to her, restrained her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Maybe you'd better just relax there for a minute," he said kindly. She blushed when he leaned closer, his face just inches away from hers. He could tell that she wasn't used to people getting close to her. "I'm just making sure you're all right," he reassured her.

She nodded shyly and licked her lips. "I think I'm okay, now. What happened?"

Greg's face clouded over as he thought about how very nearly she had gotten run over. If he wanted to use this woman to get him into MediaWorks, he was going to have to make sure nothing happened to her. "Some idiot teenager couldn't get control of the car she was driving and jumped the curb and almost ran you over," he explained.

He extended a hand as she silently took in the news that she was almost killed. "Let me help you up." She weighed practically nothing, Greg observed as he gently pulled her up. Must be that cardboard diet she was on. "I'm afraid that I ripped your pants when I knocked you down," he said, looking at the small tear on her knee. "I'm sorry about that."

Amy's surveyed the damage and deemed it a small price to pay for keeping her life. "That's okay; I'll live." Realizing how true her statement was, her eyes widened. "You saved my life. How can I ever repay you?"

You can give him head, for starters. Amy mentally groaned as she heard that all-too familiar voice. She silently willed Tammy to get lost but she stubbornly remained, sizing up the stranger with an assessing eye, as if he were a pair of shoes she was contemplating on buying. As saviours go, this one's not so bad. He looks familiar, though.

Amy clenched her jaw and focused on the extremely difficult task of ignoring Tammy. But how does one effectively ignore one's own mental creation?

You got me. Tammy turned annoyed eyes at her. Now let's just get something straight between us. You created me, not the other way around, which means that you actually want me here. So stop pretending that I always pop out of the blue to inconvenience you.

Amy blinked in surprise. For an incorporeal being, Tammy sure did make sense sometimes. Damn, she was never going to hear the end of this one. She jumped when the stranger snapped his fingers in her face.

"Hey, are you sure you're all right? You didn't bump your head or anything, did you?" That was just the last thing he needed from this woman: a trip to the emergency room. As her official stalker and self-appointed guardian, he'd have to sit it out with her just to make sure she was fine.

Amy blushed, embarrassed that she was caught in one of her little mental conversations with Tammy. This was happening too much lately. First Mr. Shields walks in on her talking to herself, or rather, Tammy, now this man catches her worrying about Tammy's sure-to-be-endless teasing. Perhaps she really was going crazy; Tammy became more real to her every single day.

She realized he was still staring at her so she coughed lightly and said, "No, my head's fine—"

HA!

"—and I was just thinking how brave you were." She cursed herself for saying it but he just smiled.

"Well, I couldn't let anything happen to you, now, could I?" His voice had gone velvety smooth and the corner of his mouth turned upwards in a half smile, half smirk. If she only knew the true meaning of that statement.

Amy cast her eyes downward and stammered, "Well, I—you don't even…I mean.." God, she was such an idiot.

I concur.

Of course…why didn't he see it before? Greg suppressed the urge to dance triumphantly on the hood of a nearby car. It looked like he was going to have to play up the romantic hero role just a little bit more: Ms. Bland and Boring wanted a boyfriend. It was so obvious from the way she kept stealing glances at him when she thought he wouldn't notice, and the way she was so jittery every time he came near her. It was a testament to how far he was willing to go that he was actually going to woo this timid creature.

To test out his theory, Greg lightly placed his hand on the small of her back and directed her to her fallen groceries, and said, "Looks like you need some help with all this stuff. Why don't I gather up all your stuff and walk you home? Those bags look like they might fall apart any minute. Just point the way and we'll be off." He flashed her a grin and pretended not to notice the flush spreading across her cheeks. If she lost the glasses and the perpetually blank expression, she might actually be a looker, Greg thought. But she was still too plain for his tastes.

"No, really. You don't have to do that," Amy protested, moving to crouch down beside him.

Ah, let him do it, Tammy said as she examined the man with a magnifying glass. You don't think I'll carry all your shit for you, do you? Need I remind you that I have see-through arms? Now, where have I seen this man before?

Amy didn't know either but she knew Tammy was right—she had seen this man before. Recently, too. There was just something about him that was so familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She watched him putting one of her carefully selected organically grown grapefruit into a tattered bag, all the while trying to jog her memory.

Was he from work? Amy shook her head against that theory. If he were from work, she'd recognize him for sure. While Amy wasn't the most popular person at the office, she knew practically everyone on a superficial level. She was one of the receptionists for the accounting department so she had contact with practically everyone in the company. No, she'd never seen him before at MediaWorks.

"Well, that's all of them," he said, dropping a jar of all-natural peanut butter on top of her organically grown, whole wheat toast with oats, sunflower seeds and raisins, crushing it down the middle. Greg almost laughed when she cringed, probably dreading the thought of eating uneven slices of bread, but she was too polite to say anything.

"Have I seen you before?"

"I was wondering if you'd remember," he answered with a grin. "I'm Greg Saunders; we met in the park a few days ago. I helped you pick up your papers." He tried a teasing grin and was rewarded with another innocent blush. "It seems that I'm always picking up after you every time we meet."

Amy's eyes widened as it dawned on her that the man who saved her life was the same person she had mentally accused of being a serial rapist. Beside her, Tammy was pumping her fist in triumph, shouting I knew it! I was just about to tell you we saw him at the park but I wanted to see if you'd remember first. Amy didn't bother to tell her she really doubted that.

She stared at him for a moment, not knowing how to react. Realizing that he was staring at her with a gleam in his eye, she cleared her throat and said, "As I recall, you weren't much help then." She winced and called herself, with Tammy's assistance, every name in the book. The man had saved her life and all she could do was rag him for not being more helpful at their first meeting. "But, um…thanks for saving my life today. I really, uh…appreciate it."

Greg was smiling but he was clutching the bag that contained her precious loaf of bread in a death grip. Uptight, ungrateful bitch. Would it kill her to at least try to sound genuine? "No problem. I'm just glad you were okay. That car came really close to running over you."

"Don't remind me." Amy still couldn't believe she was almost killed.

Makes you wonder where your life has gone, doesn't it? Tammy was sitting on the hood of a parked car, cracking her gum loudly. You could've died and no one would notice. You'd just fade into death the same way you faded into life.

Shut up. Tammy was wrong; people would notice if she were gone. Her coworkers would have to make their own photocopies from now on; her parents wouldn't be billed for her therapy sessions and her landlord wouldn't get her monthly rent.

"Come on, I'll walk you home," Greg said, breaking her out of her thoughts. He was getting irritated with the way she kept slipping in and out of reality; it was definitely hard to keep up the image of dashing hero if she didn't even pay attention. He took her arm and started walking down the street towards her apartment complex.

Amy stopped short and tugged her arm away from his hold. "How'd you know where I live?" She didn't care if he saved her life or not; all the old suspicions were back. She glanced around warily, thinking that she'd abandon her groceries if she had to run away from him.

Greg swore to himself inwardly and struggled to maintain his easygoing demeanour. This bitch didn't miss a trick. His mind whirled furiously as he cast about for a reasonable excuse, then simply said, "I saw you heading this way earlier. I was going to say hi, but you looked so deep in thought, I didn't want to disturb you."

"Oh," Amy stammered. She felt ridiculous and embarrassed for distrusting a man who obviously meant her no harm. After all, he came to her aid on two separate occasions and never asked for anything in return. She could feel her walls slowly start to crumble and she was surprised to find that she didn't care. Maybe there was hope for her yet.

Slowly, as if she was aware of the huge step she was taking, Amy laid her hand on Greg's arm and gently tugged on it. "Come on, my apartment's this way."

This time, Greg smiled genuinely and allowed Amy to lead him to her home, even though he already knew where it is. He was following her again, only this time, she was aware of it. There would be no more need to stalk Amy Miller now; by the time he was done romancing Amy, she'd be willing to follow him to the ends of the earth, if he so desired it of her. But she needn't worry about that, as long as she got him into MediaWorks.

Meanwhile, Amy walked down the street on Greg's arm. Her hips swayed in an unfamiliar rhythm; she believed it was called a 'strut'. God, if someone told her that she'd be strutting down the street after being saved from almost turning into roadkill, she'd have called him a damn liar.

She grinned slyly at a gaping Tammy as she passed her on the street corner. She enjoyed the look on her alter ego's face: the way her mouth hung open in disbelief; her eyes bugging out almost comically; her eyebrows almost disappearing into her hairline. It was priceless, and she was absurdly proud that she had been the cause of it.

Well, I'll be damned…

Amy's smile got larger and her strut became…struttier. She had a feeling things were going to start changing from this moment forward, and it's all because of the man on her arm.

She couldn't wait to rub it in Molly's face that she had a new boyfriend. She'd tell her that he saved her life from a runaway car, that he walked her home, that he made love to her like an animal and made her scream….

Well, when that happened, she'd rub it in Molly's face but good. But she had better things to think about than that bitch, like what kind of food her boyfriend liked to eat, how he wanted her to dress, and act, and look. What kind of lover he'd be.

The rest of the walk was spent in silence, Amy mentally flipping through her lingerie collection deciding what to wear for their first night together, Greg going over his plan to seduce Amy, and both thinking that the other was none the wiser.

---

"Pull over, Raye! Pull over!" Chad screamed a few blocks away from the crowded grocery store parking lot. "Shit, you could've killed someone!"

Raye jerked the wheel hard to the right, causing the tires to squeal in protest. She slammed her foot on the brake and yanked on the gearshift to park the car. God, her hands were shaking, she almost ran over that woman back there, and Chad was screaming in her ear. A long time ago, her mother died in a car accident…and now, in her recklessness, she had almost killed two people while she was behind the wheel of Chad's car. She was going to throw up.

Sensing this, Chad's face darkened and said, "Oh no, you don't. Babe, you've fucked around with my car enough for one day. If you need to puke, I suggest you do it outside."

Chad's rebuke was enough to make her swallow the bitter bile working its way up her throat. She was not going to humiliate herself in front of Chad…again. What was she thinking, telling him that she knew how to drive? She had had only two or three driving lessons her entire life, all of them given by her dad who insisted that his hair turned greyer each time, and they were only in an empty parking lot! What made her think she was ready for the streets when even her father told her she wasn't?

Everything bad that happened as a result of her being behind the wheel was her father's fault. He didn't train her enough.

Instead of spilling her guts—literally—in Chad's car, she turned to him and said icily, "I am not going to throw up in your precious car, Chad. I just felt woozy for a second but I'm glad to see which one of us is more important to you.

"And I know I almost killed someone. I was there, remember?" Her violet eyes blazed through stormy tears.

Chad cursed at the sight of her tears and turned away. Fuck, she was not going to rob him of his right to chew her out. But damn it, he hated seeing girls cry. Against his better judgement, he put a hand on her shoulder and patted it gently, if not awkwardly. "You told me that you knew how to drive," he said, unable to keep the accusing tone out of his voice.

Raye winced and shrugged his hand off her shoulder. "I told you that I've driven a few times in New York. What you made of that is your business," she said loftily.

"You asked me if you could drive my car!" He didn't know why he hung out with this chick with a chip on her shoulder the size of the city she came from. She could be so frustrating sometimes.

"And you let me," she replied simply. "Whatever happened after that was fate."

"Fate?" he exclaimed. "Fate had nothing to do with your almost flattening two people back there. Your inability to drive, however, does."

"Believe what you want to believe," she said. Raye was almost enjoying seeing Chad's face getting angrier and angrier. She wondered how far she could go with her passive-aggressive line of defence before she'd have to own up to the truth.

Chad clenched his jaw, trying to keep himself in control. Did she really believe this bunk she was spewing? He kept both his hands splayed on the dashboard so they wouldn't wrap themselves around her pretty little throat. He was aware that Raye was watching him apprehensively but he didn't say anything or even look at her. He couldn't.

When he finally composed himself, he turned his head and said very softly, "Unbuckle your seat belt and get out of the car. I'm driving you home."

Raye flinched at the curt order. Without a word, she did as he commanded, keeping her eyes to the ground when they passed each other at the front of the car.

The ride home was as tense as it was quiet. Raye kept her eyes averted, taking in the swaying palm trees as they drove towards her house, unable to believe that she had royally fucked up her one chance to…to what? Impress him? No, she might have a slight, very slight, crush on Chad, but she would never go out of her way for some boy. She was too good to grovel at someone's feet; her father taught her that lesson the night she found out that the boy who took her to the local make-out spot had impregnated one of her classmates and left town. She wasn't going to make a fool of herself by leaping into his arms the first chance she got. Not again.

Chad watched Raye reconstruct the brick wall he had worked so hard to tear down ever since they met and cursed himself a thousand times over. The truth was that the majority of the blame lay on his shoulders, not Raye's. He should've have made sure she knew how to drive—and had a license—before letting her get behind the wheel of his car. Hell, she shouldn't have even been there in the first place.

He pulled into her driveway and turned to her and said hesitantly, "Listen, Raye, I'm sorry for biting your head off—"

Raye whipped her head around to face him, her expression neutral. "There's no need to apologize, Chad. After all, I did fuck around with your car and almost kill two people," she said in an eerily calm voice, echoing his words back to him. Chad didn't know how she did it but Raye was actually scarier like this than when she yelled at him. And she yelled at him a lot. She yelled at him when he was late picking her up for school. She got really mad at him when he mixed up their lunch order and she wound up with a double-decker cheeseburger with pickles when she specifically told him to order a double-decker cheeseburger with bacon and no pickles. Oh, and just the other day she verbally kicked his ass for looking at a bikini-clad surfer chick for a fraction of a second too long. Chad shook his head ruefully; he was already pussy-whipped, and they weren't even going out!

As perverse as the thought was, Chad would've preferred the screaming banshee version of Raye to the potentially dangerous ice maiden beside him. If she was yelling at him, she wasn't ignoring him. "Raye, I didn't mean it that way," he began hesitantly.

"Nevertheless, that's the way I'm taking it," she replied as she unbuckled her seat belt. She was doing a hell of a job ignoring him, even though she never once backed down from his gaze. She had mastered the art of the blank stare from a young age, ever since her therapist had begun suggesting that she move on with her life after the accident that killed her mom.

Move on with her life with her mother dead in the ground? The very thought struck her as ludicrous, and so, her patented blank stare was born.

Right now, though, she really needed to get the hell out of that car because she could feel her blank stare wavering. She was losing her battle against the imminent tears and she didn't want them spilling over in front of him. She mustered up the last of her inner strength and said, "I'm sorry about what happened today, Chad. It won't happen again." With that, she unbuckled her seat belt and made her exit—not in a hurried dash that would give the impression that she was fleeing from him, but in a controlled, graceful way as though she were dismissing him.

Only when she was far enough away from that cursed car did she finally give in to the trembling she felt ever since she got the insane idea to drive it. She never would've followed through but once Chad had agreed to let her, there was no going back; her pride simply wouldn't allow it. How was she supposed to know that he wasn't as possessive with his car as some other guys were? She'd pleaded with Chad to let her drive his car, fully expecting him to say no; when he finally relented, she had no other choice but to switch seats with him and try to drive that thing.

She heard a car door slam behind her and quickened her steps so she could reach her house before Chad reached her. Her hands frantically dug through her purse for her house keys and finally found them at the very bottom. She allowed herself a brief pause to wonder why it was that the most important items—like a set of keys, for instance—almost always migrated to the bottom of one's purse where it would lie buried under a mountain of crap that one didn't need.

Raye stiffened when she felt a rough hand catch her arm and spin her around. She wound up facing Chad, who was wearing a very grim expression on his face. She lifted her chin in a defiant pose she didn't really feel and asked, "Is there something I can do for you?"

"You can start by quitting this 'holier-than-thou' priestess routine you've got going," Chad replied through gritted teeth. His surfer-boy 'accent' had disappeared, giving Raye full indication that he was angry or upset, or perhaps even both. Still, she bristled just to keep up appearances.

"I do not act that way," she told him evenly, masking her hurt. "However, if that is how you see me, then I apologize for making you feel inferior to me, and hope that you can forgive me."

Chad's hand tightened its hold of her arm. "Stop being so passive-aggressive, damn it! I know you're mad at me, so why don't you just give in to the urge and yell at me for being a complete idiot!" he growled. He let go of her arm abruptly and raked a frustrated hand through his wavy hair. "God, you can be so frustrating sometimes."

Raye's eyes narrowed, her fiery temper finally starting to get the best of her. She didn't appreciate Chad rubbing her mistake in her face, especially when she'd already apologized profusely for it. First he called her a 'holier-than-thou priestess', then passive-aggressive, and now he called her frustrating. He had some nerve!

"You have some nerve!" she spat, jabbing a finger at his chest, which, she was surprised to learn, was rock hard. Who knew all that surfing could produce muscles like that? She shook herself from her runaway thoughts and said, poking him again with her finger for good measure, "Don't you think I feel bad enough about it already? You keep rubbing it in my face as though you like making me feel bad. Well, then, this should make your day: I feel miserable about it!

"Do you think I wanted that to happen? That I woke up this morning and thought, 'hmm…I haven't committed any acts of vehicle homicide lately; today seems like the perfect day to do it!'" Her voice rose with each word and she was aware that Chad was slowly backing away from her, but she didn't care. There was no way she could humiliate herself any further than she already had, and she figured that today was the last time she'd ever see Chad again, so she had nothing to lose. Stubborn tears welled up in her eyes at the thought and she dashed them away before they could spill over.

Raye's face was more expressive than she thought, Chad observed. In just the span of a few seconds, her expression went from aloof, to furious, and finally vulnerable and repentant. She had always seemed so strong and independent to him; to see her on the brink of tears—twice now—humanized her in a way he never could've imagined. Somehow she was almost regal in her tears, like a proud warrior queen gazing upon her fallen troops and knowing that they had died in her service.

Chad shook his head ruefully and wondered when the hell he started waxing poetic about crying women. Fuck, if the guys ever heard about this….

He knew ever since the day he met her that Raye had some deep shit going on inside of her, but he could never get past her walls to find out what it was. Their odd friendship always seemed one-sided to him—he was an open book as far as he was concerned, but Raye…she always pushed him away when he got too close. The Raye in front of him was someone he had never met before, someone who didn't bottle up her emotions or shut off when things got too much for her. Finally he got a glimpse of the girl behind the façade, and he realized that she was just as lost as he was.

Chad pulled her into his arms, ignoring her futile struggles as he forced her to relax. He could practically feel her tension vibrating around her, and her muscles were like a tightly-strung bow. He stroked that raven black hair until little by little, her body started to relax against him. They stayed in their embrace for a few moments, relishing every second of it because they somehow knew that this was never going to happen again. At least not any time soon.

When Raye finally pulled away from him, Chad pretended not to notice that his t-shirt was slightly damp just as Raye ignored the blush staining his cheeks. The tender moment they just shared was gone, lost to the winds as though it had never really existed. Perhaps it never really did.

Raye cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest. "I know you must think I'm the most irresponsible person in the world for getting behind the wheel of a car I don't know how to drive," she began, her defiant eyes belying her quiet tone, "but I know what it's like to lose someone in a car accident; I never would've put someone else through that if I could help it."

Chad sighed, all the fight going out of him. He knew Raye's mother had died a long time ago, but from what, he didn't know. Her revelation, while not giving him much to go on, said volumes of the pain she still felt today because of her mother's death. Raye didn't open up about herself too often because she didn't trust too many people; letting him get a glimpse into her past was proof that she was beginning to trust him, even if it was just a little.

"I know you didn't mean any harm by it, Raye," he said softly, tucking an errant strand of raven hair behind her ear, "but someone could've gotten hurt today, even if you took every precaution in the world. The fact is, we got lucky today that no one got hurt, but what would we do if someone did? How would we explain that you were driving my car without a license?" He drew her close and rested his forehead against hers. "Do you know how much shit we'd be in if that happened?"

Raye held her breath, unable to concentrate on Chad's mini-lecture despite the fact that she knew every word coming out of his mouth was true. Speaking of his mouth, it was awfully close to hers… She inhaled sharply and mentally ordered herself to be serious. Two people were almost killed today because of her; they'd be in deep shit if their parents ever found out about this…incident. Slowly, Raye felt her priorities shifting. As much as she would've liked to think about nothing else but Chad, the potential consequences of her actions put a huge damper on everything she had previously thought was all-important, including Chad.

"I know," she mumbled, taking the bold step of wrapping her arms around Chad's waist. "I screwed up. If we somehow get in trouble for this, I promise you, I'll take full responsibility for it."

Chad was feeling too good to let her know that she damn well better take full responsibility for everything since it was all her fault. They were so wrapped up in their embrace that they didn't notice a police cruiser slow down to a halt in front of Raye's driveway, nor did they notice that the officer inside the car was studying the make and license of Chad's car and narrowing his eyes at them. They didn't hear the car door slam shut or the footsteps on the driveway heading towards them.

"Excuse me, folks," a genial-sounding voice said, startling Raye and Chad apart. Raye blanched at the sight of the police officer and held onto Chad's arm for support. She swallowed nervously and tried to get her emotions under control.

"What can we do for you, Officer?" she asked, barely noticing that her voice was slightly higher than usual.

The officer scratched his head in a way that made him look like he had unwittingly stumbled upon a crime scene but was too stupid to know what it really was. But Chad knew it was just an act to get them to let their guard down. Underneath that vacant expression were the shrewd eyes of a man who had been on the job longer than Chad had been alive. He drew Raye closer to his side and supported her with an arm around her waist—a show of unity against a man who could see through their bravado just as easily as a peeping Tom could see through an open window.

When he felt Raye trembling against him, Chad shot her a quelling look, silently telling her not to say anything else, and squeezed her arm for reassurance. She swallowed deeply a few times but thankfully she had regained her cool. "What brings you by, Officer?" he asked evenly.

"Well now," he began somewhat sheepishly, as though he hated to inconvenience them. "I just wanted to know whose car that is out there on the driveway."

Raye moved as though to say something but Chad kept a tight hold on her arm. Although he didn't take his eyes off the cop, he knew Raye understood and wouldn't say anything incriminating. So the cop wanted to dick around with them, did he? Well, two can play that game. Chad smiled brightly at the cop and rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin. "She's all mine," he said proudly, gazing fondly at his Corvette. "You should've seen her when I first rescued her from the junk yard. Tires were shot, doors were missing, all the windows were busted," he said, laying on the surfer boy accent a little thick. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Say, you wouldn't happen to be in the market for a 'Vette, would you? Because I can tell you right now, she's not for sale."

The cop blinked for a second, then doubled over in a belly laugh. Chad joined in, gently nudging Raye to do the same. When she did, the sound was high-pitched and very forced. He nudged her again, harder this time, and she stopped completely. The laughter trailed off and the cop dabbed at the corner of his eyes, but Chad knew there were no tears. This guy just really enjoyed fucking around with them.

The cop shook his head and grinned. "Nah, son. I don't want your ride—probably couldn't even afford it on what the county pays me. Actually, I was just wondering if the two of you have been driving around Pine and 16th in the past hour or so, more specifically around the grocery store."

Chad scratched his head thoughtfully, pretending to recall his activities. "We've been here all day, Officer."

The cop strode over to the car and casually leaned against the front fender. "Hood's still warm," he observed when he laid a palm on it. "You sure you kids were here all day?"

Raye squeezed his hand but Chad remained firm. "That's because I've been fixing the engine right here, sir." He sincerely hoped this fucker wouldn't ask him for proof of that because he didn't know what he'd do then.

Beside him, Raye's heart was hammering at triple the normal rate. Shit, she couldn't believe this was happening to them. And that Chad was now lying to a police officer on her behalf. If this situation weren't so dire, she'd be gushing at how romantic the gesture was. But she knew she couldn't do that in front of the cop—it would be giving away too much information. As it was, Chad was practically cutting off the circulation in her arm he was holding her so tight. She was glad for the firm grip, though—without it, her knees probably would've given out by now.

And then, to her horror, another more familiar car turned into the driveway and stopped just behind Chad's. The three of them watched the driver of the SUV park the vehicle, their expressions mixed. The cop had a smug look on his face, Chad's stony expression never wavered while she was sure all the blood had rushed out of her head. Her palms grew clammy as the engine turned off and the door opened.

"Raye, what's going on?" Darien asked, taking in the sight of a police officer leaning on the strange car parked in his driveway and a scruffy-haired boy with his arm wrapped around his daughter. His eyes narrowed while he scrutinized the situation, then went and stood beside Raye; together, he and the kid flanked her on both sides.

The police officer whipped off his mirrored sunglasses and only until then did Chad get a glimpse of two beady eyes, all traces of camaraderie gone from his features. "Sir, I have reason to believe that this car was involved in an incident by the grocery store in which two people were almost run over on the sidewalk."

Oh shit. The bottom of Raye's stomach dropped and she could swear she was going to throw up on the cop's shoe. A part of her wouldn't have minded—the fucker deserved it. She chanced a glance at Chad, and to his credit, his expression remained stony throughout the cop's accusation.

The officer crossed his arms over his barrel chest. Darien's eyes narrowed as the cop turn his feral grin on Raye. Unconsciously, he moved a little forward, trying to shield her from him. "And I heard tell that this young lady here was the one behind the wheel."

Oh, shit.

---

Author's Note:

A big thank you goes out to Ladysolo for doing such a great job editing this chapter.

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