N is for New Hire

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

(Written for the 2007 Summer Alphabet Challenge)

Disclaimer: Other than being a devoted fan, I have nothing to do with Numb3rs.

Logan Caleb Foster was a suave, sophisticated man. He was the assertive type of man who liked the ladies, and he knew the ladies liked him right back. They liked the attention he lavished on them. They fawned on him and his wealth, hung on to his every word because they adored him. Being able to claim themselves as his companion made them feel special and he used it to his every advantage. He was always on the lookout for the next pretty woman who would grace his arm at the various functions he attended, and then hopefully be willing to…entertain him later on in the evening.

There were benefits to wealth, and then there were benefits. As long as Logan didn't bring scandal to the family name, his parents didn't particularly care (or if they did, it wasn't like they could dictate his life) what he did with his monthly allowance. He did his best to soothe their worries, and made sure to keep every appearance of being the charitable son of a wealthy family.

If he had to be at these stuffy, boring events just to sign the check, he had to entertain himself with something.

For example, tonight was the University of California Los Angeles' annual fundraising ball. The entire faculty and staff were dressed in their best attire and on their best behavior as they mixed and mingled with the wealthiest donors that Los Angeles County had to offer. Dressed in vests of either blue or gold, graduate and undergraduate students worked as servers who politely floated around on the ballroom floor with platters of drinks and food in their hands.

Logan sighed contently and leaned against one of the pillars, glass of wine in hand. Here, at this moment, he was in his element. Gathered in this one place and dressed to shine, there were plenty of beautiful women around — mostly young, nubile, and above all, willing — for him to chose to grace his attention on. Usually, at this early stage of the evening, he would have just begun his search for his next companion. However, tonight was…different…

Earlier in the evening, he had been stuck speechless at the sight of an exquisite beauty as she sat down two tables to his right. She had captured and held his attention without a word. While Logan made sure to involve himself in the idle, meaningless conversation at his table, he stole every possible moment to drink the sigh of her in.

She wore a sapphire gown that exposed her creamy shoulders and the smooth skin of her back, yet was modest enough to tell him that she was a lady who would need to be courted carefully to win her favor. Compared to the rest of her table, she was tall, possibly around his height, with lithe legs that seemed to stretch out forever. A few stray, curled strands framing her lovely face, her long chestnut hair was twisted back from her sculpted features in an elegant (if slightly messy) bun. Sparkling gray eyes danced as she conversed with her tablemates, and her stunning smile was quick to appear. She laughed once or twice, and it was the sound of an angel's joy. She was a living goddess, Aphrodite rising from the sea form.

Logan was smitten, and he knew it. As soon as the meal was over, he fully intended to snatch her attentions before anyone else could snare her favor. But a pesky friend of his father's had engaged him in drivel chitchat as dessert arrived, and it was only through repeated, heavy-handed hints on his part that the conversation had ended. By then though, it was too late. The living Venus had vanished from sight.

Yet, it wasn't long before he found her again. This time, she was speaking quietly to one of the university's patrons, leaning forward attentively to hear the elderly woman's words. He watched as the two talked, her smile still quick to appear, but with a softer edge to its brilliance. As the conversation wound down to a close, she touched the older woman's hand in thanks.

As Logan approached her, he noted that she wore no ring, well, not on the finger that mattered. It was very difficult to deter him from pursuing a woman, but a wedding ring was certainly one item of jewelry he steered clear of. There was nothing like an affair with a married woman to bring scandal (and therefore, dear Mommy and Daddy) down on his hapless head and completely ruin his life.

He wondered what sort of approach he should use to catch her attention. He prided himself on never using trite pick-up lines. Those simply screamed of desperation, and Logan was not a desperate man. No. He was a confident man who always got the women he pursued. Why? Because he was a skilled master of knowing what each woman wanted to hear from a hot-blooded champion, the modern-day Prince Charming. He tailored his approach to each woman he had ever met, and his charm had never failed him.

Yet…

This beauty radiated an aura of not only wisdom, but power. She would need to be entranced into his arms. He would need to convince her of his sincerity and charm — not that it would any problem for him to praise how beautiful she was. Already, Logan's mind was jumping ahead to when he had her complete attention and how he would entice her to accompany him to other events in the future, what gifts he would lavish on her, what he would purr in her ears when they were alone. Still, he snapped himself back into the present: he had to catch her first before anything else could happen.

She had situated herself at one of the empty tables, watching various couples as they waltzed across the ballroom floor to the strains of Strauss from the live chamber orchestra. There was a wistful smile on her face, and her eyes were focused on something in the distance. Logan did not break his confident stride toward her as he plucked two glasses of wine from a student waiter.

"Miss," he said smoothly, one hand offering a glass to her, "would you like a drink?"

She looked at him, intelligent eyes quickly taking in his impeccable appearance and chivalrous manner, and smiled politely. He was by turns disappointed that he did not warrant the brilliant smile she had so readily given to others, and grateful since a smile of such radiance would have snuffed out his ability to think. Just merely being in her presence made him dangerously euphoric. He chided his eagerness and carefully reined himself in. She had to be convinced that she was making all the decisions here. It prevented messy situations from occurring in the future.

"No, thank you" she said politely. "I rarely drink."

Logan quickly set both glasses of wine on the table before he took a seat next to her. Apparently, he had misjudged her tastes… though didn't he see her sip at her wine glass all throughout dinner? Logan's memory reminded him that unlike others at her table, she never had her glass refilled. One flute of champagne had lasted her an entire two hours. She watched him with a tilt of her head, her expression curious.

"Neither do I," he responded smoothly, covering up his faux pas with grace, "but one must keep up appearances, especially at events like these."

She may or may not have inclined her head in agreement with him before she returned her attention back to the dancers on the floor.

"Would you like to dance, Miss—?" he asked, attempting to revive the conversation. Logan was getting the feeling that she wasn't interested in him, which was impossible. Still, he had met those women who enjoyed playing hard to get. Those encounters were entertaining, and stretched his skills. With all the other aloof women he had met though, he hadn't encountered someone with the same skill to radiate detachment with so much grace and politeness as this woman did. He hoped to get her name at least!

"Reeves," she responded, turning to look at him again, "and no, thank you."

Disappointment washed over him. She hadn't given her first name in the introduction. Ah, perhaps she was being charmingly coy. There were some women who thoroughly enjoyed the game of being mysterious like that...as well as other things. Her gray eyes swept over him again, and he felt as if she was reading his innermost thoughts. Shaking that idea away as pure nonsense, he smiled charmingly at her, "I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Reeves. I'm Logan Foster."

"It's good to meet you as well, Mr. Foster," she said evenly, but made no further comments. When his name didn't evoke the same mixture of sudden awe and interest that it had with other women, he reassured her, "I am a very good dancer. I promise I won't step on your feet."

Distinctly unimpressed, she smiled that same polite, distant smile as she responded, "I'm afraid I'm not up to dancing tonight."

"A woman as beautiful as you?" he let himself openly admire her trim figure—this was a woman who exercised regularly to keep herself in shape, "It's a shame that you're not out on the dance floor tonight. You would be the jewel in the crown, so to speak."

Her soft eyes met his, a spark of passion lighting them from within. "Thank you for the compliment Mr. Foster, but I am afraid I have to turn you down."

"Then you won't mind if I kept you company?" he asked, subtly sliding his chair closer to hers. She gave no indication that she had noticed the shift as she folded her hands on the tabletop. He admired her graceful fingers, dainty wrists and (except for a nearly invisible white streak on the underside of her left arm) unblemished skin.

"I'm afraid I would be horrible company," she said, stiffness creeping into her voice as she looked away from him, a classic signal of disinterest. Logan felt a fission of frustration creeping up in his body. This little vixen was turning him down, wasn't she? Well, he had never been one to back away from a challenge!

"To the contrary," he said, as if he hadn't heard anything discouraging. "You look like wonderful company. Perhaps we could have a tête-à-tête somewhere private?" Feeling bold, he slipped a hand to rest on her knee to see what her reaction would be. All the other women who had played hard to get, when they felt his touch had all playfully scolded him before they succumbed to his charms. Perhaps Ms. Reeves would prove to be as flimsy as the rest of his companions were. He watched her reaction carefully, and this time, she visibly stiffened. Her polite expression sharpened into a mask of angry disdain. Logan knew immediately he had made a very costly mistake. While there wouldn't be any scandal from this (as long as she didn't make a scene), he could tell that he had been a bit too forward in his haste. He hoped it wouldn't cost him the conquest.

"Excuse me," she said coldly, her gray eyes like steel. "I have to make a phone call." With that, she drew her clutch purse into her lap, accidentally bashing his hand as she did so before she gracefully stood from her chair and walked away from him without a backward glance.

Logan looked at the red mark on the back of his hand, the imprint of her clutch purse's clasp stamped into his flesh. For some reason, the accident left him feeling extremely grateful that he was alive. On the other hand, she just proved she would be more of a challenge to tame than he had originally thought. He watched her weave her way through the crowd. He had yet to lose a woman's attention once he set his sights on her, and he wasn't going to start now.

The evening was wearing on, and he had yet to find this mysterious 'Ms. Reeves' again. She had, to his utter frustration, disappeared from sight. A part of him was tempted to actively seek her out, but his self-preservation kicked in and overruled his manly instincts. He did not search for her. Instead, to pass the time until he naturally saw her again, Logan found himself embroiled in an utterly boring chat with Dr. Sophia Blunt, one of the faculty members on the university's payroll. In fact, she was the Dean of one department or another, he couldn't remember which. Not that it really mattered. He wondered how she managed to get out of high school, never mind become a professor at a highly esteemed university and departmental chair at that. Unlike him, she didn't have the brains to do anything.

"Oh," said Blunt suddenly, mercifully breaking off her seemingly endless prattle with a cheery wave toward a person in the crowd. "Mr. Foster," she gushed happily, "I absolutely have to introduce you to someone!"

He bit back his long-suffering sigh as he lounged lazily against the bar. The last time she had said that, she had called over an incredibly boring colleague of hers who went on and on about the joys of playing in the dirt in South America. To add insult to injury, the woman wasn't even remotely beautiful enough to distract him from her dullness. She was the mousy sort of person that didn't merit any attention from anyone because she was just so…plain. He didn't know when the woman had vanished back to whatever archeological torture chamber she had come from, but he was thankful that she was gone. He prayed this wouldn't be an encore. If it was, he needed more wine to survive.

The crowd parted before them, like the Red Sea. Logan caught his breath in his throat as the lovely Ms. Reeves stepped demurely into view before him. This time, he was able to confirm that she was roughly around his height, and still utterly gorgeous, a feast for the eyes. He reined in his instincts to claim her immediately as his, and settled instead for a warm smile. It was with some disappointment that it was not returned. However, given their last encounter, that reaction was not completely unexpected.

"Mr. Foster," said the obnoxious woman, "I absolutely have to introduce you to our newest hire for the psychology department: Dr. Megan Reeves. Megan, this is Mr. Logan Foster, one of our donors."

"We've met, briefly," said Megan coolly, ignoring his outstretched hand for just a fraction of a moment before she put her fingers in his grasp. He immediately raised her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. She abruptly slipped her fingers out of his hold, though when he looked at her again, her expression had not changed. Blunt had an expression of surprise on her face, probably because he had never greeted her in that fashion before.

"It's charming to see you again, Ms. Reeves."

"Thank you Mr. Foster," she said coldly.

"Please, Logan."

She did not respond to that offer of familiarity, and he wondered why all his charm seemed to be ineffective on this woman.

"So, are you new to Los Angeles, Dr. Reeves?" he asked with a friendly smile. "I could introduce you to several of my acquaintances to make your transition easier."

Megan smiled back civilly, "No, I've been a resident here before."

"Oh?"

"Yes," jumped in Blunt eagerly, the interfering busybody who couldn't keep her mouth shut for any length of time, "in fact, Dr. Reeves was a behavioral specialist for the FBI a few years ago."

"You didn't mention that," he said casually, leaning against the bar again. "What did you do?"

"I was a special agent," responded Megan calmly. He held in his shock. Her? Beautiful Megan, an agent? Surely she was pulling his leg. Well, she had already shown her interest in playing games, and there wasn't any harm in indulging her in this charade.

"Oh? That sounds like a lovely job." He discovered that lovely Megan had a disapproving glare to rival his own mother's. However, even his mother's displeasure could stop him from doing what he wanted, so he grinned back at her.

"Yes," said Megan stiffly. "It was a career that I enjoyed."

"Then why did you leave?" he asked, various possibilities running through his mind. He would freely confess that several of them were slightly lurid. Judging from her expression, she was clearly not amused by his questions, by any means.

"It was a personal decision," she responded in a tone that forbade further questioning.

"Well then," he said jovially, "What does a special agent do?"

"For one thing," she responded with a smile that sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine, "we are law enforcement agents, so we're armed. I was one of the office's best shots."

"Megan, you don't carry a gun on campus do you?"

Megan flashed a friendly smile at her boss, "Don't worry Dr. Blunt. I don't carry a weapon on campus."

"But what if you need to defend yourself?" he asked. She smiled coldly at him again, "I teach Krav Maga at the local YMCA."

The term sounded vaguely familiar, and a nugget of information wiggled out from the back of his mind. Before Logan could censor himself, his mouth said in a tone of complete incredulity, "Krav Maga? Isn't that what Israeli military teaches their soldiers?'

Megan smiled at him, a hint of approval in her eyes that he relished, "Yes. I'm a black belt."

"You? A black belt?" He held back a disbelieving laugh. A woman as beautiful as Megan did not practice any sort of martial art. She'd hire people to protect her instead. Logan caught sight of her expression and wilted under her glare. Before he could say anything to either redeem himself in her eyes or further dig his own grave deeper, Blunt interrupted, "That sounds like a very useful skill. Would you be willing to teach a self-defense class for our female students then? Nowhere is particularly safe these days and with the recent spate of assaults on young women… the university owes the students to do everything possible to protect them."

He wished the infernal woman would shut up. Logan didn't like it when he didn't have control of the situation, and Blunt's constant interruptions and tangential conversations were beginning to wear thin on his patience.

Megan nodded, "Yes. That's very true."

The ringing of a cell phone interrupted the conversation.

"Excuse me," said Megan, pulling out her ringing phone from her clutch purse. She stepped away from the two of them, and he strained to hear her voice, even as Blunt began prattling on again about the inadequacy of the local police force to find and arrest the perpetrators of a series of assault/murders that were occurring around the city. He wished she would talk about deplorable academics who were too stupid to realize that they were interfering in a very important courtship ritual!

"Reeves," said Megan briskly. "Hi David…" The rest of her conversation was drowned out by the insufferable Blunt's words. A few moments later, Megan ended the call, her expression dark with worry. Logan noted that even upset, she looked beautiful. Blunt cut herself off in the middle of a long-winded sentence and said, "Megan, what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," responded Megan, "but something's come up and I need to leave."

"Oh," Logan moved in quickly, seeing a perfect opportunity to redeem himself, "Perhaps I can give you a ride to where you need to go?"

She smiled thinly at him, "No, my escorts will be here shortly."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm very sure," she said coldly, nailing him with steely gray eyes. There was an uncomfortable lull in the conversation as Blunt looked from one to the other, apparently catching onto the tense undercurrents swirling around her. At this point, a fourth person—a professor from the Law School—drifted by, and Blunt reeled him into the discussion with near desperation. Logan didn't pay attention to whatever asinine topic the academics were entertaining themselves with as he alternately stared at and ignored Megan.

"Hi Megan," said a new voice, and Logan immediately went to work pinpointing his rivals. Two men had arrived to stand at the edge of the group — a stocky, bald African-American, and a tall, muscular Caucasian hillbilly—both of them dressed in business suits and ties. Logan noticed that Megan's voice was infinitely warmer and her smile a thousand times more brilliant as she greeted them. He firmly quashed his urge to fly into a jealous rage and stake his claim on her. There were rules in this game of claiming a female companion as one's own, and every man respected those rules. He straightened his tailored suit jacket and cleared his throat. The men ignored him.

"David, Colby," said Megan, turning towards them, "thank you for coming."

The Dean said cheerfully "Megan, do introduce us to your friends."

"Dr. Blunt, I'm sorry but we're kind of—"

"I'm Special Agent David Sinclair, Ma'am," said the African-American man graciously, "and this is my partner, Special Agent Colby Granger."

"Well, I'm flattered to meet you both. I'm Dr. So—"

"I'm sorry Ma'am," cut in the tough hillbilly in a surprisingly educated manner. "We're in an urgent situation."

"Is it so urgent that you had to drag a pretty woman away from a night of relaxation?" drawled Logan dismissively. He was getting irritated by the familiarity and ease Megan was radiating with these unsophisticated men. He presumed that she had left the FBI because she wasn't respected by her colleagues for her natural gifts, and here she was, foolish enough to turn down his goodwill and patronage in favor of these roughnecks who didn't know the difference between Armani and synthetic fabric!

The two FBI agents turned their full attention to him, and Logan shamefully wilted under their polite, cold expressions. It did not escape his notice that one of them—Granger—shifted his jacket ever slightly so that the butt of his weapon was visible while the other—Sinclair—had placed a hand on Megan's arm. Contrary to what he expected, the touch was not possessive. In fact, it was protective, and the expressions being leveled at him right now told him precisely what the two men thought the threat to her was at the moment: Logan Caleb Foster.

Logan was many things, and while slow could be one of those undesirable traits, stupid was not one of them. He recognized an unspoken command to 'back off' as well as the next hot-blooded male. Megan might not be these men's biological sister, but they treated and protected her like one, and unlike the fathers and brothers of other women Logan had dated before, these men carried guns. Legally. They could probably arrest him and throw him in jail for something, and then Mommy and Daddy dearest would truly be angry and upset, and his life would be completely ruined.

For the briefest of moments, he thought that perhaps she would be worth it all. But was she really worth his downy bed, his parents' inattention, the tailored clothes and all the other comforts of his lifestyle? Not to mention, possibly, his very own life? For all he knew, these roughnecks she had at her beck and call could make him disappear just like that! It wasn't as if they were versed in the laws of civilized people! He would be risking life and death for her if he pursued her.

Unfortunately, no woman was worth more than his own hide, not even Aphrodite in the flesh, so he backed off, backpedaled, retreated as fast as he could, short of actually fleeing the room, "I—I mean, I hope that she'll be able to help you in whatever you need. Once an agent, always an agent, right?" He gave the trio his brightest charming smile and felt it miserably falter in the face of their indifference.

Megan gave him an icy look that sent unpleasant shivers down his spine, and for the first time in his life, Logan felt real fear. He tried unsuccessfully to hide the shock that went through him. For the first time, he had met a woman who was unconquerable. This was a woman who he could not touch…not if he wanted the family jewels to remain where they were, firmly attached to his body.

Logan happened to like his procreative abilities very much, and as he watched her make her excuses and depart in the company of her former colleagues, Logan came to the conclusion that it was for the best, perhaps, that he asked his parents or his bratty little sister to handle any foreseeable future events at University.

Further pondering lead him to the conclusion that perhaps, he should avoid the University campus completely for the next few years. She didn't seem the type of woman who would take kindly to having her students flirted and charmed by men like him. Plus, if she actually taught her students Krav Maga moves… He repressed a shudder at the thought having those moves used on him by unhappy women.

Yes, Logan Caleb Foster resolved, he would stay away from the University all together, campus and students and faculty included; that sounded like a wonderful idea.