"It's H2-WHOA?" Brian grimaces and tosses the story board down onto his desk in disgust. "If this is the best we can do, then I want no part of it. Why take on major companies like Mountain Rain if we're just going to insult them with shit for ideas?"

"You got me. But, hey...you can't win ‘em all, right?" I breeze with a bright grin, pulling the board out of his reach. "I'll just send this problem Vance's way. Now is everything set? The car is coming in ten minutes," Actually it's twenty minutes, but I know if I don't say ten, he'll be waiting until the last minute to finish packing things up and I won't have him ruin this trip for us - him! "And we still have to swing by and pick up your partner."

"Cynthia," Brian growls in warning. He's so touchy about these things. Worse than a woman sometimes.

"What?" I give him my best look of innocence, but even I'm not foolish enough to think it would work. If Brian was the type that actually fell for a look like that, I would have quit this job long ago out of boredom. To say that the man is a challenging employer would be like saying that he kinda liked dick. It's a ridiculous understatement to anyone with a brain and two good eyes.

Still, he makes things interesting. And without him, I would never be here. On the top floor. With my own little office. But it's been a team effort and I know that he knows, he wouldn't be here without me either. Not after all the shit work I've done for him. Sometimes I feel like the neglected housewife that clips coupons and works three jobs to put her hubby through school. But the job does have advantages. Like the trip to Paris that we are about to depart for. All expenses paid by the firm.

Yes. The job does have perks.

He's still glaring at me for the ‘partner' crack, so I make a hasty retreat. Once back at my desk, I immediately hit two on speed-dial which connects me with my coconspirator. Sometimes I feel like such a double agent.

"Good morning. Justin Taylor's office. How may I help you?" I smile at the other woman's voice. It's perky and musical even though I know she hasn't had a drop of coffee. She doesn't believe in the stuff - even boycotts Starbucks, the inhuman bitch. Honestly I don't know how we've remained friends this long. How can one live without the orgasmic pleasure of a morning mocha?

"Rory, you are just too fucking chipper for a Monday morning," I say lightly. Even her perpetual good mood won't annoy me today.

"Darling, in case you haven't heard, we are heading to Paris! I won't have you being an ill-pill the entire time!"

"Ill-pill? Are you serious?"

"Completely. Now what do you want? I still have to fit a few more last minute appointments in for Justin before we can leave."

"I was just going to let you know that the car is coming for us in about fifteen minutes. We'll swing by to pick you both up as soon as it arrives."

"Perfect! Oh this is going to be so great!"

"No kidding. All that's left to do is negotiate shopping time. If I can make the boss go over everything on the plane, then my job will virtually be done. And who's kidding who? We both know Justin is only taking you because he needs an ally."

"That's not true! He also needs someone to knock some sense into him in case he actually decides to feel something for ‘the bastard'. Or...so he said."

I shake my head. I know Justin is less than thrilled to be doing any of this. It wasn't his idea to be included on this campaign. But he's taken everything nicely. He hasn't thrown anything yet, though I initially figured it would turn out to be War of the Roses. Both men have been completely professional, but I've known Justin for many years and I've known Brian even longer. And I know for a fact that they're both on slow boil. And whether the pent up energy is going to manifest itself in love or hate has yet to be determined. My bet is that, either way, its going to happen on this trip. Five years of suppressed feelings... There's gonna be some great fireworks and being the perverse sadistic bitch that I am - I can't wait.

***

I glance down at my phone. Rory is talking to someone. Probably Cynthia. It bothered me at first that they were friends. But now...well it helps to get a little extra information from the enemy's...or, well, my temporary coworker's camp.

Ever since Vanguard's art department was basically wiped out in one of Vance's ‘house cleaning' rages, the company I work for - Graphic Fallout - drafted me to work on several of their campaigns. I delegated a few of them and, of course, kept the multi-million dollar national campaign for myself. I wouldn't trust anyone else with that since I know it's Brian's baby.

Not that I CARED that it was his baby. And I'm not going to delve too deeply into how I KNEW it was his baby - we still know far too much about one another for my comfort. The fact remains that I am getting paid well for the work and I've done the job to my own satisfaction as well as Brian and his clients. In fact, I did my job so well, we're all being flown to Paris to present the entire campaign layout to the president of La Belle. Okay...so Brian did a good job too. Whatever.

I buzz Rory. I like to give her the impression that I don't pay attention to anything she does. As if she could get away with murder. But only because I know she wouldn't really try to. She's from a very old southern family, as she has told me many many times, and good worth ethics as well as a sickeningly sweet demeanor were both things that were ingrained into her at an early age. It's one of the few reasons she's going on this trip. I need her to keep me grounded since I know Brian will eventually get to me. How could he not when we're going to be in such tight quarters for the next week?

"Yes sir?" She calls through the intercom. The line that she was previously on is no longer lit up.

"Didn't you say that I had a few more appointments?" I have to get the shit work over with so I can make the flight. Yeah. Wouldn't it be just dreadful if I didn't get to be cooped up in a plane with the bastard?

"Yes sir, I did. Sam Bruce has just arrived. Shall I send him in?"

"Please do."

She shows the man in and remains in the doorway, waiting to catch my attention. When I finally greet Sam and motion for him to sit, I turn back to her. "The car will be here in about fifteen minutes," she explains.

Fifteen minutes? Jeez I have to make this fast. Not that I'm in a hurry to breathe the same air as Monsieur Kinney. No. But...a free trip to Paris is a free trip to Paris.

***

I can't fucking believe that I'm doing this. Going on a week long trip, overseas no less, with my ex-whatever! It was bad enough working with him for the last two months. But I have to admit, it was fun to tease him. Easy to do, since every time we're in the same room his guard is completely thrown off. Good to see that hasn't changed after all these years.

Instead of sending Cynthia, or the driver, or just some random little underling to pick the others up, I actually feel the need to rub salt in the wound. I don't know why it's so much fun to taunt him. Oh...yes I do. Because he's a little shit, unlike MY Justin. See...This isn't my Justin. My Justin left. My Justin disappeared five years ago, never to be seen again. This is the little corporate clone of Justin. And he's most definitely not mine. But that's really neither here nor there.

Navigating through Graphic Fallout's offices makes one feel a bit like you're running through a life-sized ant farm. There are little alcoves and wrong turns that lead to dead ends everywhere. It's an insane layout, but the artsy little freaks seem to like it. Along with the garishly bright colors that are painted on the walls. I can actually feel the highlighter yellow color of one wall, searing my retinas.

As soon as I round the corner and stumble upon Justin's little corner office, I can hear a frustrated yell coming from behind the closed door. "Do you THINK this company runs on designs that I pull out of my ass? I mean, really!"

"The boss busy?" I ask sardonically.

His assistant, Rory, smiles up at me sweetly, and sits further back in her seat, "What do you think?"

"I want it redone and I want it YESTERDAY! And it better be fucking fabulous, if you want to keep your job, Thornton!"

"Yes sir," the chastised employee snapped, bolting out of the office. He shut the door behind him and growled. "That man is fucking EVIL," the man muttered to the assistant. "How can you put up with that ass?"

"Oh I dunno. I enjoy putting up with his ass," Rory snickers. "It's a nice ass. Wouldn't you say so, Mr. Kinney?"

Her cool, knowing smile trips me up a bit, I'll admit. But I simply raise an eyebrow at the woman, who is most definitely showing a glimpse of her so rarely used claws. From the way Cynthia gushes about her, you would think the woman was a saint, but I've always had a feeling that she could easily out-bitch Cynthia if she had a mind to. And for some unknown reason, I seem to provoke a somewhat harsh reaction from her. She's probably just reacting to whatever stories Justin has filled her head with. Poor deluded pair, they are.

"Boss, Mr. Kinney is here," she says into the intercom.

"Pick up the phone," Justin responds instantly. Rory picks up her receiver, listens to him and grins, as if I'm going to stand there wondering what he's saying. As if I care. Fucking twat.

"He'll be ready shortly."

"What? We have a plane to catch. If he doesn't get his ass out here in five seconds, I'm gone."

She nods calmly, but makes no move to pick up the phone or speak to her employer. She simply twists her raven colored hair with a pencil and somehow manages to pin it up with the utensil.

Did I say five seconds? Apparently my watch has slowed. Five minutes later, we are finally gifted with Justin's presence. He looks me up and down, making me feel a bit self-conscious. Believe me, I don't like that he can do that. It's extremely unnerving on so many levels. But there it is.

Rory locks everything and they grab their bags. And finally we all head towards the exit and pile into the company limo. As the girls sit to the side, already giggling and gossiping, Justin and I sit on opposite sides of the back seat, each of us looking out the windows in an effort to avoid actual conversation.

I can already feel the beginnings of a migraine. But...what are you gonna do? Vive le France.

Stupid free trip.

***

I can tell the boss is tense. As soon as we boarded the small private jet, he immediately pulled me into the seat beside him. I didn't mind, since Cynthia was on her little mission to get Brian to go through the accounts with her before we land. She just has to finish those and we're all set for an entire week of shopping and site-seeing. And I hear Parisian men are definitely a sight to see.

"So what are you planning on doing while we're there?" Justin asks, finally breaking an hour-long silence. An hour. That's practically a record for him, but he's probably working very hard not to speak too much around Brian, for fear that he might say what he's actually thinking. But...who even KNOWS what THAT is!

I give him one of my sweetest smiles. Complete innocence and light. He sees right through it and he rolls his eyes. Reading my mind. Causing me to love him all the more. Justin can be a total ball buster but he's also still such a pure heart. He's seven years my junior and there are rare times that he shows that fact. But it's those times that make me feel more like his big sister than his assistant. Makes me want to protect him.

"Cynthia! I don't feel the need to go over the Larkin account right this second." Brian ranted. "Why don't you go play tea party with Rory, already?"

I bite my lip to keep from saying anything and I see Cynthia struggling to hold herself in check. Her face is flushed and her fingers are clenched into tight fists. The poor woman, having to put up with that arrogant jerk, day in and day out. She should have been awarded a medal of honor long ago, if this is what he's always like.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the captain's voice filters through the intercom. "We may be experiencing a bit of turbulence soon. If you would, please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts."

Normally this wouldn't have phased me. I've been on enough planes, experienced enough bumpy rides, that I would have simply shrugged it off and tried to sleep through it. Only this time it felt off. Some instinct inside of me was kicking in.

Call it women's intuition. Call it tapping into the psychic friends network. Call it whatever you like. The fact is that the air in the plane has changed. It's stifling and I suddenly have a need to remove myself from its confines.

As quickly as I can, I unstrap my seatbelt and stand up. Justin, love him, grabs my arm to stop me. "What are you doing? Didn't you hear the captain?"

I look at him but pull my arm out of his grasp a bit frantically. "Something's wrong, boss." I whisper. I don't want to alarm anyone, but...I can't just keep him in the dark.

Okay, I could. And I probably SHOULD keep him in the dark. But at moments like these, it's always nice to have someone to feel crazy and paranoid WITH you.

Justin stares at me with his wide blue eyes, unblinking. "I don't know what. Just...something. Something doesn't feel right."

He turns and lifts the window shade. The day outside is bright. Clouds litter the sky around us, but none show the tell-tale signs of a storm. It's an ideal day to fly really. "Rory, calm down," he says soothingly. I glance at Brian and Cynthia who are watching me closely despite the fact that they couldn't have heard anything we were saying. My slight hysteria must be showing on my face. "Even if something was wrong...you can't just walk off the plane. What are you going to do?"

"I..." I look down at my shoes, not knowing what to say. He's right of course. There's nothing that can be done at this point. So ignoring the very loud protests in my mind, I sit back down and buckle up and then I reach over and hold Justin's hand in my own. He squeezes my hand and smiles to reassure me.

A few minutes of total silence are all that remain of life as we know it. We feel the plane begin to shake and rumble. I think all of our eyes must have closed simultaneously. But in the face of death, there were no passionate cries of love from anyone. No screams. No cursing. Nothing. Just buzzing white noise and the sound of the plane's sputtering engine.

And then all was dark.

To Be Continued...