Chapter 1: The Meet Cute

Monday, April 3rd, 2000.

Rebecca smoothed down her skirt as she entered the elevator. She turned, pressing the button leading down to the basement. She lightly shook her torso with tension, preparing herself for what laid in “The Dungeon” as the normals on the marketing floor called it. A tense few minutes passed and the elevator doors opened, a black sign with gold letters spelling out “Maintenance” with an arrow pointing to the left and “IT Department” with an arrow pointing to the right. She proceeded right. A torn piece of paper stained with coffee rings warned in blue sharpie, “Warning! Danger awaits those who enter, take this!” followed by a crudely drawn penis dangling from a single brown tab of tape on the door to the IT Department. She covered her hand with her sweater and took hold of the door knob, twisting it as she pushed the door open.

“Sorry, there’s a visitor,” the peroxide blond receptionist mumbled into the receiver of his phone. “Hi! I’m Lance, welcome to the IT Department. How may I help you?!” Lance said with as much enthusiasm as a morning children’s television presenter.

Rebecca was taken aback. “Um, hi...I’m Rebecca from Marketing. I’m here to pick up the new website guy.”

Rebecca suddenly felt like Snow White when she was in the forest with all the eyes peering out at her. She took in a nervous breath as she looked around the room, acknowledging the others in the department. In front of a room labeled “SERVERS” in bold red marker was a short, dark-haired guy in a Alice Cooper T-shirt hunched over the discoloured keyboard of a computer she would’ve sworn was from the 1830s if she didn’t know that all computers at the company headquarters of “Bryant’s Retail Holdings” were only 5 years old, maximum. The man, Chris Kirkpatrick according to the name plate resting against a slave Leia figurine stated, bared his teeth and gave out the kind of hiss a 4-week-old kitten gives out. Next was the empty desk of Joseph Fatone, or Superman, as the red sharpie scrawled across his name plate would say, if it wasn’t covered with a post-it note with Clark Kent scrawled across it. And finally, the wunderkind, as everyone called him: Justin Timberlake, the 19-year-old computer genius with a blond Afro who was said by many to have graduated high school at 16, and was the IT Department’s newest hire at 18 after a 2-year computer maintenance course done at the local community college. Sitting with Justin was the one who Rebecca assumed was the new website guy. Dressed in a well tailored business suit, with his dark hair was slicked back and he had just a hint of stubble on his face.

He stood up, tucking his grey tie against his stomach as he buttoned his suit jacket. “JC Chasez...” He held out his hand to introduce himself.

She looked down at it. “Yeah, I’m Rebecca. You’re supposed to be up on the 5th floor with everyone else in Marketing.”

An awkward silence fell over them, only to be interrupted by a burly man with dyed red hair bounding through the department door. “Who wants breakfast?”

The elevator ride up to the 5th floor was tense between JC and Rebecca. He bit his lips as he discreetly looked over her. She stood a fair few inches shorter than him in the modest heels she was wearing. The long sleeves of her blouse were rolled up, and her pencil skirt had the same pattern as television static. Her auburn brown hair was tied up in a high, but loose ponytail, with small tendrils of curls falling around her face. Finally, as he could not help but notice, were her piercing blue eyes and soft, natural pink lipstick. He quietly sighed as she stared down at the elevator’s carpet.

“How long have you lived in Bloomington?” he asked.

“All my life,” she responded in a curt, but hushed voice.

“So…” He searched for things to make small talk about. “Did you go to college at Illinois State?”

“Um…yeah.” She nodded. “I started working in the Bea’s outlet in northern Bloomington, and the company reimbursed some of my school fees as part of their managerial program.”

“So, Miss Bea pretty much owns your ass?”

She snickered. “Actually, Mr. Bryant to be exact. Bea’s Baby Boutique was started by Simon Bryant in 1973 as an off-branch of Bryant’s department stores. With some inspiration from Bea Arthur, of course.”

He rocked back and forth on his heels. “I wondered that.”

“Have you met Mr. Bryant yet?”

“I’ve met a Mr. Bryant. Colin, I think?”

“Yeah, Colin in HR, Simon’s brother.”

“How many other Bryants are there around the company?”

“There’s a few. It is a family business, of course.”

“Oh, we call that nepotism in the real world.” He held the elevator door open for her as she stepped out. “How many others do I look forward to meeting?”

“Well…” She flashed him a sly smile. “You’ve already met two, but you’ve got a fair few to go.” She strode ahead of him. “You’ll know us when you see us.”

The 5th floor of Bryant’s Retail Holdings was laid out with the same layout as the four floors proceeding it. Except for a few large, frosted panes of glass acting as room dividers, the main space of each floor was taken up by islands of four desks. The only two rooms properly separated were the Head of Department’s office and a small break room spotted with small round tables, each with four chairs.

Rebecca took the small brown paper bag out of the fridge in the break room, placing it onto a small butter plate. She made herself a cup of coffee and sat alone like she always did at lunch.

As Rebecca unceremoniously unwrapped her egg salad sandwich from its cling film prison, JC confidently strode into the break room and gazed at the picked over muffin basket by the coffee maker. He took the last one and made himself a mug of tea, sitting across from Rebecca.

“Hey,” he greeted her.

“Hey,” she replied.

He took a seat across from her, tearing a tiny satchel of honey with his teeth before he stirred it into his tea. “Do you always eat alone?”

She looked around, shrugging her shoulders. “I guess.”

“Is there a specific reason?”

“Not really. I haven’t really clicked with anyone in the department.”

“So, I was going over the new catalogue to see what kind of designs could be used for the Bea’s Boutique website, and I saw that it was designed by a Rebecca Bryant, only she had two ‘Bs’ and only one ‘C’ instead of the traditional 1 ‘B’ and 2 ‘Cs.’ I was wondering if she’s another Bryant Industries Bryant?”

Her eyes glazed over as she sighed. “No, she’s me. A fun game of mine is to go over the new catalogue and see how many mistakes I made and how long it takes me to completely die inside.”

He chuckled. “What percentage are you up to?”

“I’m pretty much dead and gone considering I not only misspelled my own name, but overlooked the typo a good few times.”

“So, are you just randomly assigned to designing the catalogue, or does it run deeper than that?”

“No, I’m actually a graphic designer. Degree in graphic design at Illinois State.”

“So, art school kid?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’ll show you my setup a bit later.”

“I think I’ve already seen it. Are you the Blueberry iBook with the graphics tablet?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, it’s not hard to miss, a bright blue and white laptop whilst everyone else is using company standard IBM desktops.”

“I mean, there’s a few people who use their own computers. I mean, look at Chris in IT.”

“That’s not Chris’s computer. That’s the...” He paused for a moment. “It’s the computer Chris uses to oversee the servers and the company network.”

“Then why hasn’t it been updated when every computer in the company has? I haven’t seen that style of computer used by Bryant’s since I interned as my dad’s assistant when Darla was last on maternity leave in ‘96.”

JC shrugged his shoulders. “I have as much of an idea why it hasn’t been updated to a newer model. He probably has reasons, though.”

JC approached her desk later that afternoon, faintly knocking the surface to get her attention. “Hello, again.”

Rebecca removed a set of headphones from her ears. “Hey.”

“What are you listening to?”

“Oh, just an old Beethoven symphony that I loaded onto the computer so I have something to listen to while working.”

He sat on the edge of the desk. “Cool, cool. I think we might be put on the site together, like I do the coding and stuff and you’d be in charge of keeping the site in line with the motifs of the company…” He rotated his hand. “And stuff.”

She turned to him, freezing as his crotch entered her line of sight. She swallowed as she completely registered the large bulge straining against the linen of his grey trousers. She looked up at him, a knowing smile on his face. She quickly turn away, blushing. He knows that I saw his penis, she thought to herself. He caught me looking at his penis and now he knows that I know that he has a penis. A big penis. HE KNOWS THAT I KNOW HE HAS A BIG PENIS! I HAVE TO WORK WITH THIS GUY AND HE’S GOT A HUGE COCK AND HE KNOWS THAT I KNOW THAT HE HAS A GIGANTIC COCK AND I AM GOING TO DIE!

She tried to carefully regain eye contact with him without face-planting her line of sight back into his massive dong. She panned her sight until she only saw a little of his form and panned up, focusing on his face as she tried to make a meek but ladylike smile.

I am a complete lady, she tried to tell herself. I am a sexually innocent lady who doesn’t know what a penis is and doesn’t know that he has one. He’s smooth down there. He’s basically a Ken doll to me, she tried to tell herself as she almost grimaced into a full and embarrassed grin.

“There is nothing I want more than to work with you, Mr. Shaz-ay—“

“Sha-zay,” he corrected her.

“Shaz-ay. I look forward to our project together.”

He stood up. “Cool. I’ll see you later, I guess. Also, it’s Sha-zay.”

She nodded and awkwardly waved him goodbye.

She took a deep breath, refusing to move her line of sight until he was out of it. I AM GOING TO FLING MYSELF IN FRONT OF A MOVING TRAIN! she screamed internally.

Rebecca saw JC again on her way to the parking garage.

“Can you hold this?” he asked as he handed her a motorcycle helmet.

“Um…yeah.” She watched as he took of his suit jacket and folded it up neatly and then removed a leather jacket from his satchel bag before he placed his suit jacket into the bag.

He zipped the leather one up, smiling as he took the helmet back. “Thanks for that.”

They started to walk to the garage. “Where do you live in Bloomington?” she asked.

“I’m currently living out of a duffel bag in a Holiday Inn about 10 minutes away from here, but the guys in IT say that I can move into their share house whenever I want. I was thinking of going over there tonight.”

“Isn’t their share house just Justin’s mom’s place?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s only until I get on my feet. It’s going to take me a bit to save up for a security deposit for an apartment. Where’s home base for you?”

She pointed vaguely west. “I live in a studio about 5 minutes from here.”

“Want a roommate?”

“Uh, no. The only person sleeping on my futon is me.”

She stopped by a beat-up red hatchback. “This is me.”

He pointed towards a black motorcycle parked near a green dirt bike. “I’m over there.”

“I guess I’ll see tomorrow.”

“Great. I’ve already got some ideas for the site. You know Baby Bea?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The baby from the old Bea’s Baby Boutique print ads. With the blonde curls in the old, white baby buggy.”

The colour drained from her face as she remembered her very early modelling work. “From the ‘80s?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean Baby Becky?”

He realised her claim to fame. “No?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I mean, as the great-granddaughter of the company’s founder and Bryant’s famous ‘70s sock model, you can see why I ended up as Baby Becky.”

“Do you still go by Becky?”

“No, mostly Rebecca. I think you know why. Everyone in Bloomington knows Baby Becky Bryant of Bea’s Baby Boutique and Bryant’s department stores…I mean anyone who was aware of local advertisements in the late ‘70s, early ‘80s.”

“Over in DC, we just knew her as Baby Bea.”

“That’s it, I am building a time machine and going back and growing up in DC,” she joked.

He made a small chuckle. “You would’ve liked it.”

“If you say so.”

They stood in silence for a small moment. Instinctively, they started to hug, only to stop when they realised what they were doing, JC giving her a firm handshake instead. She bit her lip as her heart started racing.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she almost whispered.

“I look forward to it. Bye.”

“Bye.”

She watched as he walked over to his bike, putting his helmet on and lifting the visor. He climbed onto the bike, jumpstarting it before he waved and slowly pulled out of the garage, flipping his visor down before he rode out onto the street.

She let out a long exhale, a thousand thoughts running through her head. She unlocked her car and got into the driver’s seat. She drove home, her head elsewhere as she parked her car, walked up the stairs to her apartment, unlocked her door, and sat on her futon, the only thought in her head what her father always said whenever he recounted the photoshoot where he met her mother.

“When you meet the one, you know.”

Chapter 2: The Plan

Rebecca arose early, took a long shower, intricately styled her hair into an updo, painstakingly applied a face of makeup that would put Max Factor to shame, doused herself in enough Chanel No. 5 to poison an elephant and scoured her wardrobe for a business smart outfit becoming of a feminine, but modern romance heroine.
She had anticipated this day since her early teens. In the romance novels, the heroine would meet her Mr. Right, and go through a complete makeover to make him notice her in a romantic way. That’s what she would do with JC, but instead of completely changing herself, just polish herself up a bit. That included waking up half an hour earlier to build a helmet out of her hair and shave off the rest.
She had chosen a satin white blouse and a pleated black skirt for the first day of her plan, pairing it with black patent leather Mary Jane pumps and a white g-string to make her feel extra sexy. At 20 to 8, she held a single piece of honey on toast in her teeth as she walked down to her car and drove to work.

Throughout the day, she drafted flyers for Bryant’s upcoming pre-summer sale, sat in on an advertising meeting, submitted her draft for the flyers, had them approved, then finalised and submitted the final copy for another round of approvals, all whilst her perfume faded, her makeup wore off, and her updo was let down and shaken out like her enthusiasm that she would be working with him that day.

Deflated, Rebecca tried not to limp down to the parking lot and back to her car. She sighed as she sat in the driver’s seat, frustratedly yanking and pushing the various levers on her car as she drove, not towards home, but through a drive-through for a chicken sandwich and then to a late hours craft store. With a cheap canvas in hand, she drove home and painted her frustration out.

She tried again the next day, choosing a yellow sweater to go with her smart gray business slacks and a pearl necklace. She slicked her hair down into a low bun and used half a box of Band-Aids on her Mary Janes and her newly formed blisters.

By lunch, she was getting curious why he hadn’t appeared in the Marketing Department yet. She looked around the department, biting her lip as she reached across her desk and grabbed the large, yellow cord she needed to connect to the internet. She logged onto the network and downloaded the new staff directory from the company-wide email from two days prior.
She scrolled down to the “S” pages, skimming down to the “Sh” section, looking for his surname. But as Shackles became Shagwood and Sharpe became Sheldon, she gave up hope that she was going to find him, despite the document supposedly being up to date.

Then she saw it. “Timberlake.” She could email Justin, ask him where JC was, get an answer, simple as that. So she did.
“Hey, where’s JC?”
She paused, debating whether or not she could be informal, almost lighthearted in a work email.
“We miss him up in Marketing, Rebecca.”
Before she had even thought it over, she hit send.
“Oh,” she said quickly to herself.

Justin flinched as an email notification chime rang through his earphones. “Go away, I’m playing Doom,” he muttered.

Rebecca waited patiently for a response, finally calling Justin’s extension.

The powwow of chairs around the pizza Joey had picked up for lunch turned towards Justin’s phone as it rang. JC gestured to the phone, Joey shrugging in confusion.
JC picked up. “Justin Timberlake, IT. How may I help you?”
Rebecca froze when she heard JC’s voice on the other end. “Uh...uh...” She quickly looked around her desk. “My screen’s gone black!” she blurted out as she quickly turned the contrast down on her laptop.
“Oh! That’s quite serious. I’ll be up in a minute,” he replied.
“Thanks, bye!” She hung up, immediately touching up her makeup.

He emerged upstairs within 15 minutes, carrying an old beige CRT computer monitor. Her eyes doubled in shock when she saw him, trying as quickly as she could to go help him. She barely made two steps before she tripped, rolling her ankle. In dismay, she succumbed to her defeat and lay completely on the floor, wishing for a quick and painless death.

Well, fuck me... she thought to herself.

He quickly placed the monitor on the floor, kneeling by her to see if she was OK. She turned over, gazing up at him, fixating her gaze onto his lips.

“Are you OK?” he asked, leaning further over her.
She took a deep breath, smelling his warm cologne. Kiss me, she thought to herself. “I’m OK,” she squeaked out.
“What happened?”
“I think I rolled my right ankle.”
“Do you think you’ve injured it?”
“I mean, it hurts, but I don’t think I’ve sprained it.”

He took her hand and helped her sit down. Before she could protest, he unbuckled her shoe and removed it to check her ankle. She sighed with disappointment as she realised how sexy this would be in any other situation.

He pressed down gently around her ankle joint to check for swelling. “I don’t think there’s much damage, but I would sit without the shoe on for a bit to see if it gets worse.” He looked up at her. “Also, I wouldn’t wear shoes that cut your feet up so much.”
She fake giggled and shrugged her shoulders. “Just having one of those...girly...days...” She trailed off.
“Look, I’m no foot doctor, but I’m guessing these Band-Aids aren't fresh.” He stood up, retrieving the monitor from the middle of the floor. “I get you want to look cute some days, but there are more practical shoes you can do it in.”

The only thing Rebecca took from that was that he thought she looked cute.

He placed the monitor on the desk, gesturing towards her laptop. “Can I get a look at it?”
“Um...yeah.” She pushed aside to make room for him at the desk. “Why haven’t you been upstairs since Monday? I thought you were part of Marketing?”
“I’m officially IT,” he explained as he set up the monitor, “so I’ll be down in the dungeon most of the time, but I’ll surface for some meetings and such.”
“I thought that we were supposed to work together on the site?”
“We will, but I thought that we could do it remotely, through email, and we might get together for a roundup each Friday or something. I’ve got quite a bit to do before I even consider layout or anything, getting the domain up and the firewall, and how the store would function, plus the security concerns with that. There’s a reason we’re not launching officially until September.”
“OK.”

He looked at the keyboard, holding down the F2 key, turning up the brightness on the computer. He turned to her. “Did you do that on purpose? ‘Cause I refuse to think you’re that much of an idiot.”
She didn’t want to look at him. “I thought we were supposed to work together, and I wanted to know why you weren’t posted in Marketing.”
He sighed. “You could’ve just emailed me.”
“I couldn’t find you name in the new staff directory.”
He scrolled upwards on the still open staff directory. “There it is, under ‘Chasez, Joshua.’”
She made an embarrassed squeak. “Oh...I thought it was under ‘Sh’ like ‘Shade.’”
“No, ‘CH’ like ‘Champagne,’ French name.”

They sat in a tense silence.
“Look, you don’t need to impress me. I’m not like that,” he told her. “Plus, if you want to talk to me, just email or something.”
Her heart swelled. This is it, she thought to herself. He knows I like him.
“If you want to be friends, I’m cool with that, but none of this contrived stuff. If you want to hang out, we’ll hang out.”

A warped hockey siren went off in Rebecca’s head. Friends. He just wants to be friends. She was so consumed with rejection, she barely noticed him pack up and say goodbye, nor did she register her automated response.

JC placed the monitor by his side as he took the elevator back down to the fifth floor, letting out a deep sigh. He felt exhausted. He felt exhausted by the move. Riding twelve or so hours on a motorcycle over the course of the weekend had left his thighs still feeling vaguely numb. He felt exhausted by the process of starting at a new company and a whole array of new people. He felt exhausted because he had barely had a free moment to himself since Monday night. He felt exhausted by the very idea that he could break Rebecca’s heart. Even if he did get to know her well enough to like, even love, her, he ran the risk of hurting her. That’s if he even started to like her at all. It could hurt her just as much if he never did like her. He picked up the monitor and tried to go about his day without dwelling to much on the topic.

500, it was time to turn it up to 500. Rebecca spent the night thinking about her options. Though the best one, and the most valid, was to be his friend like he wanted and wait for him to fall in love with her. She resolved that she could give it one more college try. Bryant’s office dress code in hand, she scoured her wardrobe for the sexiest thing she could get away with wearing. She settled on a red, satin cocktail dress. She paired it with black stockings, a pair of knee high boots, a ruby necklace with matching earrings and bracelet, and fire red lipstick. If she couldn’t get him to fall in love with her just yet, she could make him want to fuck her.

She arrived at work early and waited in her car until he arrived, getting out just as he pulled his helmet off his head.
“Hi!” she called over the parking lot, waving.
He looked towards her, sighing. “Rebecca...” He walked over to her. “Look, I’m here to do a job. I’m not here to fuck my co-workers. You don’t need to do this. You’re better than this.” He took his blazer out of his bag and offered it to her. “You’re the CEO’s daughter, not the office slut. What happened to the girl I met on Monday?”
She looked down at her feet. “It’s not you,” she lied. “There’s some meathead on the third floor who just broke up with his girlfriend...I was thinking...” she choked out through tears.
“He’s not worth it. If you have to dress like you’re going to the Playboy Mansion or something, he’s not worth it. I don’t think you’re that kind of girl.”
“But I want...to...be...”
“Then leave it for out of office hours.”
She walked around him. “I need to be upstairs soon.”

She took the stairs, stopping between floors 2 and 3 to cry her makeup off.

Chapter 3 - The Plan Failed.

By chance, Rebecca met JC in the elevator the next morning.
"Morning." He nodded.
"Morning," she said curtly, staring straight ahead.
He rocked himself on his heels. "You look nice."
"I looked better yesterday."
"I get that, but you know, twins."

A light rain swept over Bloomington during the night, leaving a cold, grey haze over the city: perfect sweater weather. Again, by chance, both Rebecca and JC had chosen black sweaters and grey business slacks. She looked over to him, seeing him balance an art portfolio under his arm.

"How did you fit that thing on your fancy bike?"
"Oh, this old thing?"
"Yeah. I mean, as an officially, state-certified art school kid, I am well aware of the awkwardness of lugging around an art portfolio, but I cannot imagine how a coder person motorcyclist would fit that on his tiny, itty, bitty, little tricycle."
"I will have you know that that tricycle has a four-stroke engine and has two wheels, which surprisingly makes it a bicycle, not a tricycle."
"Yeah, and my car's a four-cylinder feat of German engineering. How did you fit that portfolio onto your bike? Please tell me it involves strapping it to your being with bungee cords?"
"Why am I not surprised that you've seen that before?"
"Yes, indeedy."
"Of course, of course."

They both stepped out of the elevator on the sixth floor, both of them due at a marketing meeting in a conference room. JC softly grabbed Rebecca's sweater.
"Look, I kinda want to talk to you about something."
"What?"
"About yesterday in the car park. Um, I think I might've said some really shitty things."
"Yeah, I think you did."
"Look, if you want to dress cute or sexy or whatever, it's not my place to judge you, nor is it my place to put assumptions onto your character. Whatever you wear doesn't give me the right to call you anything unsavoury. Also, I don't know you, I don't know what you wear to work, nor do I know why you dress the way you dress.
"I'm really sorry for what I said yesterday, and I hope you can forgive me."
Rebecca bit her lip in contemplation. "I...I don't know what to say."
"I'm not pressuring you to do or feel anything you don't want to."
"Look, JC..." She sighed. "I get, and appreciate, where you're coming from, but..." She sighed again. "I kinda thought that maybe we could be friends or something, work buddies and such. Everyone in this office is so old. Only you IT guys are young because information technology is a young field."
"My dad's a computer technician."
"Yeah, but did his main occupation consist of guiding people through their computers freezing, then playing Doom during lunch break."
"I guess not, but still."

With the air between them tense, they continued on to the conference room, Rebecca slipping into the back with JC greeting the marketing team and a bevy of executives. Typical bro-talk ensued, talk of football teams and glory days as fullbacks and wide receivers. Talk had turned to old college fraternities as Mr. Bryant made his appearance.

Simon Bryant was of average height, with short, greying red hair. Despite being in his mid-50s, he still had his boyish good looks. He slipped into the room, clapping his hands.
"OK, everyone." He gestured for JC to sit at his left. "Big news first. The website, the Bryant Department Stores and other Bryant retail stores website and websites. This guy, this man here on my left, is going to help us build the super highway that is going to bring Bryants into the new millennium. Are we excited?"
A spattering of clapping came from around the table.
"Great, great. I don't think he needs an introduction, but here's Joshua Chases!"
JC stood up, straightening his sweater. "Thank you, Mr. Bryant."
"Please, Simon. There's so many Mr. Bryant's around the company, you'd yell out for one of us, and seven more will reply," Simon joked.
"OK. And it's Chasez, not Chases, but y'all can call me JC." JC took a stack of poster boards from his portfolio, resting them on the ledge of the whiteboard at the front of the room. "Bryants retail dot fake. Tell me what you think of when you hear Bryants retail dot fake?" He paused, waiting for a reply. "That's it, you don't think of anything. Why? Because it doesn't exist. Well..." He took down the first piece of black card, revealing one underneath, with "Bryantsretail.fake" written in gold marker. "Now it does. More correctly..." He placed the second piece of black card on the table, revealing a third piece of black card with a screenshot of the Bryant's Retail Holdings website printed out and glued onto the card. "This is the first page of an online empire. This is the homepage of Bryant's Retail Holdings. This will be mainly used for corporate purposes, as a way to hire new employees, contact the company, and contact each other through an update to the company email network-"
"Are we getting new email addresses?" a balding man in the middle of right side of the table asked.
"No. Anyway, this page will also be a launching pad to access the online stores of our stores: Bryant's Department Store and Bea's Baby Boutique." He took down the third piece of card, the fourth piece using the black card as a border to a white piece of card with hand-drawn pictures of jackets and coats. "The Bryant's Department Store site will carry over the traditional black and gold colour scheme of the store itself..." He flipped over to the fifth and final piece of card. "With the site for Bea's continuing with its respective colour scheme."
Simon raised his hand. "When can we expect the sites to be up and running?"
JC paused. "...September..?"
"So, up for Christmas?" Simon asked as he made a note on a paper pad.
"Yes, up for Christmas." JC nodded.

JC slipped the cards from his presentation into the portfolio as the executives filed out of the conference room, only Simon and Rebecca trailing behind.
"That was a pretty good presentation there," Simon commented, shaking JC's hand. "If you wouldn't mind, how would you feel catching a cup of coffee on the terrace with me and Becky?"

Rebecca's eyes widened with shock and she gasped in embarrassment. She tried to find the words to a response, but she only managed to find one: "Dad!"

When Simon placed a copper tray with three cappuccinos onto the little metal table on the sixth floor's terrace, Rebecca wasn't finished.
"I'm serious, can you please, PLEASE, not call me Becky at work? It was a cute nickname when I was a child, but no one is going to take me seriously if you keep calling me that!"
"Lots of women go by Becky," Simon commented.
"OK, sure. But if I'm going to be called that, I might as well dye my hair blond and start wearing pastels."
"It's only because I love you," Simon said almost offhandedly, but still with the intent to gain a reaction.
Rebecca sputtered. "OK, fine, but please not at work."

Simon stirred a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee. "Tell me, how has your work week been?"
She made a disgruntled sigh. "On the work side, fine. I'm expecting what I've done for the pre-summer sale will be submitted to you for approval either today or Monday. I've also started on what I might need to do for the Fall catalogue, both for Bryant's but also Bea's. Other than that, it's hasn't been the greatest."
"What happened?"
"I think you called into IT yesterday about a problem with your computer screen," JC interjected.
"That was Wednesday."
"I'm guessing it was fixed?"
"It was...just a misunderstanding."
"Her brightness was turned down."

"It's not good enough."
Rebecca sat at Gene's desk. A folder full of design submissions for an array of advertising materials for the pre-summer sale was laid out on the desk as Gene stood behind his chair. "Um...OK..." she replied, meekly.
"They're not good enough," Gene repeated himself, flipping through the folder again. He closed it and placed the folder in front of her. "I know for a fact that this isn't your best work, and I can't accept it."
"But I tried."
"I know you did, but I also think your head wasn't in it this week."
"But that new website guy gives a presentation where the only thing he presents is a stack of poster boards with printouts and marker doodles on them, and it's the greatest thing ever."
"Yes, but graphic design isn't his job; it's yours. Also, that was for something that has to be finished by September, not this afternoon." Gene sat down at his desk. "Look, just because you're the boss's kid, don't think you can just fuck around all week and collect a paycheck. This is a job; you need to work."
"But I really did-"
He leaned back in his chair, fiddling with a black pen. "You spent most of yesterday morning crying in the stairwell."
Rebecca tried to find an excuse. "A coworker called me a slut."
Gene sighed. "Well, based on what you were wearing..."
"I don't think that should matter."
"I know it shouldn't matter, but..." He tried to find the right words. "Boys will be boys. If you dress a certain way, people are going to come to conclusions."
Rebecca clammed up, not moving in any way.
"Again, just because you're the boss's kid, that doesn't give you the constant privilege to fuck around. If you're not suited for this job, or are not a good fit for Bryant's, we will let you go. Whatever happened this week, you need to get over it. You need to dress appropriately for the office, and you need to dress in a manner that will not distract you, or others, from your work. I'll give you the weekend to fix your submissions and bring them up to your usual standard or work. And I'm only giving you until Monday; these still need to be ready to go to print that evening."
Rebecca started to stand up, taking the folder.
"And whatever bullshit is happening between you and Joshua Chasez needs to stop, at least within office hours."
"I'll take that into consideration, Mr. Lawson."
"Please do, Miss Bryant."

Rebecca started to feel a knot in her throat as she collected her things from her desk. By the time she was at the elevator, she had started hyperventilating. She tried to swallow, biting her lip as she tried to calm down. The light for the basement level came on.
"Shit, no." She started jamming the parking garage level's button. "No," she said, as the elevator went straight down to the basement.

JC was standing at the elevator doors as they opened. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"I think I'm having a panic attack."
He stepped into the elevator with her. "Do you need to go to the hospital?"
"I'm fine. I just need to go home."
"Are you OK to drive?"
She shook her head. "I don't know."
He walked her to her car. "Is it OK if I drive you home?"
She reached into her work bag, taking out her keys. "The parking garage closes at 9."
He helped her get into the passenger seat. "That's OK. I'll just get someone to pick me up from your place."
"But your bike?"
"No helmet. Justin's mom drove us this morning." He started the car. "Where's home?"
She gave him the directions, tightly grasping the handbrake and the handle above the door.
"What happened?"
"Gene reprimanded me about handing in shitty print ads and shit."
"Did you?"
"I thought they were OK. That's not the point."
"So, what is the point, then?"
"He said that if I dress like a slut, people are going to call me a slut and if I don't get my shit together, he's going to fire me."
"OK."
"So you agree with him?"
JC grunted. "I see his point."
"Then I want to get out of the car."
JC put the child lock on. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
"So, you just come to work every Thursday in cocktail dresses?"
"NO!"
"Then why did you?"
"Because I wanted to impress you! I think we're meant to be together and I thought that if I dressed nice it would impress you and then you'd fall in love with me."
JC took a startled, deep breath. "Dressing nice is only going to tell me that you can dress nice; it's not going to make me fall in love with you."
"Then how do I make you think I'm attractive?"
"I already think you're attractive. The moment I saw you, I thought you were incredibly sexy. That moment on Monday when you let your hair down to brush through it, then tied it up again, just...wow."
"And now I've just turned you off..."
"No. But there's a difference between thinking someone is attractive and being in love with that person. What I said yesterday, that I just didn't want to fuck around? That wasn't about you, that was about me. I don't fall in love like that, and I know that I'm not going to have a fulfilling relationship based on just sex or good looks."
"Then what do we do?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "We just hang out...then we go from there."

They sat in silence. "Is there anything you want to do?" he asked.
"No, just take me home."

Chapter 4 - Getting to Know You, Getting to Know All About You...and your dick...

"In here?"

Rebecca nodded in response as she tried to swallow. She flung her seatbelt off as JC put the car into park, her heartbeat ringing in her ears as she leaned her head forward.

"Just take deep breaths. In...1...2...3...out...1...2...3," he tried to reassure her. "Everything's going to be OK."

She froze as he placed his hand on her back. Fuck, she thought to herself.

She closed her eyes, slowing inhaling and exhaling as she sat up. "I think I'm OK."

"Do you want me to stay awhile?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Bathroom's through there."

"I'm OK." JC followed Rebecca into her apartment, carefully placing her work bag on the kitchen table. The room was small, only 300 square feet or so. On the left side of the room was a small kitchen, a 4-seater dining table, then a wardrobe with a small TV on a middle shelf.  The right side was mostly taken up by a bookcase and a futon bed. On the far right was a door leading to the bathroom, then another leading to an enclosed balcony that was set up with an easel and some potted ferns.

"Do you want some water?" he asked, looking for something to do to cut the awkwardness.

"Um, yeah." She pointed to the shelves above the kitchenette. "You can see the glasses up there. You can have some, too. Water, I mean." She blinked in confusion, before slowly pulling her sweater above her head. She sat down onto the futon.

"What's your preferred medium?" he asked as he drew the water from the tap, walking over to the futon, finding Rebecca spaced out.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry? I get a little spacey after an attack."

"What's your preferred medium?" He handed her a glass, sitting next to her.

"Um..." She looked around the room. "Like, medium of art?"

"Yeah."

"Um...acrylic on canvas, I guess. I'm not super infested enough to dedicate myself to oil paints or anything. I also kinda hate how long they take to dry."

"How long have you been working digitally?"

"Like on a graphics tablet? Um, I only do that for work. It's a good medium, and it's useful if I want to plan out anything, but you can't really replace paint on canvas or pencil on paper in my eyes."

He turned to her, tucking his feet under him as he readjusted himself on the futon. "You'll have to show me all the good art supply stores in town when I get my own place."

She turned to him. "Do you paint?"

"A little, yeah."

"What's your preferred medium?" She rested her elbow on the back of the futon and her head on her hand.

"I kinda dabble in everything. It's more about the style than the medium?"

"I'm guessing..." She gazed down at his business casual black sweater and grey trousers, "Cubism?"

"No, more surrealism."

"Darn it. I pegged you more for a geometric shapes in grayscale kind of fellow." She pouted in jest. "And I'm usually good at predicting someone's art style."

"I bet you didn't even think I painted."

She chuckled. "Honestly, no."

He placed his hand on hers. "Is that OK?"

"Um...yeah."

"Do you want anything?"

I want you to kiss me, she thought to herself. She said it out loud without realising. "I want you to kiss me."

He took in a nervous inhale, placing his hand on her thigh as he leaned closer. He bit his lip as his face hovered millimeters away from hers, his breath tickling her lips. He softly pressed his lips to hers, squeezing her thigh. She leaned forward, grabbing his bicep.

"Was that OK?" he whispered.

"Yeah." She nodded, kissing him again. Her fingers traced the seam of his sweater, tucking them under his shirt, daring to touch the skin at the nape of his neck. She pushed her other hand into his hair, begging him to open his mouth wider as she teased the tip of her tongue to his. "You're a really good kisser," she muttered as she straddled him.

His hands slipped beneath her tank top as she pressed her lips to his again, gripping her skin as electricity prickled his very being.

"Is that..?" she asked, grinding into his growing erection.

"Yeah..?"

"Um...Do you want to?"

Before he could answer, she peeled her tank top above her head. "It's going to be amazing to have you inside of me," she whispered. "No...I shouldn't have said that."

"No." His fingertips traced the lace of her bra. "It's OK. It's going to feel nice..." He trailed off in near embarrassment.

"Say it." She giggled.

"It's stupid."

"See, I shouldn't have said it."

He placed his hands on either side of her face, looking deeply into her eyes. "I want to fuck you."

She gasped. "Wow..." She sat upright, unhooking her floral bra and sliding it off. "You need to make me come first."

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer as he grabbed her breast, playing with her nipple as he kissed her chest. He slowly dragged his tongue along her erect nipple, smiling as she shuddered. "This is going to be so much fun." His fingers unhooked her fly, pushing the zipper down as he cupped her pussy. "Looks like you're already wet," he commented as his fingers pulled her panties aside as he slipped them into her lips.

"Oh my God..." She gasped as he found her clit. "Right there."

"Yeah?"

She nodded, whispering a cry as he rubbed her pussy. "Yeah..." She leaned closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he pleasured her. "Fuck."

"Tell me when I'm doing it right."

"You're doing it right." She dug her fingernails into his sweater, biting his shoulder as she moaned. Her whole body tensed up as shockwaves engulfed her. She held him as close as she could, grabbing him as tightly as she could, becoming him as much as she could as she came, piercing his sweater with her nails as she cried out.

"Holy fuck!" she whispered. "That was a big one."

He leaned her forward on her back. "Would you like to see another big one?"

"If you mean your cock, then yes, I would like to see another big one."

He sat up, fishing for the latch of the futon. He pulled the bed out, sitting by her feet as he took her shoes off. He stood back up again, peeling her trousers off. "You know, I don't think your panties are doing a very good job of covering your pussy right now. They're so far to the side, your whole bush is exposed."

She playfully placed her foot onto his leg. "Maybe it's because they want to come off."

"Maybe." He pulled them down her legs. "You know, I wasn't expecting you to be wearing red and black panties today. Especially after the bra with the pretty yellow flowers."

"I would've worn a matching set if I had known."

"No, I like it." He stood up, pulling his sweater and undershirt over his head. "Makes me think you're a little naughty."

"You have no idea how naughty I am," she teased.

"A good Irish Catholic girl like you? I know exactly how naughty you are!"

He took off his shoes and socks, opening his wallet and taking a condom out. 

"I bet you look even better naked." She bit her lip as she waited for him to undo his belt and remove his pants.

He climbed onto the bed, rolling the condom down his shaft before he opened her legs and slipped into her.

"Oh, wow..." she gasped as he started thrusting into her. She took his hand into hers, asking him to rub her clit again.

He pressed his thumb to her, syncing his thrusts to his strokes, increasing the force and speed as he brought her to climax again. He scooped her up into his arms, sitting her in his lap as she faced him. They kissed as she grinded into him, pressing him to her as he grabbed her ass.

"Faster, mummy," he whispered, starting to thrust into her.

"Are you coming?" she whispered.

"Yeah..." He nodded, swallowing deeply as he pumped into her.

"Kiss me when it happens."

He deeply pressed his lips to hers, holding his breath as he dug his fingers into her ass. "Fuck."

"Seriously..." She wiped his hair from his forehead. She withdrew him from her, pulling him down beside her on the bed. "I don't know what to say."

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah." She nodded, smiling. "It was really good. You're really good."

He smiled. "Thank you."

She turned over onto her stomach. "I could do that forever."

He rested his head onto his hand. "I mean, I get that, but wouldn't you like to stop and talk occasionally?"

"Do you like talking to me?"

"I like talking to you a lot."

"Thanks." She stood up, pulling a pair of sweatpants out of a drawer. "Do you want to get some dinner or something?"

They had pulled into a parking space at a fast food joint, a tray of burgers and fries sitting on the middle console.

"So, Joshua, where did you go to school?" Rebecca asked, folding a fry in half before taking a bite.

"Actually, I'm in the same boat you were. The suburb I grew up in isn't that far from the University of Maryland campus at College Park. Thought I might as well go there."

"What did you major in? Computer science or something?"

"Well, yeah. I'm a programmer, so I must've learnt it somewhere."

"Did you always want to be a programmer website guy?"

"No. When I started college, I didn't actually know what I wanted. My college roommate, Tony, was into web design. He kind of got me into it."

"How did you end up at Bryant's?"

"You know Joey from IT? He was in the year below us. When I graduated, I worked a little here and there setting up the county website in my hometown. When I heard that Joey had not only gotten a job out here, but that the company was still looking for IT guys, I submitted my resume. Guess I wowed your uncle or something."

"Do you think you'd always work for Bryant's?"

"Like permanently?"

"Um, yeah..."

"I mean, I'm not just here to design the website. They'd need someone to maintain the site, add new inventory, and such." He watched as she tried to make herself as small as she could in her oversized sweatshirt. "You don't have many friends at the company, do you?"

"No. Most of the people in marketing are old dudes. The young ones are creeps and the women hate me because I'm the boss's daughter."

"I doubt they hate you."

"They do. They sit there with their homemade sushi and bento boxes talking about shoes and Sex and the City and then shit talk me ‘cause I didn't have to work as hard as them. Bet they don't even think it is hard for me sometimes." She wiped tears away from her eyes with her sleeve.

"Like in a spoiled rich kid way or..?"

"No, like in a...I don't know. You have no idea how much pressure I'm under. You have no idea what it's like to have your whole life mapped out before you're even conceived. You have no idea what it's like to be expected to take over as CEO when your dad retires. You have no idea what it's like having a whole retail empire on your shoulders when you can barely do your laundry correctly. Nobody asked what I wanted...nobody cares what I want..." She trailed off.

They sat in silence. "Then quit."

She picked at her sweatshirt cuff, not wanting to respond. "I'm scared."

JC flipped through the 1997 Illinois road atlas Rebecca kept stuffed in her glove box as Rebecca tried to find Justin's mom's house.

"I think you turn right at this intersection, and it'll be midway down the block." He pointed at a modest red brick, ranch-style house. "This is it."

Rebecca pulled the hand brake as she parked. "I guess it is." She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "Um, do you want to go on a proper date or something, like, next week sometime?"

"Um, sure."

"Cool, cool."

He leaned over, taking her hand before he softly pressed his lips to hers. "I guess I'll see you on Monday."

She bit her lip, her heart a flutter. "Um, yeah." She watched as he got out of the car. "You have my work email," she called after him as he shut the door. 

He awkwardly gave a thumbs up. "Night."

She waved. "Night." She bit her lip again as she rested her head on the steering wheel, watching him enter a side gate and walk into the backyard.

She sighed, replaying the night in her head. "What the fuck was that?"