He had to prevent their meeting at all costs.

Brad Crawford idly inhaled another intoxicating puff of smoke off his expensive Marlboro cigarette. With his free hand, he traced a finger expectantly down the tiny black numbers. Ink smeared across his index, smudging Coca Cola into its preceding competitor, and obliterating both into a mass of wasted ink. He sifted his index and thumb together, spreading the oily residue around. Somehow, the texture soothed him. It hardened against his skin, filling every crack and crevice, creating an exact duplicate of his unique prints. Only one other liquid he’d dealt with felt and flowed like cheap ink.

A small sneer crept up upon him and overtook his handsome features, an _expression he’d often witnessed in his past life. Long ago, he signed his contracts in red, the riskiest, but most productive hue on the color scale. Back then, he witnessed the color daily, stained upon his suits, forever clinging to his hands, and bitterly leaving a copper aftertaste in his mouth. Red. so tantalizing, so pulsing, so powerful, so alive. Even the mere memory of its connotations pumped excitement though his veins, breathed a flare of unpredictability into his ear. Alas, those were the younger days of an irresponsible, untied, carefree Brad Crawford. These days, he had to contain his lust with a few ink stains and dying corporations.

After tracking a few measly opponents’ small revenues, his attention paused on a larger corporation; in fact, the largest corporation. Crawford Corps, named by and for Brad, had risen within two years into the wealthiest marketing firm in France. He was amazed how a few flashy words, placed precisely upon the perfect ensemble, dazzled businesses straight into his hands. Combined with his chivalrous appearance and expensive Armani suits, no corporation refused his services. He had started his industry empty-handedly, a fugitive with no assets or references, but had quickly built his reputation into one of a respectable, modern day Napoleon. Now at the zenith of his career, only one obstacle remained: the global economy. Within two years of christening his new business, he’d conquered all of France and so turned his greedy eyes to the pinnacle of commercial trade.

Men idolized him. Every major president, CEOs and managers wanted him to attend their promotions, workshops and lavish parties. To have his name on the guest list meant investments and an abnormally large attendance rate. He graciously attended these functions, elevating his status among the elite population. When a compliment was aimed at him, he grabbed the idea gracefully and always elaborated on every detail included. Women coveted him. Sometimes he indulged in self pleasures, finding opportunities for profits in a desperate female executive or flirtatious secretary. But he felt no guilt over his rendezvous’. If a single night meant another million by morning, who wouldn’t take that offer? Besides, they were only business arrangements.

It was his duty.

Crawford Corps. Up 7% in stocks, increasing daily, He interpreted, double checking the finely printed, gabbled numbers and reading between the lines. He did this every morning, a daily ritual as predictable as the sun’s equatorial shifts. Every morning he rose before dawn and pressed his suits. Every morning he waited with anticipation for the familiar thump on his front step while preparing toast. Every morning he smoked an imported cigarette while reading the stocks. Every morning he reassured his victory. For one day, every man meets his Waterloo, and Brad constantly feared his devastating plummet.

Only after this reassurance could he fully relax and enjoy himself. Satisfied with the meager results, he switched to less pressing matters and flipped open the paper’s entertainment section. Even though the personal affairs of glamorous stars seemed trivial, they still indirectly affected him. His valued adorning jewel was his stunning fiancé, who happened to be a model. So, he skimmed the mundane gossip of aristocratic twits, searching for any criticism of his beloved one. If he detected a tidbit of information, such as disparagement of her age, he omitted the offensive material to spare her the grief. Thus he cycled through his daily routine, savoring toast and waiting for the sun and his fiancé to rise. As if clockwork, he felt her presence as the first rays of light struck his tired face.

From the corner of his eye, he watched her enter the room. Her trained feet silently slid across the floor, undetectable to the average ear. Brad’s years of training far surpassed hers and allowed him to easily track her every movement. Disheveled, tired, and wandering around in a bulky, cream bathrobe, she seemed nothing like the painted mask she applied daily. If only the paparazzi could see her now; their scandal columns would be filled. Her usually conditioned, silky hair rejected all forms of perfection. In its place, a wild mess of tresses tossed about her shoulders, strands askew, obscuring her face. Untouched by layers of foundation, her natural beauty shown through, highlighting her vivid gray eyes and girlish innocence. Instead of the fake, tense painted doll displayed daily, she appeared the comfortable housewife enjoying her prime years of womanhood. This was the true Angelina.

Marie instinctively ambled over to the coffee pot and pressed a few buttons. Yawning, she watched the steamy liquid pour methodically from its bag into the pot below. Black coffee. She hated black coffee, but it was all she drank. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d tasted cream, let alone pure sugar. Once in a while, she slipped a Sweet and Low into her morning brew, but only occasionally, and only when Brad wasn’t home. Around him, she kept everything pure, everything healthy, everything beautiful, including herself. If black coffee would keep her thin and win his affection, she’d forgo the small pleasure. Hadn’t she given up on all dreams of children to keep her figure? Hadn’t she done it all for him? Compared to the sacrifice of family, coffee seemed and insignificant forfeit.

Almost as an ironic reminder, her abdomen lurched forward in pain. For a moment, she thought God might have granted her wish of accidental pregnancy. Alas, a few minutes later, her stomach let out a long growl like a caged tiger, informing her of her constant hunger. Had she eaten dinner? Meals seemed so unimportant; she rarely remembered them, and her palette no longer defined one flavor from another. Behind her, she heard Brad entering his third piece of toast, the small familiar crunch echoing throughout her head. Oh, how she longed to savor just one bite of bread smeared in melted, fattening butter.

Maybe I can have just one piece, she thought crossing over to the table and reaching for his fourth and final portion, I mean, I do deserve it.

Slap! Brad’s large hand swatted her dainty approach to the side with a resounding, stinging cuff. She automatically recoiled, shocked and hurt by his reaction. Outside, her skin hued a brilliant pink where his hand had branded her; inside, her pride raged. How dare he punish her as a father would his child! Before her anger could raise enough to retaliate, though he spoke and tamed her into submission.

“You’ll get fat.”

Three simple words, but they meant the world to Marie. Instantly, her mood shifted from hatred to fear. If she gained weight, she’d lose her esteem, she’d lose her job and worst of all, she’d lose Brad. As long as he loved her, she could survive. A pity really, how a life full of tragedies had rendered this once intrepid woman into dependency. Compared to her old, empty life of loneliness, Brad’s flaws could be overlooked in exchange for security and affection. As if to explain his words, Brad slid a large amethyst packet towards her. Across the top, her agent, Paullina, had sprawled urgent delivery in large letters, emphasizing the career altering opportunity that awaited her approval. Even through her building tears, Marie focused on ripping the expensive, officially-sealed envelope open. Inside lay a heavy cardstock outlined in pure gold. She read the invitation once and her heart stopped. This was impossible! It took five more evaluations for the information to finally register fully. Now, at least though her fiancé would believe her tears to be ones of joy instead of distress. Flabbergasted, she searched for his eyes but found him once again bemused in the Sunday news.

“Br- Bra-,” she chocked on her words, unable to overcome her astonishment, “Brad,” she finally managed to stutter after several tries, her voice barely audible over the dribbling coffee.

“Huh?” Something had him so captivated he didn’t even bother to comprehend her sudden change of moods.

“They want me to go to America and model. Look at these designers. Armani, Valentino, Ferre, Tacchini and Coveri. The list goes on and on…” she recited the list, her voice raising in pitch with every new name.

Silence and a bit of a lip twitch, but that was all. By now he wasn’t even tuning her in anymore.

Aware of his ignorance, she continued on hoping to catch his attention with a new focus. Him.

“Just think of what this will do for your business. How would you like to have American corporations affiliated with you. Just think! Wall Street! And I could become an international model after only two years. And the Academy Awards!”

“Where?” He tore his eyes away from the article for the first time that morning.

“The Academy Awards.” she repeated, frustrated with his indifference. Usually, by this time he’d have the champagne poured and a table for two reserved at the finest restaurant in town to celebrate his success. Was he even paying attention to a word she said?

“We aren’t going,” his stern brown eyes commanded her to obey.

“What!?”

Hadn’t he just confessed yesterday his desires to become a global competitor and trader? Now, he brushed his one chance at domination to the side as if it were a free ticket to the local theatre? Why was she even starving herself if she hadn’t the chance to improve her status? How could he be so selfish?

“NO!” she screamed, her voice rising for the first time in two years.

“You’re twenty six years old. Do you really think you can conquer America?” His tone showed the complete control he processed over his emotions. Within seconds, he subdued the tightening fear in his chest and rationally presented a feasible excuse. If one blinked during the interlude, they would have missed his transformation and brief panic.

Yes, twenty six was considered old for a model. Yes, most models petered out a few years before her. But unlike all those others, she’d never aged. Her skin still trumped a sixteen year old, homecoming queen’s, and her body, an eighteen year old porn star’s. Obviously, France thought her attractive enough to model their top lines, so she must still be gorgeous. With an entire county confirming her beauty, Marie felt confident she could withstand the pressures of American expectations.

Therefore Brad must be wrong! All these years, she’d allowed him to hold her back for his benefit. Because he needed her to boost his self-esteem, she politely stepped down from her pedestal to ornament his reputation whenever he requested. As much as he controlled their life, he depended on her more than she did him. Now, she could take his superior attitude no more, at least not on such a profitable situation.

“I couldn’t afford to leave my business for an entire weekend,” he ran down the list of excuses, hoping she’d accept one as viable.

“Stop being so goddamn selfish!”

“Look Marie,” he started to counter her, his head throbbing from their argument, but stopped as a white flash interrupted his thoughts. He had often felt surges of pain and blanked out for seconds at a time only to return with a solution. During those few moments, he was blind to reality but his inner eye viewed a world seldom witnessed by the average man. One of possibilities, chance, and prophesies. In fact, some of his smartest stock moves came directly after those brief visions of weak accounts or possible contenders. Throughout his life, he’d processed the power to witness random revelations of future events, rarely complete, but never wrong. Now, his mind reeled to two months ahead.

The lights, how intense and flawless they made everyone look. The women were like porcelain dolls with unnaturally long eyelashes and unusually tiny waists. The men looked almost identical, each with their own slight difference. Her chiffon gown, designed and fashioned by Giorgio Armani, flashed and glistened under those lights. Her diamond studded heels from Balestra pressed into the lush fabric of the infamous Red Carpet.

A hot, stinging sensation brought his mind back to present day. Before him, Marie stood heaving, her chest rising and falling faster and faster as the seconds ticked by. Fire burned beneath her usually cold, gray eyes and her perfect “dollish” face contorted into some horrific _expression Stephen King would write about. Across the table, the entire pot of coffee spewed its contents. A splotch saturated the back of the paper he held, seeping through like blood from a gunshot wound. Slowly, the burning sensation trickled down his arched wrist and stained the cuff of his crisp white shirt. Tiny shards of glass embedded into the hardwood table etching its finish for life. A few pieces had even landed on his hands, burrowing deep beneath his skin’s five protective layers to gush forth blood in torrents.

The snapshot of his future still lingered on his mind like the aftereffects of a death defying car crash. He disliked the complications this new information posed, but was used to sudden changes in plans. Plucking the sharp debris from his hand, he silently pushed past Marie and tossed the sopping paper away.

“Alright, I’ve changed my mind. We’ll go to the awards,” he started, keeping his air of superiority, “For you.” he added, once again dropping the perfect words into place to close yet another business arrangement.

With that, he calmly adjusted his bifocals and pulled a Verizon flip phone from his pocket.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an important business arrangement to set up.”

If he failed, the consequences would bankrupt him.

The smooth harmony of Billy Joel’s voice rang throughout Autumn’s halls and head. Usually, she found the melody peaceful and full of promise, but at this moment, she only felt resentment and annoyance. Her tiny silver cased cell phone chirped out the tune from somewhere deep within the chambers of her many roomed mansion. Who would fucking be calling her before the break of dawn? And on a Sunday none the less…

Good the bastard hung up! She hissed in her head. At least I wasn’t asleep. Oh, if I had been, the fucking retard on the other end of that line would have been sorry. Damn agencies!

On the brink of exhaustion and suffering from massive attacks of insomnia, anything set her off, especially at five-thirty a.m. Uncontrollable anger welled up inside of her causing a mindless ramble of improper language. Even in her more rational states, this was not an uncommon reaction from her. Her usual response to everything seemed to end in a slew of curse words. In fact, every actor she’d ever worked with quoted her as “brilliant, but a bitch with a quick temper you wouldn’t want to cross.” From her director’s and peers responses, the magazines often wondered how she managed to find roles. Frequently, her coworkers complained about her insistent, stubborn personality and foul mouth, but no one ever seemed to fire her. When such a talent as hers crossed the stage, you couldn’t just shy away because of minor personality conflicts. As long as you didn’t irritate her, she tried to avoid confrontations. Plus, the tabloids made millions off of her. Every week, she read about another supposed bar fight or arrest laughed as the stories became more absurd.

Did you know that you curse like a sailor still?

Autumn jumped at the sound of his voice entered her head. She hadn’t realized he’d woken up. Recovering from the initial shock of his presence, she rolled over in the darkness and snuggled deep within his protective arms. Warmth enveloped her as his slender frame intertwined around her curvaceous body. Even though the late summer heat usually forced them to find refuge on opposing ends of the bed, they now clung together. They lay for a few minutes, listening to each other’s shallow breathing, enjoying their unity and few minutes of undisturbed bliss. At first, she could see nothing and so savored his smooth skin and familiar aroma of cigarettes. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to their dim surroundings. He evolved right before her eyes: a bulky mass, indefinable silhouette and finally, recognizable features melted into her visual field. Matted, orange locks stuck to his forehead and plastered to his cheeks from the humid air. A few beads of sweat trickled down his tanned shoulder and dripped across her back. She flipped her crimson curls behind her and raised her face to his, so their eyes connected, strengthening their bond. When her small, freckled nose touched the tip of his elongated Germanic one she smiled, a set of shiny white teeth gleaming in the shadows.

“Fucking tell me about it.”

A low, amused chuckle emanated from his torso, shaking the entire foundation below them. He sarcastically rolled his eyes, a mock display of playfulness, and kissed her forehead. As her limbs relaxed into a peaceful state beneath his affectionate embrace, she suddenly felt his muscles contract into a tense state. Before she could react, he pounced upon her, pushing her further into the featherbed. Once again, his extra years and body build allowed him to triumph over her.

“Bad guy wins.” His voice came out a hushed whisper, bringing back memories of their childhood together.

“No way! You definitely cheated again.” As if time had reversed, she found herself repeating the naïve phrases of her younger years. How meaningful those few simplistic words had become.

“I don’t cheat”

“You just did”

“You’re just embarrassed you fell for it” His lips curved upwards into a juvenile smile of victory as his eyes mischievously roamed across her body. Proud of his accomplishment, he leaned down and planted two rough lips upon her collarbone. Instead of pushing him off, she delicately wrapped her arms around his neck and welcomed his passion.

How ironic fate is, she mused to herself. During their youth, these similar actions had just seemed a minor tussle between friends, but now, as she surrendered to his will, she perceived the early signs of fatal attraction. Their violent games of survival had chased them throughout life, hunted them down and even turned them upon each other like a pack of starved dogs. Their only savior was their innocent love for one another that had pursued close upon the heels of this deadly game and eventually overtaken it. Now, here she was, once again a player on the board, but instead of a competitor, she met her opponent as a satisfied equal.

Autumn sighed as her cell phone once again echoed throughout the building, interrupting her thoughts. Whoever needed to talk to her obviously couldn’t wait for a reasonable hour. Calmed down by Schuldig’s soothing affection, she began to ponder the other options for this untimely call. What if it wasn’t a prank caller or rude agent? What if she had the opportunity of a lifetime waiting for her on the other end of the line? What if one of her friends had passed away? Worried about the devastation or profit awaiting her she bit her bottom lip in indecision.

“Shit” Schuldig whispered in her ear. She heard annoyance tinged with exasperation as he paused, anticipating her next question.

“What?”

“You’re thinking of answering it, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” She couldn’t lie to him. Long ago, she’d learned that even if she tried to deceive him, he’d weasel the truth from her subconsciously. Of course, this intimate connection and one-sided power put an added strain on their relationship, but for the most part she could care less. When they quarreled, she often threw her hands up, grabbed her bag and departed from the house in anger, shouting for him to mind his own damn business and to fucking stay out of her head. Although, for the most part, she understood he only read her mind to check on her welfare and keep her satisfied. Like all women, she spoke an encoded language according to him, and only through her true feelings could he comprehend his flaws. If all he asked for was the truth, why should she deny him of it? What did she really have to hide?

“But I haven’t seen you for three straight days,” His face dropped into a pout, and his bottom lipped angled slightly towards the left in disappointment. Almost as if on command, his eyes dimmed slightly, creating the full affect of his desperation.

“I’m sorry, babe.” She apologized, avoiding his longing eyes and gently pushed his body off of her. Without a second glance, she rushed from the room, praying she could locate her phone in time. After her hasty disappearance, Schuldig let out a long groan and flopped back upon their king sized bed in disgust. Work! Work! Work! It seemed to be the only thing she ever did. He tried his best to compensate and appreciate her fame, but thought her agents overburdened her. When was the last time they’d relaxed together? Had a night of sex? Or even sat down to really talk? He’d had her to himself for a few seconds and foolishly let her go. How could he have been so stupid? Looking for a vice to fill up his empty void, he fumbled for the cigarette carton stashed beside his bureau. Upon finding his last crumpled Newport, he stuffed the nicotine between his lips and clumsily lit it.

“Ja?” Her voice fluttered down the hall, a few seconds after she spoke. But the delayed speed of sound didn’t bother him; he didn’t need it. Following her every shift of emotion, he sucked fervently on his cigarette, puffing the excess smoke into the heavy air. Small streams hovered above his head for a few moments before spiraling upwards in tall columns towards the chandeliers above. He cocked his head to the side as he often did when concentrating on other’s thoughts, and glanced at the nearby window. A few shafts of morning sunlight drifted through the closed drapes and cast streaks of light across his intensified face. When Autumn finally received the urgent news, his heart fluctuated with hers.

She reentered a different person. Usually a confident, strong person, she now stood on the threshold of their room in utter disbelief. She paused and glanced down at the tiny phone trying to absorb reality. Maybe her entire conversation had been a hallucination. Maybe the phone hadn’t rung. Could her dreams have actually come true? Her once sleepy eyes now widened into unrealistic proportions, and her knees buckled beneath her. If the doorframe wasn’t behind her, she would have fallen flat on her face. Instinctively, she grabbed the wood paneling beside her and dug her nails into the soft wood for support.

“I don’t have to go to work today.” She said, muttered to herself trivial matters, trying to comprehend the larger picture. If she focused too hard, though, she lost thought mid-sentence and had to start over again.

“Schuldig, I can stay home with you,” She sunk a few inches towards the floor, her eyes still glued upon the glowing, green screen of the cell phone. Schuldig rescued her before she crumpled to the ground in a pitiful heap. With one steady movement, he lifted her weightless body and gently placed her back onto their king sized bed. After a few struggling efforts, he managed to pry the cell from her clammy fingers and turn its power off. Considering her state, he tried his best to rectify her shock and absentmindedly pushed a few stray hairs from her face.

“Congratulations,” he repeated her agent’s words, “You’ve been nominated for an Academy Award.”

Hearing Schuldig confirm the state of things, Autumn finally accepted it as a truth and burst into tears. Only on her second film, and she had already been chosen by the American public to attend their most prestigious awards ceremony. Not only that, but they had also nominated her for an award.

“You deserve this,” Schuldig continued, a halfhearted smile crossing his face. Of course, he felt ecstatic that she’d finally received the recognition she’d worked so hard to achieve. On the other hand, a nomination meant more scripts, more movies, and less personal time. After waiting over a decade to reunite with her, he felt disheartened by their lifestyle. In fact, this morning he was about to suggest she take a few months off just as the phone rang again. Either way, if acting pleased her, he’d sacrifice his displeasure for the time being. If anyone else had requested such a gigantic favor of him, he’d have quickly turned the situation around to profit himself. Autumn was a different story. For her, he put away his greedy tendencies and, quite opposite of his nature, attempted to satisfy someone else. Because of his tragic years of separation and guilt over her disappearance, he always had a constant fear of losing her yet again. She had been his best friend, his only true friend. It was for this reason that he bowed to her will and felt such loyalty.

“Get some sleep,” He recommended, pitching her phone across the room, far from reach, “You’ll need your strength for the paparazzi when they climb over our fence later today.”

He attempted to cover her delicate body, but she laid a pale hand across his arm and shook her head.

“No” she commanded flinging her arms around his neck and chocking back her sobs. “Thank you—Oh Roth, thank you”

“For what?” Chills of pleasure slid down his spine at the mention of his true name. She rarely called him by it, but when she did, he sensed an even more intimate connection and an overwhelming flood of memories, some from childhood, others from passion. As if she read his mind, her cherry lips pressed against his cheek and slowly migrated over to his mouth. His intuition picked up on her signals and he quickly returned her ardent embrace. She brushed a hand through his tangled hair, and slowly dragged her manicured nails transversely down his chest. Primal instinct caused his eyes to slant closed as a sign of satisfaction. He paused for a second to search her mixed emotions for total reassurance before dipping her body backwards between his legs. She moaned slightly beneath him, a euphoric sensation overpowering her.

Goddamnit! Schuldig tore his eyes away from Autumn for a second to glare at his dresser top. Just out of his reach, lay a small, black Nokia phone buzzing with more lights and vibrations than an amusement park ride. Why hadn’t he turned it off? Who dared disrupt him now?

Maybe if he ignored it, they’d give up and call back later. Or better yet, never! So much for the convenience of cell phones. For a revolutionary idea to assist the modern man lighten his load of daily stress, he certainly wanted to pitch it out the window. At that moment, he cursed the man who invented such elaborate technology. At least when I was poor I never had to worry about people contacting me.

So, he decided the best course of action was to promptly disregard his cell and continue with more important matters, rewarding his wife. Seven minutes later, he was thoroughly convinced Satan held the other receiver and had his number pegged for eternal damnation. Frustrated, he stretched the extra inches needed to reach it and awkwardly slid it into his open palm. Ten familiar numbers furiously glowered up at him from the small, illuminated display. Where had he seen them before? He knew they were important, more than important, but why? Then it hit him, and his heart sank. He understood what those numbers represented, understood the urgency of the call, understood his promise. So, even though might regretted his actions, he slid off a concerned Autumn and flipped open the communicator.

The call only lasted a matter of minutes, but his fears were confirmed. After placing a skinny finger against Autumn’s lips to quiet her alarm, he listened to the speaker on the other end a few seconds, absorbing his few, yet powerful words.

“Yes, I understand,” Schu paused, biting his bottom lip in concentration before proceeding on, “I’ll be there immediately.”

Everything in this world comes with a price tag. Some items are bought with currency, others ethics, but no matter what the prize, there was always a payment involved. Brad scanned the flat screen computer monitor with mild interest. His daily revenues rose by the minute faster than casino jackpots, but he wasn’t content. He’d reached the epiphany of his hierarchy in marketing stocks, but what had he forfeited? If everything cost at least one cent, what had he paid with? Security? Thrills? Freedom? Every option seemed a possibility, yet something informed him he still had these luxuries, just in revolutionized forms. Tired, he rubbed his worn eyes and absentmindedly clicked a few revenues, adjusting their numbers for new processing. As he fiddled around with vast sums of money, a soft knock sounded against his door.

“Come in,” he formally replied, expecting an annoying secretary or coworker to bog him down with useless comments or complaints. Though, nothing of the sort occurred. The door opened, but no one entered. Brad wrenched his eyes from the glowing screen and stared fixedly at the figure lounging against his oak doorframe. His eyes focused, locked, and remained frozen on his visitor’s two piercing teal orbs. A large lump of uncertainty rose within his throat, sticking to his Adam’s apple and chocking him. He’d expected this visit since morning, but he hadn’t prepared himself for the actual meeting. Phone conversations and face to face confrontations were two completely different matters.

While debating his first move, he glanced over his counterpart. Two years and neither of them had changed a bit. Brad still wore his scholarly _expression of superiority intertwined beneath his fancy suits. Even though his societal role had changed, his principle theories persisted. In his world, there were those who ruled and those who slaved, and what defined the two classes was appearance. Those in charge did so with an air of dignity, a clean, trusting look. People mindlessly followed a dapper, polite leader even if he purposely led them to their deaths. Therefore, if Brad kept his image pure, he could continue to dominate the masses. Just as Brad remained a polished man, his foil still displayed the opposite. The man before him wore a laid back _expression, intermingled with boyish amusement. As if to compliment his image of an overgrown child, he sported torn jeans and a black T-shirt. With his long, unkempt hair and rebellious poise, he could have passed for a teenage rock star. Brad knew this man’s looks were deceiving. A manipulator, inside and out, this man’s intelligence far surpassed the majority of the population, yet he hid this reserved IQ beneath layers of immaturity. He belonged in Brad’s world of expensive suits and ties, but chose to live a fast paced, carefree lifestyle. Brad ignored his client’s appearance, adjusted his starched tie, straightening it on the center of his neck and motioned for the man to have a seat.

The man acknowledged his silent request by flopping onto a nearby couch and scrutinizing his surroundings with an observant eye. He shifted about on the pleather, entertained at its incessant squeaking beneath his weight. Across from him, Brad stared on, annoyed, his back rigid against the swivel chair.

“You look well, Schuldig,” He started the awkward reunion, unsure of how to break the ice. Now that he couldn’t use an impersonal form of communication, he wondered where to begin. Unlike all his other patrons, he personally knew Schuldig. How did you greet a man you’d purposely ignored for two years? As for the actual subject matter, he could quite effectively keep a cold, formal tone, but as for the bullshitting, he could find no words. “So how’s—“

“She’s fine. Now get on with what you wanted to discuss,” Came the interruption.

Surprised, by his comrade’s acuity, Brad leaned backwards in his chair and clasped his hands together. So, Schuldig hadn’t lost his acute sense of perception and social instincts. Before he’d even dealt his first hand, Schuldig had insightfully picked up on his casual conversation as a distraction from the harsh matter at hand. Naked to this mastermind of manipulation, Brad decided his safest option lie with presenting all the facts in a straightforward fashion.

“Well, we knew something like this was inevitable.” With that he opened his top drawer and uncovered the Sunday newspaper’s entertainment section and Marie’s official invitation. Shaking his head, he slid the material beneath Schuldig’s nose and watched his brows knit together in concentration. Schuldig’s teal eyes flitted across the article, and finally came to rest upon Marie’s letter. Realization swept across his face, causing his bottom lip to curve downwards once again in a state of displeasure. With a swift motion of his hand, Brad combined the two papers into a single pile and held them before his colleague’s eyes.

“I expect you’ve figured out why I’ve called this meeting?” To emphasis his point he waved the evidence about.

“Yes.”

“Good, then you must understand that we have to prevent their meeting at all costs.” Without Marie’s feelings in mind, he swept the documents into a nearby shredder and watched them disintegrate into dust. He spoke slowly and clearly, accentuating the urgency of the situation. His solemn hazel eyes shifted quickly to his partner’s, studying his mild reaction. Noticing a slight hesitation in Schuldig’s responses, he reminded him of their responsibility.

“It is our duty.”

Schuldig paused for a few more minutes, absorbing this new information. Two years ago, he had vowed to assist Brad if such an occasion ever arose. These mandatory precautions weren’t only for his protection, but Autumn’s as well. He nodded towards Brad, and extended a slender hand, a sign he had consented to uphold his promise. They shook hands, and sealed the deal.

“And remember,” Brad concluded, “If we fail, the consequences could bankrupt us both.”