You can bring that boyfriend of yours. Or come alone. We love you, sweetie. Please come home.

Becks played her voice mail on repeat for the fifteenth time today. There were many emotions her mother's persuasive pleading evoked but confusion was a new one. She stared at the phone, frowning. Boyfriend? What boyfriend? Here she was, smack in the middle of a lengthy relationship drought, one she did not see ending anytime soon, especially when the men in her life were severely not her type, severely taken or--

"Rebecca, darling! I'm in desperate need of your skills."

Or they were Trent Markham.

Becks quickly clicked off her voicemail before Trent caught her moping over her mother's good intentions. The gleam in his eye boded ill for her hopes of getting out early enough for a quick wardrobe change for the evening. No, not today. She wouldn't be a doormat today.

"What do you need?" Oh, yes, not today, not a doormat whatsoever. Becks sighed at her own folly as a thick glossy folder slid in front of her.

"I am having a hell of a time with this formatting and if I don't have these mock ups pristine and perfect by tomorrow morning, Alexis is going to have my balls in a vice."

Her lips pursed as he spoke, his shocking baby blues (seriously, did they market that nail polish color?) not looking at her. Nope, they wandered, giving an appreciate glance of Wendy in the alluring pencil skirt as she sauntered by. An actual saunter. Did she paint that skirt on? Wendy returned the look with a wink. Good grief, couldn't they wait for the damn Holiday Party in five hours before they started making eyes at each other like horny teenagers. Not that Trent would ever give her a look like that, she internalized, biting her lip as she looked at her lap. The sight of her legs encased in ill fitting plain black trousers greeted her, which matched her equally plain loose eggshell blouse. Her mother's blouse, she realized, she was wearing her mother's blouse, hair frizzed from the walk from her apartment. Come to think of it, she hadn't even bothered with make up this morning. When had her appearance come to matter so little to her. Oh yes, that's right.

The part of her that had been slowly withering away, since that day three years ago. Another sigh filtered through her nose. She was too young to feel this old. Becks did her best to ignore Trent as she eyed the contents of his folder. He turned at her noise of distress.

"Uh, these need a lot of help, Trent, and the party--"

"I know, the party is only a few hours away, which is why I need your help," he said, jumping to his feet as if he couldn't escape fast enough. Which, she realized, he couldn't, because he intended to leave this steaming pile of shit in her lap.

"Now wait just a second--"

"Thanks, Rebecca, I owe you one!"

"Giant, rat bastard," Becks snarled, mostly under her breath as she clutched the desk for strength. That asshat passed the buck! Not like she couldn't do them. Every desk around her saw Trent pass them off to her. This office was full of harpies. Now it would be on her head if the mock ups were a mess, which they were, unless she sacrificed a virgin and swore her first born to fix them. She glared at the drafted ads, vowing to seek revenge on that jerkface if she had to take him down with her. Five years she'd worked at Callihan and Matthew's Ad Agency. Five years she'd maneuvered through inter office politics, snubbing, and other b.s., two of which included dealing the 'God's Gift to Woman' Idiot that was Trent Markham, interoffice transplant, and too handsome for his own good. She took a moment to muffle a scream of frustration with the palm of her hands and set about to work.

***

Becks swiped her hair out of her face, now several levels beyond rat's nest, from hours of swiping it with her fingers. Her eyes were tired and pinched as she blearily peered at the wall clock through the blue white haze of her monitor. Eleven at night, the holiday party well underway, probably winding down now and she missed it all. She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she finished her printouts. She was going to kill Trent, the rotten jerk. Her stomach gave a sad gurgle of protest. She'd missed lunch and dinner fixing his mess, her meager breakfast of a tube of gogurt so very far away.

She took a moment to check her email. Maybe she could swing by the party downstairs and scrounge the leftovers to fill her empty belly.

An email from her sister caught her eye, highlighted by a row of skull icons. *Warning: Not My Fault*. Oh, what the hell had Jo done now? Grumbling about sabotaging sisters, she clicked it open, feeling her jaw flop open as she read the contents.

I know I should have deleted it. She hacked my damn phone! She gets all worried when you don't call and starts her whole espionage routine. She saw that stupid photo and my big fat mouth said he was your boyfriend. It was better than calling him a lusty drunk text. I'll clear it up, Becks, I promise. Though it would be easier if you called her and at least told her you're not coming home this year. Or not. I miss you.

Oh, god, oh god, not that picture. Becks closed her eyes, her ears burning as she remembered exactly what lusty drunk text her sister was referring to. The one from Mr. Macon's retirement party. When Becks, tipsy and emboldened on three plastic cups worth of box wine, snagged the passing Trent for an impromptu selfie.

She'd sent it to her sister, along with several suggestive texts of what she'd like to do to him after a couple more glasses of wine. It was a good laugh had by all, since Trent Markham was way out of her range. The man basically forgot she existed until he needed her to fix his mistakes.

Now she looked at the stupid picture, wondering what her sister was thinking of telling her mother something like that, and getting her hopes up. Her mother, so worried about her lonely daughter. Nevermind how right she was about Becks's loneliness. Guilt coiled in her gut, a hot wire of burning shame. Three years. She'd hadn't dated anyone in three years. She hadn't been home in three years. Not since her dad....well, everyone dealt with grief differently. Her method was avoidance. Avoid heartbreak, avoid being a disappointment, avoid the missing pieces.

Unable to work up the energy to deal with her sister's cataclysmic white lie, she pushed off from the desk, dropping the mark ups off in Alexis's lock box as she made her way down to the holiday party. She was so tired and hungry she didn't give two shits how she looked until the elevator opened. To her mortified surprise, the holiday party was very much in full swing, many of her coworkers a few cocktails into a good time. Here she was in her rumpled outfit of the day with a living tangle weed on her head. Something withered inside her as she passed by them. None of them said hi, or nodded to her. No one noticed her. In three years she'd become the office ghost.

The refreshments table still sported a couple crumbly looking sandwiches, a little stale from sitting out for a few hours but her mouth watered just looking at them. She threw one on a plate, debating treating herself to a greasy handful of potato chips when a giggling trio bumped her, sending her forward enough to earn a smear of mustard on her eggshell blouse from the sandwich as it swan dived off her chest to the floor. The trio was already moving on. No apologies, as if she wasn't there.

"Gee,thanks! Just what the night needed," She snapped, a hint of long buried sauce creeping out of her exhausted mouth. They startled at her voice, noticing her at last. The two women, an ice blond and a curvy redhead collapsed on each other as they laughed, probably at her. She recognized both of them, notably neither of them were Wendy of pencil skirt fame, and they did not recognize her at all. Becks could have ignored them, if not for the man. "Of course it would be you."

Trent offered her a grin, The curves of his stunning cheekbones colored by booze, a hint of scotch on his breath as he looked her over. "Rebecca! You made it!" He hiccuped, draping an arm over her shoulders as she tried to futilely wipe the mustard off her chest. It had to be mustard. "You look a little frumpy, darling," he said, his words clear and all too loud. "Why don't you relax? Have a drink?"

Becks could feel her insides turn to ice as the girls looked her over, the judgement clear of her as the redhead gave Trent's wrist a tug. "Come on, Trent, you promised to show us the penthouse," she pouted, looking a bit like a carp out of water. Not that it mattered since Trent would flounce off with them anyway. Just ignore them and avoid them Becks. She shook out of his hold, stooping to mournfully pick up the fallen sandwich. She turned to find the remaining food gone, nothing left but a few meager crumbs.

"Just perfect," she sighed, the words coming out more like a sob. She was so absorbed, looking at her ruined sandwich, trying not to cry as she thought of the long walk home with an empty stomach, she didn't realize she wasn't quite alone.

"What's wrong Rebecca darling?" Trent spoke directly in her ear, his breath tickling the loose strands of hair brushing her cheek. Becks squealed, dropped her sandwich once again, and cringed inward. "You dropped it again. Rather fortunate for you really, they taste ghastly."

Becks unfroze, coming out of her half crouch with wrath in her eyes. "Easy for you to say. At least you got to eat dinner, and lunch," she snapped, bending to pick up the thoroughly ruined sandwich.

Standing back up, she nearly rammed her forehead into the hovering Trent Markham's manly chin. He dodged her with more grace than she expected, frowning at her the whole time. "You didn't eat?"

Becks inhaled through her nose, begging for a divine note of patience as she tossed her ruined sandwich in the trash. "No. Your mark ups are done." She turned without a word, attempting to weave her way back through the crowd of co-workers who treated her like a stranger, so she could go home and go to bed, alone. Preferably after inhaling half the contents of her fridge.

Warm fingers wrapped around her wrist and halted her progress. She shot Trent an annoyed glare to hide the traitorous butterflies taking flight in her stomach at his touch. "I do owe you one, and I happen to know where Candace has a secret stash of protein bars for those busy, busy days."

Becks pursed her lips. "Curvy redhead Candace?" Of the fish lips persuasion. Not that she'd say something so juvenile and mean--

"Fish lips? My, my Rebecca didn't know you have that snipe in you, buttercup," said Trent, tugging her through a crowd that parted easily for him.

Dammit, she said that aloud? She knew she was exhausted, and starving but apparently Trent's presence made her catty inner voice flow like melted butter. Now she felt like a mean idiot. "I didn't mean that," she said. "I make it a point not to put down other women, no matter how grumpy and mean spirited I feel in the moment."

"That's fair noble of you, darling, but you know should hear some of the things she says about you--,"

Becks jerked her wrist out of his grip. "You know what, I think I'll just eat when I get home." The last thing she wanted was a drunk Trent Markham to wax poetic about what the other gorgeous perfectly put together women of the office thought of her. Especially when he planned to join them in the penthouse...

Becks frowned. "Where did Candace and Ivy go?" Ivy being the ice blond who had graced his other arm.

"Oh, I told them to go get started without me," he said.

Wow, even better. She rolled her eyes and turned to leave when Trent threw another arm around her. "I seem to have offended you Rebecca, dear, tell me how I can make it up to you," he said, placing a hand on his chest in a dramatic gesture.

"You can stop with the darlings and the dears, for one," she grumbled as he veered into a darkened hallway and prodded one of the office doors open, flicking on a standing lamp as they entered. Candace's office was a far cry from her measly cubicle. Something, Becks noted to herself wistfully, she could have had herself if she hadn't taken such a social swandive in the past few years. She bit back another sigh, trying not to look around as Trent ducked around the furniture with practiced ease and snagged a protein bar from a discreet basket tucked away on the back of a filing cabinet.

"There you go, love," he said, handing her the bar, "she won't even miss it." He gave her another flutter inducing grin. Becks offered a nervous smile, holding up the protein bar.

"Thank you for the thoughtful thievery. Least I won't have to resort to cannibalization before I make it home," she said.

Trent's grin morphed into a full devastating smile as he chuckled. "You've been hiding a sense of humor under that grumpy cat exterior."

She made a sour face at him. "I'll have you know I am full of wit and charm," she said, smacking his chest with the chocolate bar. "So there. And you still owe me."

He pouted at her announcement, causing her to roll her eyes again. She froze when she caught sight of terribly familiar sprig of greenery. "Is that what I think it is?" Stupid, stupid, stupid, why did she draw attention to it?

Trent let out an absolutely fake coo of surprise. "Goodness, where did that come from. You know what this means don't you?" He leaned against the door frame, theatrically waggling his eyebrows. Becks was caught between the urge to giggle like a twelve year old and throw up on his shoes. The lack of food in her stomach kept her from doing the latter and sheer pride kept the former in check. Instead she stared at him, a wide eyed, psychotic squirrel on a bender kind of stare, wondering if he was drunk enough to remember her bolting from him.

"You're kidding right?" She finally managed.

He had the gall to looked like a wounded puppy. "Who are we lowly mortals to stand in the way of tradition?" Before she could react he had slipped an arm around her waist, hauling her against him in a move that made her squeak and crush her protein bar. He leaned in, his lips centimeters from hers. She could taste scotch on her tongue, but he hovered, waiting. "May I?" It was nothing but a whisper, but it sent a warm tingle shooting down to her toes. A simple two word question that steam rolled her senses and made her do something she thought would take eight glasses of box wine to achieve.

She leaned in the rest of the way and pressed her lips to his.

And that was when the hellion vixen she'd long forgotten rose from the abyss of cat sweaters and sensible shoes she'd been cast into. Becks reached up, threading her fingers through Trent's hair as her tongue darted out to trace the seam of his lips. He gave a startled sound of pleased surprise, opening up to her as she tilted her face and deepened their kiss, swiping her tongue inside his mouth in a playful flick as his hand slid down to cup her ass. The move pressed their torsos firmly together and sweet mamma jamma, was that what she thought it was? She should pull away. There were her treacherous leg, hooking up around the back of his thigh as she rubbed herself up against him. There were reasons to pull away. Right? He was reaching for her now with his free hand, glancing down her side, slowing by the curve of her breasts. It was around then Candace's office couch looked far too appealing and Becks realized despite the dexterity of his groping, Trent was still quite drunk.

Too drunk to think this through properly.

Becks reared back as it dawned on her this could be a coyote ugly morning for someone like Trent, and her self esteem simply couldn't survive another knock like that. Plus, he was drunk. You never took advantage of the drunk. It was a family code. She shoved him away, perhaps a little too hard as he went tipping ass over tea kettle onto the couch. It was enough to give a body the wrong idea, one which she solved by leaving.

She clutched her crushed powerbar and power walked her way right to the elevator. Nobody stopped her, and thank the heavens drunk Trent didn't follow. Ding! She slipped into the safety of the box, tearing at the wrapping to nibble on the edge of the crumbling bar as she tried to erase the last three minutes of her life. Except a treacherous part of her wanted to savor the moment, to secretly tuck it away for later, on those long lonely nights to pull out along with Captain Blue, her trusty vibrator. Yes, a spank bank memory, she mused as she stepped into the brisk air outside. She'd left her coat at her desk but somehow remembered her damn wallet and cellphone in her sensible pants' pockets, go figure. Her teeth chattered around her protein bar as she decided to bite the bullet and hail a cab rather than walk the few blocks to her apartment.

"Why did you leave?"

Never mind squeak, Becks full on screamed at Trent Markham's drunken slur in her ear. "How the hell did you get down here so fast?" she hissed at him.

He was frowning at her. "You have no coat. You must be freezing your bosoms off," he said, proving chivalry was not dead as he swung his blazer around her shoulders. It smelled like scotch, old spice, and over priced cologne with a hint of musk that was all Trent. She resisted the urge to rub her face in it.

"Listen I appreciate the jacket--"

"You know," he said, leaning in, giving her a perfect close up of his lovely, albeit glassy blue eyes. Uh oh. She knew what that glassy look spelled, having seen it a plenty in nights rabble rousing with Jo. "that kiss was cheating. You're a sneaky minxy." He said, his voice perfectly sober for a golden moment right before he threw up on the ground between them.

Becks cursed violently, unable to completely avoid the splatter as she had to catch the collapsing Trent. It was her brand of luck a cab chose that moment to pull up. She looked down at her armload, sweaty, far too drunk to make it safely back to the office party, to the ruined protein bar crumbling to bits into the splattered sidewalk vomit. With a sigh, she dragged him into the back of the cab with her. It was while she rode in the back of the cab, Trent drooling on his shoulder, she had a moment of clarity for the first time in years. She was going to make Trent pay for this whole day.