Saving Elizabeth {The Gothic Temptress and Alan23}

Name: Elizabeth Dwight

Age: 28

Hair: Red

Eyes: Green

Height: 170 cm

Weight: 126 lbs

Current Position: CEO of Dwight & Sons. Earned the position by her own capability and somewhat the perks of being the President of the company's eldest daughter.

Personality: Ambitious, Proud, Dominating, Assiduous, Demanding, Cold, in short control-freak/bitch

Background: With her father being the owner of one the world's largest cosmetics company, Elizabeth got the favored treatment all her life. She received what ever she demanded and was spoiled beyond control. She could have had any man she ever wanted but Ms. Dwight desired power and to be recognized like her father. After a lot of nagging, whining and tantrums she got a job in her father's company and worked ruthlessly day and night, hungry for perfection and then finally became the CEO of Dwight & Sons which had been so far ruled by men of her family (some credit does go to her father, who was rather scared at his daughter's obsessiveness. But who was to be blamed but him for making her believe she could have anything she wanted?).

Extra: She is Half-Irish (maternally) and Half-British (paternally)

~~~~~~~~~~


Name: Tris Rankin. Those who work with him vaguely suspect it might be a pseudonym.

Age: Admits to late twenties, has a generally youthful appearance and could basically pass from anything from 20 to 40.

Hair: Brown Eyes: Deep grey

Height: 180cm Weight: 63kg

Current position: Records clerk. Has a lifestyle suspiciously affluent for such a lowly place. Also seems to posses an erudition above such a station (knows about classical music, Flemish art, literature.)

Personality: Self-effacing, willing, yet superiors gain impression he is not fully serous and is obeying instructions more or less for his own amusement. Despite this, he is efficient at his job and has actually introduced a number of modifications to the system which have worked well. Some are suspicious he is in such a low paid job given his obvious intelligence.

Background: Speaks with slightly Antipodean accent (Aussie? NZ?) yet claims to have been born in London, UK.

The world headquarters of Dwight & Sons spread over fifty acres of land along the western outskirts of Manchester. The administration building was a ten-storey modern, glass structure, towering over a nest of research buildings, manufacturing plants and planning divisions. It was the mother centre of the vast dynasty of Dwight & Sons. The reception hall was elegantly modern, decorated in calming shades of blue, with chic furniture. To the left end of the hall was row of lifts with a private lift reserved for the President of the company, one which was rarely used.

This morning though, it had been been used by the CEO of the company: Elizabeth Dwight. She had walked in with a scowl marring her features, crisply dressed in a black suit and a white blouse. A thin layer of make-up expertly hid the dark circles underneath her vividly green eyes. She looked much older than her twenty eight years, strict and monotone. Nobody had dared say anything when she had stepped into the private elevator. Two facts prevented such action: First, Elizabeth was the beloved daughter of Harold Dwight - the owner of Dwight & Sons - and second, Elizabeth Dwight was a force better not messed with.

After reaching the destined floor she had glared at her secretary, who had cowered in her leather chair and wished her boss a good morning. But of course a morning was not good enough for Elizabeth lest she had humiliated or scolded someone unlucky enough to cross her path. Maintaining that irritated air of superiority, the red-head spoke in a clipped, professional tone: "Hannah, I need the reports of the testing of that new shampoo. In fifteen minutes."

And then Elizabeth took off towards her office without waiting for an answer. The room was huge, adorned in white and blue and fairly simple. Except a few paintings from artists she did not care to know the names of and some modest bookcases which were precisely arranged with books about international law and cosmetology, Elizabeth's office contained nothing ostentatious. A huge metallic desk was placed in the middle of the room with neatly arranged documents and reports and several telephones, behind which was a floor to ceiling glass wall - the only extravagant feature of the office. The rest of the furniture followed the colour-scheme of the building and was simple yet elegant, but not worthy of a second glance. A necessity rather than decoration.

Now Elizabeth sat at the desk, her posture straight and strict, and sweeped her gaze over the papers before sitting back and relaxing for a bit. It was her ritual. As she sat casually enjoying the moment of solitude before immersing herself in loads of work, her mind drifted back - as it did frequently in these times of ease - to her earlier days.

Elizabeth Dwight's birth had been a mistake. Her mother was not supposed to get pregnant so early in her career of modelling yet she was forced not to have an abortion which led her to scorn the child growing inside her. And when the baby came out, Sarah Dwight refused to spare a glance at it before fleeing the Dwight household with a heavy bank account. Anxious for the health of his first daughter, Harold hastily married his friend's cousin who was training to be a nurse. Luckily for Elizabeth, the woman adored her and together with her new husband looked after every whim of hers.

It was her half-brother Henry's birth, that had pushed Elizabeth into becoming the obsessive perfectionist she was. Harold was overjoyed that he finally had a heir to his business empire; someone to carry on with his legacy. Six-year-old Elizabeth was hurt that her once doting father had devoted his attention to the grooming of his new son. Whenever she claimed that she could be the one to shoulder the company, after all she was competent and older, all Harold did was pinch her cheeks, ask her to concentrate on getting married and pop out many kids and then shower her with expensive gifts.

Elizabeth had one thing common with her father: they never gave up. She had dedicated her life on becoming that perfect heiress, the one her father would lean on; sparsely wasting time on trivial things such as boys and nail-painting. Yet Henry was still favored over her even if he got shabby marks. Bollocks, it all was. When she had graduated with impressive honors in business and marketing, she had demanded her father to let her in the family business. After a lot of pestering from her and her step-mother's side, Harold had grudgingly given up. But when he saw his daughter working day and night and doing better than many of the men of levels, he realized that his notions were outdated.

And it was with pride - and a lot of force by Elizabeth - that he had made his daughter the CEO of Dwight & Sons. Yet that did not sate the determined red-head. She needed at least a seat in the board of directors. She began to work harder - if that was even possible - like a woman possessed, and often scared her family who rarely saw her. Her whole life revolved around her work. There were times when she would meet some cousins and they wouldn't even recognize her. She had no friends, no life, just her work and ambitions.

A soft knock sounded from her door, cutting short her pensive state, and she straightened up knowing that it was blonde-bimbo secretary. "Come in," She said sharply as she put on her glasses.

It was typical of Hannah, reflected Tris Ramkin, that she was feeling too timid to enter her boss' office with the shampoo test reports. She got that way now and then. Collapsed in a frightened, trembling state of panic, tripping over her own feet, and stumbling over her words. She was, he knew, terrified of Ms Dwight. In fact, he reflected, as he took the folder from her, and smiled to show her yes, it was fine, he'd happily take it in to her, nearly everyone in the company seemed to be. Everyone deferred to her, seemed to shrink in her presence, seemed afraid to contradict her, even if she was wrong. Which, he had to admit, wasn't often. But it wasn't "never," either!

All the other clerks had, as usual when there was the risk of having to carry a message to her, made themselves scarce. This wasn't the first time he'd seen the phenomenon. previously, since he'd been new, they'd made the same suggestion to him. But this time, a new thought had struck him... that if anything, women like Elizabeth Dwight fascinated rather than scared him, and that, therefore, it made perfect sense for him to carry out what others didn't dare, and front her in her office. Certainly the way Hannah was looking at him, her eyes wide with gratitude showed him he'd done one person a favour at least.

He took the folder, checked the contents (he'd look a right fool, and so would Hannah, if she'd accidentally put the wrong information in, and she was scared enough that this was likely, but in fact it was exactly what it purported to be) and approached Ms Dwight's door. Normally, he regarded knocks on a door as pointless unless they were loud enough to be heard, but Hannah had begged him to knock softly, or Ms Dwight was liable to fly off the handle and, interesting as he'd have found that, once again he knew it would rebound back on Hannah,

Therefore, he knocked gently, and if the percussive noise of knuckles on an oak door could be described as "respectful" then this knock, which contained just the right mixture of deference and professionalism, certainly fitted the bill.

At her instruction, he opened the door and entered. Immediately, he registered, it was like being in another world, another universe. The Bauhaus-style look, all in blue and white, so that the irrelevant thought struck him that if some medieval mystic had been drugged and brought here, he might fast gain the illusion he had been brought to some kind of celestial afterlife... save that Elizabeth Dwight was far from anyone's normal conception of an angel.

She'd put on her glasses. He wondered if there was a certain amount of vanity there, for she seemed to remove them whenever she didn't actually need them. Or was this just his imagination? They seemed to magnify her large, green eyes (he'd always had a weakness for green eyes - red hair, too, come to that) but he knew better than to look too overtly at her and give her any excuse to criticise him (and later punish the unfortunate Hannah.)

He'd have preferred her not to have been behind the desk - he knew she had great legs, and on the few occasions he'd encountered her, had more than drunk his fill of them. Putting legs like that behind that massive, pretentious desk, he felt, was a massive mistake. Oh well, he mused, you can't have everything you want in this poor old world!

"Good morning, Ms Dwight," he said, confidently (for he was buggered if he was going to smarm to her. If she didn't like it that a lowly clerk wasn't shit-scared of her, it was her problem.) "Hannah asked me to bring you in the testing report for the new formula for 'Brightlocks' shampoo. It's all here, and I can confirm it's just been updated to add the overnight test results." (He knew this as it had been his responsibility to distribute the email from the lab to a specified mailing list.) "I might mention, too, that there's a folder of press clippings from 'Cleo' and "Cosmopolitan,' concerning the previous formula. They've both published reports you might feel you'd like to see." (They were both far from complimentary, saying the substance had a strange smell, and made hair brittle.)

"And Hannah asked if you'd like coffee now, or after your phone call to Bairstow and Leek, which is due in seven minutes," he added, on the blonde's instructions.

("Oh, why won't you come out for behind that stupid desk?" he thought. "Show those lovely legs.")

The only reaction Elizabeth showed to this other man stepping into her office instead of that stupid Hannah was a blink of her green eyes. She knew the blonde was a bimbo, but now she was certain that the fool was incompetent to be working for her as she slacked off in fear at every possible chance. She had to get a new assistant.

Elizabeth did not recognize the man, leading her to draw a conclusion that he must be working in the lower echelons of the company. He was fairly attractive if one found dark hair and stormy eyes complementing a chiseled face with a strong yet lean built clad in professional suit attractive. Elizabeth did. Yet she did not show her approval of his appearance, instead arching a brow at him curiously.

"Good morning, Ms Dwight"

The man spoke in a rather confident manner, one no one dared to showcase in front of her. She decided that he must be new. As he went on to explain the facts about the report, her jaw clenched. Who was he to view his opinions in front of her? Above all, who was he to look into a report that was meant for the higher powers of the company? Her eyes narrowed into slits. When he mentioned about the reviews of the shampoo, her jaw clenched further. She had read through the magazines which had led to her trying the shampoo herself. She then knew whatever they said was correct. It had cost three time consuming hours at the hair salon to get back her silky locks.

She had then brewed such a vicious storm at the laboratory that Dr. Browning - the one in charge of the product - had left the premises in tears. But he returned in the end - he had to, lest he wished to face the worst of Elizabeth Dwight - and was currently working to improve the shampoo. But she was certain that the whole debacle was none this lowly clerk's business.

She stood up and smoothed her skirt, all the while maintaining that famous Elizabeth-Dwight-glare. Walking up to him she briskly took the file from him sharply, ignoring the slight difference in height. As if that had ever made her feel vulnerable. "Impressive," she said, though her voice indicated that she was anything but impressed, "but who could you be? And with whose permission did you think that you could flip through the company's confidential reports like it were some entertainment magazine?" A sardonic smile followed though her eyes remained as cold as ice.

"Hannah!" She called out dropping the smile. The bimbo in question came hurrying in, practically quivering in fear. This man needed to know what Elizabeth Dwight was capable of and that he was in no position to talk to her in such a manner. Her good for nothing secretary was going to serve as an example. "You are fired," Elizabeth said bluntly without any preamble or explanations.

The blonde instantly teared up and looked like she was about to object but then decided against it, and nodding sorrowfully left the office. Her pathetic sobs echoed softly as she shut the door after her. Elizabeth then shifted her gaze to the man and arched an eyebrow in challenge.

The Gothic Temptress said:

The only reaction Elizabeth showed to this other man stepping into her office instead of that stupid Hannah was a blink of her green eyes. She knew the blonde was a bimbo, but now she was certain that the fool was incompetent to be working for her as she slacked off in fear at every possible chance. She had to get a new assistant.

Elizabeth did not recognize the man, leading her to draw a conclusion that he must be working in the lower echelons of the company. He was fairly attractive if one found dark hair and stormy eyes complementing a chiseled face with a strong yet lean built clad in professional suit. Elizabeth did. Yet she did not show her approval of his appearance, instead arching a brow at him curiously.

"Good morning, Ms Dwight"

The man spoke in a rather confident manner, one no one dared to showcase in front of her. She decided that he must be new. As he went on to explain the facts about the report, her jaw clenched. Who was he to view his opinions in front of her? Above all, who was he to look into a report that was meant for the higher powers of the company? Her eyes narrowed into slits. When he mentioned about the reviews of the shampoo, her jaw clenched further. She had read through the magazines which had led to her trying the shampoo herself. She then knew whatever they said was correct. It had cost three time consuming hours at the hair salon to get back her silky locks.

She had then brewed such a vicious storm at the laboratory that Dr. Browning - the one in charge of the product - had left the premises in tears. But he returned in the end - he had to, lest he wished to face the worst of Elizabeth Dwight - and was currently working to improve the shampoo. But she was certain that the whole debacle was none this lowly clerk's business.

She stood up and smoothed her skirt, all the while maintaining that famous Elizabeth-Dwight-glare. Walking up to him she briskly took the file from him sharply, ignoring the slight difference in height. As if that had ever made her feel vulnerable. "Impressive," she said, though her voice indicated that she was anything but impressed, "but who could you be? And with whose permission did you think that you could flip through the company's confidential reports like it were some entertainment magazine?" A sardonic smile followed though her eyes remained as cold as ice.

"Hannah!" She called out dropping the smile. The bimbo in question came hurrying in, practically quivering in fear. This man needed to know what Elizabeth Dwight was capable of and that he was in no position to talk to her in such a manner. Her good for nothing secretary was going to serve as an example. "You are fired," Elizabeth said bluntly without any preamble or explanations.

The blonde instantly teared up and looked like she was about to object but then decided against it, and nodding sorrowfully left the office. Her pathetic sobs echoed softly as she shut the door after her. Elizabeth then shifted her gaze to the man and arched an eyebrow in challenge.

Click to expand...

It surprised Tris little that Ms Dwight had stood up. Whispers had gone around she was conscious of her lack of height, even perhaps her femininity. Those whispers said she was tough because she had to be. He wasn't above respecting that, in a small way. Though the fact she was forced to adjust her skirt, tug it down over those slim hips, was just the merest hint of weakness, and he noticed this too.

("And with a figure like that," he thought, carefully keeping the smile from his lips lest it betray him "she can be whatever she likes, in my book.")

"Impressive? Thank you ma'am, but you flatter me." He kept his face deadpan. "It's my job after all, to keep you informed, on the off-chance you weren't already. "I... erm... I MIGHT be Tristram Rankin, recently appointed records clerk. Am, in fact."

He deliberately did not let his eyes sweep up and down her figure, yet somehow managed to give her the impression he'd noticed it.

"As to the coffee, since you seem to have dismissed your PA, should I perhaps fill the breech? A woman as busy as you can't be expected to go without."

Good Lord, the audacity of this man! Not only he did not respond to her cold attitude in the way she would have preferred him to, he went on like the cheeky git he was. Elizabeth hated people who did not bow down to her immediately. It was because all her life whenever she treated someone as an equal, they always ended up thinking that they could manipulate her or boss her around. No, she had to have everyone under her shoes. And that feat was only possible if she were the vicious demon she was. But it seemed like this man - Tris Rankin - was not aware of her prowess.

And then he subtly appraised her and if it were not the years of careful watching during meetings, she would have missed it. She had an odd urge to button up the first three buttons of her white silk blouse that she had left open. She did not know why, she just did. Maybe because it had been a long time since a male had taken even a slight interest in her body or beauty. Usually she scared the shite out of most men who even looked her way. Now that she thought about it the only men she met nowadays were the ones who worked for her - who were too frightened to meet her eyes let alone flirt with her, though she'd rather have it that way - and the ones in her family - for whom she held no romantic interest whatsoever. Cursing her mind for drifting away, she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Records clerk, you say?" She said casually as she crossed her arms beneath her chest, "Do you perchance know who I am? If you do, which is highly probable since you seem to have a hobby to put your nose into others' business, you must be aware that this cheeky attitude of yours will get you nowhere in this company except maybe outside on the roads. Assuming that you would like to keep your job," she ran her hard gaze over his stature in contempt, "I expect you to behave respectfully the next time we meet, that is if we meet again which I hope would never happen if you want stay employed. Till then, you can go coop yourself up in the records room and make use of your pathetic existence." There was an angry flush to her cheeks as she finished and with a withering glare she turned on her heel and made her way back to her seat, the folder clutched tightly in her hand.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied, a surprised expression on his face - though the surprise was more one of puzzlement than shock. "I don't quite understand. Why would I work in the records room of a company and not learn who the executive staff were? It would make doing my job somewhat difficult, I'm thinking. Perhaps, you being so busy and all, you'd forgotten I'd addressed you by your name already a few seconds ago."

He stayed silent for a second or two, as if considering the rest of her remarks.

"And again, Ms Dwight, I don't quite understand. Is taking an interest in my job, so that I can perform it as efficiently as possible *not* considered a desirable trait in the position?" He shrugged. "Ah, well, then, seems I've been in error. And you don't wish ever to set eyes on me again? Hmm, that could be a problem, since I deliver the mail, and it would be somewhat difficult if I'm not to visit this office occasionally. And since you seem already to have sacked your PA, well... I'd have to walk right in, wouldn't I? So fulfilling that particular work directive is, I'm afraid, out of the question." He thought for a moment. "Or maybe we could have a kind of code word, you know, that I could sing out, so you could turn to the wall or shut your eyes whenever I approach, but... No, that would be silly." A sudden idea came to him. "Ah, unless perhaps I utilise your other suggestion, that I coop myself up in the Records Room and never venture out. You'd have to give me a note for my supervisor, of course, or she'll insist I keep doing my job, which involves me getting around the building a lot, and..."

He smiled.

"No, on balance, I think that rather than putting conditions that I can't possibly be expected to meet, maybe you should bring my sacking forward to right now. Should I go to HRM and get my cards? Or..."

He met her gaze.

"Or maybe it might be worth you considering that not being willing to act as your yes-man doesn't necessarily mean I'm not loyal to you and this company or to yourself? It's a possibility, you know."

He stood, waiting for her answer, as if he'd asked her something no more dramatic than "will you want sugar in your coffee, Ma'am?"

"Yes, Ma'am, I don't quite understand. Why would I work in the records room of a company and not learn who the executive staff were? It would make doing my job somewhat difficult, I'm thinking. Perhaps, you being so busy and all, you'd forgotten I'd addressed you by your name already a few seconds ago."

Elizabeth had been walking to her desk, confident that she had worked her magic on this man - who was sure to be a whimpering mess by now, all bravado gone. Yet her movements halted when he spoke up in that annoyingly self-assured voice of his, practically mocking her. She turned around slowly, her face set into cold lines and her eyes ablaze with icy fury.

The man had the gall to make a joke out of the situation as he suggested ways for her to evade seeing him. And the most outraging fact: He was smiling as if he were a well-wisher. Elizabeth clenched her fists to prevent herself from clawing at his smug face. He looked straight into her eyes, one thing no one had dared to do, and mocked her once again. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Do not resort to violence. It is very unprofessional.

She closed her eyes, thinking of happy places. Her sitting at the President's chair with her father proud and teary-eyed standing beside her. You won't become the President if you were caught strangling a records clerk with his own tie..... But, a small errant voice spoke up from the depths of her mind, the walls are sound-proof and everyone knows better than to interrupt you. And who would believe the word of a lowly clerk? Do it. He dared to question you. To taunt. Do it. And relish the moment the blood runs down his gorgeous mug after you scratch it like a wild cat. Do it.

With a deep exhalation Elizabeth opened her eyes to his expectant face. No, being violent will stroke his ego with the knowledge that he was able to incense Elizabeth Valerie Dwight with some cheek. She was high above that kind of riff-raff. She appraised him in disdain but when her mouth opened a pleasant, mellifluous tone that she usually reserved for important clients escaped:

"Listen, Mr. Rocking, you can stay here and continue with your pointless banter - and waste my precious time, I may add - or you could go and do something substantial which you are paid for. And please, I know how to run my company so I don't need your expert advice on it," - she smiled pleasantly then - "As per your desire to know things about my company, I do not see how that is going to aid your job as a records clerk. So go ahead, hand out daily mails to people and make yourself useful. And yes, I would highly suggest you not to peek through them." The smile dropped and she stared at him, not even a hint of emotion showing on her face. "Now would you be kind enough to get your obnoxious arse out of my office, unlike you I have very important matters to look after." She went ahead and opened the door for him, motioning with the file for him to exit.

"Obnoxious arse!" He grinned, so fleetingly she could barely have registered it. Yet, just long enough so that she would know he'd done it. "Well, naturally I wouldn't say the same of you. Out of office. Right." His pose of nervousness was so obviously that - a pose - that he wondered if he should try for a comedy acting career next. "Rocking? That's... rather good, Ms eight - erm, Dwight. Ok, out, yes, good."

He turned, and walked away slowly.

And then suddenly turned.

Raised a finger, as if suddenly recalling something important she needed to know.

"And oh, by the way - I read the article in question in a copy of the magazine I'd bought and paid for. They sell them in newsagents and things. There wasn't even a sealed section in them... erm, unlike the mail, which is, like, gummed down, so you can be sure it hasn't been tampered with... your own being an example. Just saying."

This time, he did turn, and begin to walk away, slowly. If she fired him, despite the pose he was putting on, he would have a small amount of regret. He enjoyed the cosy atmosphere down in the mail room, swapping banter with the other staff, getting around the office. And having met Ms Dwight up close and personal, as it were, he was finding she intrigued him. It wouldn't be a massive regret... there was another iron in his personal fire that didn't, right now, come into the tale... but it was always so undignified to get fired. Those security guards always looked so bloody smug when they escorted you off the premises...

Oh well, if she did, she did. He dismissed the thought from his mind, and -

SHIT ON TOAST!

Normally, two men, dressed in respectable enough suits, lounging just slightly too casually up against the wall in the reception room would not have even made a blip on his radar. He'd simply have assumed they were two executives with whom Ms Dwight had a meeting.

So why did the tiniest shiver of significance run down his back? Why did a tiny jolt of electricity ziss from one side of his brain to the other?

Could it be they looked a bit TOO casual. Like men trying very hard to look unobtrusive, when, given they were both at least in the heavyweight wrestler class and broad with it... like men in a hurry, who had to do something distasteful but well paid... that something about their eyes (and he was GOOD at eyes!) gave the faintest impression of their being... not exactly respectable businessmen?

Were they, in fact, pleased to see him? Or were those the subtle bulges of weapons in shoulder holsters he discerned through their slightly too loose suits?

He adopted a deliberate pose of nervousness, walked by them attempting to look like a very menial clerk who was trying to make himself look as unobtrusive as possible. But as soon as he was around the corner in the passage, he stopped. And strained every ounce of his hearing.

Just in case.

Elizabeth seethed in a pure, unadulterated fury as she saw him walking off slowly, casually like he owned the fucking place. Arrogant, bloody dick. She slammed the door with such a ferocity that the wall shook for a moment and stormed off to her desk. Plopping down on the comfortable chair she tried calming herself. But it was to no avail.

No one, no one, in her life had ever questioned her or mocked her like that lowly clerk had. She loathed the fact that he had been the one to have the last word, as childish it was. And the most horrifying thing was that he would be now gloating around that he had bested the Elizabeth Dwight. She shuddered to think what it would do to her image. Last thing she needed was everyone to think that she had softened. Word would spread and soon her competitors will strike at her. They would be all over her like leeches and she could never be the President and then her father would marry her off to some rich bastard who would come home monthly just to impregnate her and -

She cringed when a throbbing headache made itself known. Really, her thoughts sometimes were ridiculous enough to evoke migraines. That and the fact that she hadn't been sleeping well for - Good Lord, how many nights it actually was? Elizabeth sighed. Great, now she felt tired. Disgust filled her like icy water. Really, Dwight! It takes just a mere nobody to unhinge you from your daily routine. You should be ashamed of yourself.

She gazed at her desk which was piled up like a neatly arranged mountain in forlorn silence as her muscles ached for rest. She had so many important calls to make, so many reports to go over yet she knew that now her mind had acknowledged her body's tiredness she could not move a finger. The fact that that asshole was the culprit behind her dilemma, alone should warrant a sacking. But she wouldn't be giving him an easy escape out of this. Mr. Rocking better be prepared, for he was going to be the object of Elizabeth Dwight's wrath now.

After consoling herself with that, she decided that a day-off was in order - no matter how unpleasantly ghastly that sounded. She almost picked up her phone to acknowledge Hannah of her decision but realized later that bimbo-blonde was no longer there to look after her. Another thing she could blame that Rocking for. Sighing she prepared a brief case for herself, filling it with the file that started her bad day and other important work and walked out of the office. She was so engrossed in planning out her day, which involved a sweet, long nap and a lot of work that she was startled out of her wits when two suited up men popped out in front of her.

She narrowed her eyes behind her glasses unable to recognize them as they peered at her, expressionless. Elizabeth was certain that she did not have any meetings scheduled for today and she trusted her memory enough to know that Hannah had not mentioned anything as such. She eyed them speculatively, observing as they looked at her expectantly. Both of them possessed a rather muscular build, which one doesn't see often in the corporate world. Clean shaven, light haired; yet Elizabeth could feel something off about them. They towered over her and that alone was unsettling enough. Deciding she was in no mood of entertaining any more strangers, she scowled at the duo and they shared a knowing look. "Excuse me, gentlemen," she said curtly and shoved past them. At least she tried to.

Before she could make much distance, she felt an arm grab hers roughly and something narrow pressed into the middle of her back. What the... She opened her mouth to yell for the security but a menacing voice cut her off. "Make a sound, and we will shoot you down like the bitch you are," his tone was gruff and scratchy and Elizabeth knew at once she was in great trouble. She had taken down many men just with a mere glare of hers, but those people were respectable and mild-mannered. On the other hand, these blokes were reckless and probably criminals; shuck that, they were criminals if the way he poked her with that narrow thing - she suspected it to be a gun, but how it passed through security was a wonder - was any indication. She had no experience in that area.

She gulped and tried reasoning but was again rudely reminded to stay mum. The other man, who was not holding her, shielded her view from the cameras and she gritted her teeth. The day could not get worse. Yet she was so damned tired that she almost leaned on to the thug who held her. With a prod they insisted that she walk to the lift - The President's lift - and take them downstairs. Then she was to follow them outside - without a sound, or else they would grab her and run for it. Elizabeth could never afford that. What damage would it do to her image! To be seen getting kidnapped! The whole corporate world would be making jokes out of her. Yet if she did not get any help, these men could do anything to her. She looked around helplessly as she stood tensely. The hallway was abandoned.

Another prod and a hissed, "We haven't got all day sweetie!" and she walked ahead towards the elevator with them covering her back, almost as if they were her bodyguards. How ironic was that? As they descended down, she felt him remove the gun from her back and tuck it inside but he kept himself pressed to her. She felt like throwing up on them.

The other man glanced down at her menacingly. "Be quiet and co-operate with us, we won't be hurting you," she could distinctly hear a Welsh accent, "We need to ask a few questions and then we will let you go." Elizabeth could hear the lie clearly but she could do was to look down and nod meekly. She felt scared beyond reason. Her mind was not even capable of formulating some plan to escape this debacle, so consumed by fear it was. Of course, the pampered daughter of Harold Dwight had never thought a day like this would ever come upon her. Good Lord, maybe she was finally getting punished for acting so cruelly towards everyone?

"So, where's Psycho?" scratchy-voice asked the Welshman. "Just like him to go off on one of his little jaunts, right at the wrong time."

"Sent him to do a sweep, isn't it?" the Welshman replied, in his sing-song voice. "To make sure the security guards and other witnesses were all sleeping nice and cosy, see."

"And why wouldn't they be?" gruff-voice asked. "That gas could knock out an elephant. It would only be anyone who was in this tiny section of the room could have escaped it. We made sure to - " he looked up, as a third man entered, leading Tris at gunpoint.

"As well I checked," he said, in a dry Geordie accent. "Caught this canny little menial setting off the security alarm. For what good it'd do. Listen, little menial, everyone in this building 'cept us is having a nice little snooze, get me?"

Tris shrugged. "I could ask if that was a weapon," he said, flippantly. "But it might be you're just pleased to see - nah. That one's got hairs on it, it's so old."

"Just keep them hands where I can see 'em," Psycho replied, sharply.

Tris's mouth dropped in feigned surprise.

"And what are you doing kidnapping Ms Dwight's PA, anyway?" he asked, as if genuinely interested, rather than that the question was rhetorical. "You do know Ms Dwight went home about tenty minutes ago, right? Looks like you - "

He staggered forward as the butt of Psycho's handgun caught him in the back.

"Now try being cute again, and see what it gets you," the Geordie growled. "You really think we're the type of amateurs that wouldn't make sure we had a good look at our target's dossier?"

Tris shrugged again, hoping the thugs wouldn't realise he'd tried the little trick to establish precisely that!

"So, it's like this, see," the Welshman said, turning his attention back to Elizabeth. "What's going to happen is, we're going to walk out of here, nice and easy and unobtrusively. But my friend Charlie here, he's going to have the end of his shooter stuck right in your side. So, all you have to do is the slightest thing that worries him, and..." He made a theatrical mime of shooting, using his fingers, even to the extent of blowing off imaginary smoke from his fingernails."

"What about the flunky?" Charlie asked. "Should we pistol-whip him?"

"Nah! You know what Mr Cleese said," replied the Welshman. "Can't risk a murder charge, isn't it? We shoot anyone, we make sure they're still alive afterwards. I think he's too soft-hearted for his own good, but there you have it, look you. So - we shoot the pretty thing, we shoot her in the leg or arm, see. Wreck her but not kill her. And as for this smart-mouthed one..." he jerked his head towards Tris, "gassing him won't work, see. He's seen us and he can give a description. And killing him, we can't do either."

"Swear me to secrecy on my honour as a boy sc -?" began Tris.

"We'll have to take him with us," Charlie said. "It ain't like there's not room in the van, after all, eh?"

Tris looked at Elizabeth. "Hey, I am on time and a half for this, right?" he asked. But whatever smart-mouthed remark he might have made after that was cut off by Psycho's arm, wrapped around his head to prevent him speaking.

*****

Five minutes later, Psycho and Charlie, Elizabeth and Tris (the latter two securely trussed) were sitting on the floor of a nondescript white van which, with the Welshman at the wheel was weaving its way through the packed streets.

Elizabeth was still captivated in shock of the situation. Wasn't today supposed to be her only day of indulgence? She decided then if she was to survive - cue gulp - this whole ordeal, she would never ever take a day off. Shit happened whenever she did that. There was also the case with that annoying clerk. She was sure if he hadn't come waltzing into her office, she would not have fired Hannah, would not have felt fatigued, would not have tried to go home and would not have been fucking kidnapped like a little puppy! If she was to survive this whole ordeal, she would sue his lowly arse and then personally whip him like a sick horse. The lift stopped, signalling that they had reached their destination and Elizabeth hung on to the hope that the security would notice her resistance and help her.

What surprised her was that the lobby was completely vacant when she stepped out with her perpetrators, save for the snoring body of the receptionist. Her jaw fell open and for once Elizabeth Dwight was shocked to her bones. They must have put everyone to sleep, she thought already giving up on hope, they must have gassed them. A small part of her was fuming over the incompetence of the security. Weren't they supposed to be the best? Well that saved a paycheck on her behalf.

The thugs carried on with their conversation but Elizabeth didn't pay them any heed; she was busy formulating a plan to get away (which was becoming a rather difficult task as she was scared out of her wits). But she knew she was of no match against these heavy-set men. If her glare hadn't worked on them, then she had no other weapon with her mouth forced to remain shut. And then another awfully, annoyingly, confident voice rang through the hall causing her head to whip up in disbelief almost comically. No one paid her attention because all were focused on one Mr. Rocking who still looked like he was the fucking king of earth even though a gruff man she hadn't noticed earlier had him at gun-point.

"And what are you doing kidnapping Ms Dwight's PA, anyway? You do know Ms Dwight went home about tenty minutes ago, right? Looks like you - "

Elizabeth shut her eyes in incredulity. How can he be so stupid? Of course if these men could disable a whole building and incapacitate one of the world's best team of security guards, they would be sharp enough to know about how their target looked! And it wasn't like Elizabeth Dwight was a closeted personality, she had appeared in many magazines, newspapers and interviews after she had become the first female CEO of the Dwight Dynasty - a post she was close to lose. Anyone could recognize her easily! Yet she was slightly surprised that he would try to save her bitchy arse after how she had dismissed his presence earlier. Still, it was nothing compared to the hatred she harbored for him. He was the one who had pushed her day into a downhill tumble!

She was snapped back from her musings when the man with the Welsh accent addressed her:

"What's going to happen is, we're going to walk out of here, nice and easy and unobtrusively. But my friend Charlie here, he's going to have the end of his shooter stuck right in your side. So, all you have to do is the slightest thing that worries him, and..."

She struggled to keep up her neutral mask but a fine drop of sweat trickling down her hairline betrayed her indifference. She closed her eyes and chose not to respond. She loathed not being in power. It made her feel vulnerable, exposed - naked even. And judging by the leers she was receiving from the men, she knew that they were practically undressing her with their eyes. It took all of her will-power not to wrap her arms around herself to defend her body from their perverse gaze.

After some off-handed comment by Rocking, which she ignored vehemently, they led her out of her sanctuary. It was so damned bright outside that she had to squint to see where they were going. There was not a single soul in the parking lot and she gazed longingly at her car which stood majestically in its place. Frank, her chauffeur, was nowhere to be seen. They prodded her till they reached a humongous white vehicle and then she was thrown inside. Rocking met a same fate as he landed next to her. She scooted away and shot him a look of disdain. The Welsh approached them both and tied up her hands before moving to do the same with her companion. And then they started off to wherever they were going.

۩ ۞ ۩​

Elizabeth was surprisingly calm the whole ride. She just rested her head against the wall of the van, ignoring as it bumped against it every time the vehicle hit a rough patch. Her mind was off contemplating ways of increasing the sale of the new Hand Moisturizer her company had manufactured. It was doing well enough in the market though it was really facing some huge competition against the one manufactured by Noveu.

She was thinking of making it exclusive to the chemist shops when the van came to sudden halt flinging herself off of her place and upon Rocking. Her torso was splayed across his lap and the glasses toppled off her nose. Fucking great, she thought bitterly as she tried getting up but her hands were twisted behind her with her wrists tightly bound which rendered her useless. But she would be damned if she asked the smug bastard for help, anyways he was also bound in a similar fashion to her so he couldn't be of much use.

Trying again, she just managed to shift lower and then the van started once again and she couldn't do anything but rock unevenly in cadence to the transport. Her mouth was now pressed to his thigh and a wild blush encompassed her cheeks before she turned her head away from his thigh and his body looking desolately at the black-tinted window. She thought about biting him but shook it off when she realized how close she was to his crotch. The fact deepened her blush. What was wrong with her? Why was she blushing? Moreover because of some lowly clerk? She clenched her eyes shut and tried getting up once again, only ending up mashing her shoulder against something hard yet soft. That did not even make sense. Good Lord, can this day get ANY worse?

Tris had kept quiet throughout the ride. Not because he feared retribution from the goons sitting guard over them... he knew enough about the psychology of the bully to know too much deference only made them worse... but because at that moment it suited him to have them think he was in a state of shock and fear. He was far from a coward, but even further from being an idiot, and only an fool of the first water would have attempted any kind of escape when he and Ms Dwight were trussed, and had the barrels of guns pointed at them.

His strategy was to watch and wait... professional as these guys might be, he had not encountered one of their type yet that never made mistakes. The trick was to be ready.

"And to think I took this crappy job," he mused ironically to himself "because I wanted to settle down and do something bland and mundane."

The next thing he noticed also amused him, though this time there was less of the black comedy about it. The jolting and sudden stopping of the van had caused the trussed body of Ms Dwight to fall forward, so that she was now, had an observer not known better, in a perfect aspect to suggest she was performing the noble art of fellatio upon him. One picture, he reflected, and the mail room boys would be buying him drinks for the next six months. As discreetly as he could he shifted, so that their position was less obscene, yet the blush he could see on her face, even in the dark confines of the van, revealed that she too had noticed.

He could not help, in fact, feeling sorry for her. In his past life he's been in similar situations more than once. For her, the spoiled rich-girl used to being at the top of every pecking order she encountered, the situation must have been harrowing indeed. Instead of the immaculately presented ice-queen, she was now (though he could see she was trying hard to hide it) a scared girl. A sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead, and he even fancied there was a hint of a tremble. He'd have liked to have reassured her, but doubted she'd believe him. And in any case, why reveal he had a plan (of sorts) or past experience in such matters? The less your enemy knows, he had always felt, the better.

He looked back at Ms Dwight. The expensiveoutfit she was wearing had obciously been designed for standing around in a dignified and commanding posture, not being manhandled around and sprawling on the floor of vans, and it had not stood up well to the experience. Her hair was everywhere, her spectacles had slipped off (which always made a person look partcularly undignified, he felt, and the amusement of the guards was obvious which could not have helped her poise overmuch) and her blouse was wrinkled and had parted company with the waist of her skirt at one point, revealing a large area of her midriff... while the skirt itself had rucked up along her thighs, turning itself into a de-facto mini.

"Couldn't you at least pull her skirt down?" he asked Charlie.

"Why the fuck would we?" the guard asked, in almost a friendly way, as if they were guys together. "Don't often get to see legs this good."

"True," Tris agreed, just to make her blush again if he could. "But... well, if you're going to ransom her, well... oh never mind, Guess youk now what you;re doing."

"Yeah!" Psycho snapped. "We do." He stared ostentatiously up her skirt. "Cute undies, too. Didn;t think an exec like her would wear granny panties though."

While exchanging banter, Tris had been desperately trying to guess the route the van had taken. But the driver was making too many sudden turns and retracing his route, obviously aware to such a possibility as someone guessing where they were going. And anyway he, Tris, didn't know the area especially well. He had even thought of asking where they were headed, but such a question was too much of a cliche to sully himself with it. And anyway, they'd hardly tell them.

"So, is Psycho your real name?" he asked Psycho, just to ensure that if the guard did feel like exercising his power, he'd do it on him rather than Ms Dwight.

"Nah," the guard replied, in no way offended. "Just my nature."

"He pulls the wings fof flies, for a hobby" Charlie told him. "And force-feeds cakes to coeliacs."

Tris pretended to be amused, but a small thrill of joy went through his mind... having learned far more about the situation than anyone else in the van would have guessed.

Elizabeth was cursing whatever Gods were up there. Not only did the assholes ignore her uncomfortable position, they had the gall to make fun of her. Also the fact that she was the only female in the vehicle made her feel claustrophobic. She tried getting up again, not caring if she was hurting Rocking, yet she couldn't. She was aware of the exposure of her midriff and also that her skirt had ridden up, revealing her legs. If the men leering at her had made her feel vulnerable, the way they were looking at her now made her almost cry. One of the men caught that scared glint in her eyes and made a great act of adjusting his pants - which had a suspicious bulge to it - while smirking lewdly at her. She unconsciously pressed herself against Rocking.

Through his clothes she could feel a lean yet muscular body. And there was a small, sick part of her that liked the position....Shut up now, she admonished herself mentally, he is the reason your day turned into a shit festival. What would anyone say if they saw you like this, with your face pressed against some lowly clerk's crotch? The thought provoked a shudder down her form.

Rocking was, as usual, bantering with the guards - was that man mentally stable?

"Couldn't you at least pull her skirt down?"

Elizabeth wrenched her eyes shut in humiliation. Wasn't the position they were in enough embarrassing that he had to pull attention to her messed up attire. Shut it, you lowly cockroach! My blouse alone costs more than your bloody salary. But again she was intrigued by his defense of her. He could have taken advantage of her in this position, yet he remained back like a true gentleman. But Elizabeth knew enough to know that he was anything but that. She thought of turning around to see his expression but refrained when she realized that in doing so she would be facing his groin. The thought nauseated her. She tried to straighten the skirt by wiggling her hips but all she succeeded in earning were a few cat-calls and leers. Letting her head fall on Rocking's lap, she conceded from trying to better her position, choosing to glare at the thugs instead. One of them commented how good her legs were. Elizabeth cursed her choice of outfit today. Why hadn't she chosen pants instead of skirts?

"Cute undies, too. Didn't think an exec like her would wear granny panties though."

Elizabeth gritted her teeth to resist the retort that had jumped up to her mouth. Those aren't granny panties, you fool. They are boy shorts. Well, your lack of differentiating ladies' underwear gives a huge idea about your experience with them. The fool continued with his banter with Rocking while Elizabeth felt her eyes droop. Her earlier exhaustion had multiplied with all this drama going on. She fought to keep herself awake but Rocking's thighs were very comfortable. Hard yet soft. She guessed every muscle of his body was in that way. And with that thought, sleep took over senses. There was no avail trying to fight it off.

۩ ۞ ۩​

It was after ages she guessed that the car finally halted with a sudden jerk. The movement woke Elizabeth up - the light sleeper she was - and she was disappointed. She thought that this was a dream, her subconscious playing twisted games with her as a compensation for ignoring rest. But when the Welsh grabbed her arm, lifting her off the floor, she knew dreams did not hurt so much. "Okay, lovebirds," he chuckled at Rocking, "though it was interesting seeing you both being intimate, we have other plans in our agenda. Psycho, grab the guy. I am taking the girl."

Psycho groaned and glared at the Welsh. "Why can't I get the girl?"

"Because I know you would rough her up if you got your dirty hands on her. And remember, he wanted her to be in her right mind to answer whatever he had to ask her," the Welsh's voice left no room for argument. So, she was being taken to someone for questioning. She bet her shoes collection that the person behind this all was some rival of hers. But who? She had established quite an amicable relationship with other business heads' and they adored her tenacity and passion, she couldn't imagine those smiling faces conspiring against her. But then, this was the corporate world. Friends were just a facade, they mingled only to learn about the others' weaknesses and strike at the right time. She was sure all of those charming faces would crush her into nothing if there was any profit for them. She would do the same as well.

While she was busy thinking, they had dragged her outside the vehicle. They were now standing inside of some deserted warehouse she guessed with all the broken windows and a large room that looked like it would appreciate some cleaning. There was a fine sheen of dust covering every wall and crevice. There was only one chair for furniture in the vast hall and Elizabeth gulped in fear, the Welsh's hold tightening on her arm. The light filtering inside the warehouse was dim and mellow, that meant they had traveled a lot of distance since it was only morning when they took her; it now looked like early evening.

The Welsh shoved her on the chair and spoke up, "Listen Red, we are going to keep you here for a long time. You better behave if you want to make it out alive," Elizabeth could know that he was lying. Whoever had paid them to get her must have other intentions than to off her. After all, alive, she was the most valuable person.

While the Welshie stood over her, gun levelled, Charlie paced up and down, muttering to himself, constantly looking at the door at the far entrance. He seemed to be waiting for Psycho, who had taken Rocking away somewhere, who knew for what purpose?

After a while, he walked back to the chair and, purely to amuse himself, again flipped up Elizabeth's skirt. There was obviously no reason for this, it was purely and simply to embarrass her, to strengthen his already invincible psychological edge. She was already gulping in fear and uch was hardly neccessary - but it was the way Charlie worked. The more nervous he got, the more sadistic he became... and he was nervous now, though it would have been hard to say why.

Eventually, he blurted out the reason.

"I still don't like it," he said. "Don't like it at all, Taff. bringing that flunkey I mean. There's something about him..."

"It's making me laugh, you are," the Welshie replied, with a snap in his voice foreign to his usual lilt. "He's about half your size, look you, and tied up, and you've got the shooter, isn't it? And if Psycho can't keep a wimp like him quiet, then - oh, come on, boyo. Don't tell me you're scared?"

Charlie strode across, gripped the Welshman by his lapels. "I ain't fucking scared!" he roared. Then seemed to get himself under control. "I ain't scared, all right? My bottle's good as it's ever been. It's just... it's just I got to do the thinking for the team, since the two of you are such retards. I say kill him, stop him being a threat."

"Well, Boss said no."

Charlie scowled. "Yeah, don' I fuckin' know it." He snapped the ammunition clip out from the barrel of his handgun, replaced it, a nervous gesture. "Can't help feelin' Boss' softness is gonna come back to bite us, though." He kicked at a discarded fruit juice carton on the littered floor. Took a step towards Elizabeth. "Maybe we should, like, give 'er just a little taste? So she knows what to expect if we -"

"Boss said no!" snapped the Welshman, with a note of finality.

"yeah, well I'm still thinkin' of it." As if to distract himself, Charlie took a place directly opposite Elizabeth and stared ostentatiously up her dress. "Granny knickers, eh? Who'd ha' thought it? Maybe we should take 'em off, and them tights. get a look at the cat, yeah?"

"Boss said - "

"Like Boss is gonna know? Less you split, and you won't, nor will Psycho. Needn't leave a mark. Fuck, we could all have 'er, three times each. It don't leave a sign, you know. We could - "

"They're called 'boy legs' actually, came Tris' voice from the far end. The glares of Taffy and Charlie snapped towards the noise.

Tris entered, his hands still tied, followed by Psycho with his gun levelled.

"So how so you know what she's got on under her skirt?" growled Charlie. "Ah, I get it. You're her... what they call it? Boy Toy. Now wonder she was mroe or less trying to give ya head on the floor of the van. Tells us a lot. I bet - "

It was the Welshman who kept his mind on the job. "Charlie that isn't the point, is it, boyo? Psycho, why did you bring him -?"

Psycho shrugged. "I dunno," he said, genueinly puzzled. "I just - "

"Psycho here isn't without a certain amount of compassion," said Tris, softly. "I twisted my ankle when you brought me here, and the damp in that little cellar was playing havoc with the pain. I explained that to him and he must have decided that a bit of kindness couldn't hurt your overall aim." He shrugged, even though his hands were tied. "And no, Ms Dwight and I don't have any kind of relationship. You might recall her skirt rode up rather dramatically on the way here, and she had no way to pull it down." His glance shot to her legs, briefly, then away. "Though I bet this time, it had some help getting in that position. Ah well, none of my business. Now, are you going to feed us?"

Charlie and Welshie exchanged glances, then both glared at Psycho.

"Look, it jus' seemed right," he said, guiltily.

"And if it's his ankle he's twisted, look you, why is he not lmping then?" asked the Welshman, suspiciously.

"Walked it off," Tris replied, sitting down, landing softly despite his tied hands. "I heal quickly. How are you, Ms Dwight? Are they treating you OK?"

The Welsh had a gun pushed up on the back of her head and Elizabeth had an urge to swat it off like a fly. Yet she did not dare move, her eyes roaming around the warehouse in bewilderment. In her twenty-eight years of existence, she had never ever been in such a dirty dwelling. Usually her haunts were the cool, sophisticated places with exotic names where even a smudge of dirt was meticulously wiped off. Being in this filthy setting disgusted her to no ends and she expressed her emotions with a sneer. She couldn't believe how people could accommodate to such conditions.

Her thoughts were rudely interrupted when one of the brutes flipped her skirt up. Elizabeth let out a huge yelp and stared at him in wide-eyed fear. A deep blush colored her cheeks and humiliation was all she could feel. He leered at her like she was some sort of meat he was buying and she could feel her indifference crumble into pieces. None of the expensive schooling, ballet classes and exquisite parties could have prepared her for this. This feeling of being violated was so foreign to her that she could not contemplate how to react to it. She then realized that Elizabeth Dwight was not made for this kind of...harsh reality. She had been living a life that her father had made for her. Always protected, always cherished. This was what was outside the corporate world. But now as she thought about it, it was not that different than the corporate world. When a man saw a woman handling an important job, he tried to bed her. If I can fuck her, I can control her, they thought. But those men were easy to handle. She kept them under the sole of shoes with her icy glare and blunt comebacks. On the other hand, these men were ruthless, not barred by the conservation of their social status. They could do anything to her and she was helpless against them. Elizabeth hated being helpless.

Her lower lip trembled as he continued to peek beneath her skirt and she shut her eyes in embarrassment. She wished she could sue these people for sexual harassment. They were bantering about Rocking, she realized. And by the talk of it, she could confidently presume that the pervert man was scared of her clerk. But why? As she created a mental picture of him and ran through all of his actions and comments, she too thought that he was too refined, too suave to be a man of lower echelons. She wondered if this all was facade to hide something bigger. Elizabeth made a mental to check his history if she was to make this out safe.

"Granny knickers, eh? Who'd ha' thought it? Maybe we should take 'em off, and them tights. get a look at the cat, yeah?"

She clenched her legs shut at his comment and opened her eyes to glare at him weakly. It was so pathetic she was sure it looked more like a pleading glance. Luckily the Welsh denied him. She liked him out of the rest of the lot.

"Like Boss is gonna know? Less you split, and you won't, nor will Psycho. Needn't leave a mark. Fuck, we could all have 'er, three times each. It don't leave a sign, you know. We could - "

A lone, pristine tear slipped down her cheek and Elizabeth was horrified. She had not cried ever since she had her first period cramps when she was twelve. But now, as she sat there looking at the man as he planned out her rape as if he were discussing some favorite sport, she let her tears fall down unbidden. A soft, broken sob made it past her lips though it sounded more like a whimper as she cried silently. Good Lord, was there anyone to help her?

As if her pleas were heard, Rocking came in with his cocky remark about her underwear. Her head whipped up, relief flooding her features before she saw the gun pointed at his head. She slumped back in the chair dejected, though she made an effort to stop the tears. She would be damned if she was caught by him crying. She would never hear the end of it. The pervert man made a rude comment about their relationship and Elizabeth blushed as the memory of his thigh resurfaced in her mind. The cheeky bastard denied the allegations calmly. She almost scoffed. Well, being my boy toy is a privilege that most men in my company would kill for.

Rocking explained about his sprained ankle, which to her looked perfectly fine. Either he had faked the sprain or he really did possess unnatural healing qualities. At his query about her state, she glared at him in anger though she was sure it must be looking laughable with the tears rolling down her red cheeks and her hair falling haphazardly all around her face.

"How long till the boss comes?" Psycho asked the Welsh who had been watching their exchange with quiet annoyance.

"I dunno," he shrugged, "he said it could take from an hour to a night. But we are to keep the bitch safe and secure till then. After he is finished, we can do as we please..." The suggestive trail of his sentence was enunciated by a soft pressure on the back of head. Elizabeth gulped again, fresh tears rolling down.

"Fuck, yes," the pervert grinned lewdly at her as he advanced. He took a hold of her chin and tilted her face upwards. "We are going to have so much of fun, princess. You will be begging for it," his fingers traced the contours of her neck and she shuddered in repulsion. This evoked a smirk to his face and he met the gaze of his companions. "Maybe we will make a video of her and leave it on the net?" The pervert suggested, resembling a child on a Christmas morning.

"And yeah, get caught by the pigs?" The Welsh snorted, "she is her daddy's precious darling. He won't stop at any cost once he knows that she's been ruined and offed. Boss asked us to leave the continent after the shit is over remember?"

"Ya, ya," the pervert practically pouted and stalked away.

Elizabeth had broken in a cold sweat. Now that she knew about these thugs' intentions, she cried out in horror. Sobbing, uninhibitedly. Her pride had been shattered. She was disgusted at herself for being so weak. She should have held on longer. The men laughed at her and insulted her further, explicitly describing what they intended to do with her. All the time, her head was hung down as she sobbed, her cries mixing with their lewd comments.

While the men had been having their fun, Tris had not been entirely idle. There were limits to what even as resourceful a man as he could do with his hands expertly tied, in an empty room with nothing to use as a weapon, against three big, streetwise men with guns. And yet, without seeming to move much, he had been moving closer and closer to Elizabeth, insinuating his body gently, so that as the three men circled, talking, with many a glance at Elizabeth's legs or up her skirt, Tris finally contrived to scooch across to rest in the perfect place, casually interposing himself between her and the men.

They could, of course, simply have heaved him out of the way, or ordered him at gunpoint to move. And yet, somehow, they didn't. To do so would have meant to lose face, to admit they wished to continue perving up her skirt, for such things must be done with a seeming casualness or not at all. He had spoiled their fun - a small triumph. Right now, if psychological victories were all he could get, he'd take them. It wasn't the first time in his long and chequered career he'd used such as a platform for a later turning of the tables. To complete his victory, he reached out with his leg and using his feet managed to get hold of her skirt and flip it at least part way down, hiding her panties and crotch, though since it was caught under her and her legs were tied, it would not come down any more and a considerable portion of her long legs were still on show.

It was, he saw, too late to achieve overmuch. Elizabeth Dwight, the Ice Queen, the woman who could freeze underlings with a single glance, was so close to breaking she was approaching the point of no return. The armpits of the formerly immaculate blouse were stained with heavy sweat, and the garment itself was now so creased it might have done duty as a disc-cloth. The skirt, despite his efforts to correct it, was still up around her upper thighs, her hair was a mess, and her makeup smudged with her crying. Her hose were sagging, and ripped in several places.

"Looks a bit different from what she does in them business magazines, don't she?" laughed Charley, as if reading Tris' thoughts. "Who'd ha' thought she'd blub, like some little school girl who lost her hockey stick?"

"Yeah, does make you kind of lose faith in your betters, don't it?" added Psycho. "What's the betting she pisses herself next?"

"Or starts screaming," said the Welshie. "Not that anyone'll hear, look you. Boss chose this place well, isn't it?"

"I reckon she'd already thinking about when we're gonna do to her," chuckled Psycho. He turned to Tris. "Well, little flunkey. You still standing by what you said, down in the little cellar?"

"Oh yeah? What's that then?" asked Charley.

"I asked him how he felt working under such a bitch," said Psycho. "And he said (he mimicked Tris' accent) 'Bitch? She's one of the most beautiful women I ever saw.' "

If his plan had been to embarrass Tris, it didn't appear to have worked. The slim man appeared as unfazed as he had when the pair had first been captured.

"Yeah, I do, actually," he said, calmly, as if confirming he preferred turkey to chicken, or soccer to cricket. "Prettiest eyes I've ever seen. Anyway," he seemed to dismiss the subject from his thoughts "Since this Boss of yours doesn;t seem too keen to meet us... rather rude I call it... I repeat my earlier question. Are you planning to feed us any time soon? And..."

He was interrupted by the sudden ring of Charley's phone. The thug spoke into it, his voice adopting a respectful, almost sycophantic, tone.

"Boss won't be here until late tomorrow," he told the others, to a stereophonic reply of "oh fuck!"

"So what are we going to do then?" asked Welshie. "I don't half relish sitting here all night, not in this cold, boyo."

"Nah, don't need to, do we?" laughed Charley. "Take 'em down to the little cellar. Leave 'em there for the night." He pointed at Tris. "Unless motormouth here can talk the ropes we're gonna truss 'em with into untying themselves, then chat the lock open, they'll be safe enough I reckon. We can spend the night upstairs."

"Can't have 'em dying of exposure, bach!" replied Welshie.

"No need."

He left, and while he was gone, Psycho and Welshie exchanged small talk about people they knew. There was an obvious tension in the air, as if their smooth plans had somehow struck a small hitch. Even Tris was silent, and all that could be heard was the gentle sound of Elizabeth's hitching breathe and occasional sobbing.

About ten minutes later he returned, his arms full of filthy, moth-eaten blankets that smelt of something nameless, with which he loaded up Psycho, together with a plastic bucket, a roll of toilet paper and a small hold all. "There's food for you pair in there," he said. "And that's all the blankets we've got, so you'll have to huddle together if you want to keep warm."

"But what about - like, pissing and stuff?" Tris asked, though he knew the answer, and showed it by looking at the bucket. "But Ms Dwight can't -"

"She'll have to hold it then, won't she?" laughed Welshie. He stared at her crotch again. "If it isn't too late, that is, look you!"

*****

The cellar was pitch dark, and when the footsteps of the three men echoed up the stone steps and the door slammed behind them, followed by the turn of the key in the lock, even Tris felt slightly forlorn. They had retied them, so that they were hobbled rather than trussed, and could have walked a few paces if they took it slow, but their hands were again tied together in front of them.

Tris immediately began to go through the supplies the men had left.

"There's a flask of coffee," he said. "Bet it's the cheap shit, though. Sandwiches. Some of those pressed ham slices - hope you're not Jewish or Mus - nah, you wouldn't be, would you? And it's not Friday so you should be OK. A bit of fruit. Not exactly up to the standards of Gordon Oliver or whatever the guy's name is. Still, a true epicure learns to adapt, I guess."

He sat his hand a few inches from where hers was. He doubted she'd take it - she would cling to whatever illusion she had of strength she could - but it was there if she wanted it. Carefully, he pushed three of the blankets across to her, retaining the fourth, most threadbare, for himself.

"OK, what shall we do tonight?" he asked. "Dinner, then a club? Or do you fancy the theatre? Or maybe we could go to the movies, then a cruise up - nah. Tell you what. How about a nice quiet night in, eh?"

Suddenly their jeers and lewdness halted for a moment and Elizabeth looked up sniffling. She found Rocking sitting in front of her, almost protectively. His posture still exuded careless confidence yet there was something dangerous underneath it. The men glared at the duo. Elizabeth felt something nudging her thigh and she looked down to find Rocking's leg trying to pull her skirt down. Her initial reaction was to be disgusted that he had his dirty shoe on her expensive skirt but when she realized his real motives, the sneer wore off to an almost grateful expression. She averted her eyes to his face and pursed her lips, silently thanking him.

"Looks a bit different from what she does in them business magazines, don't she? Who'd ha' thought she'd blub, like some little school girl who lost her hockey stick?""

Hanging her head down in shame she knew that these men were indeed right. She, who had never been seen showing even the slightest bit of emotion, was now reduced to a sobbing, disheveled mess by thugs who were way beneath her. She could destroy them with the amount of power and money she held only if those two attributes were in her access now. They were probably too far away from Manchester and even though she held equal importance in other parts of the country, she wouldn't be finding anyone resourceful here. Her only ally was the one whom she hated. How ironic was that?

They continued discussing about her appearance till she heard a comment that made her head whip up in surprise.

"I asked him how he felt working under such a bitch. And he said 'Bitch? She's one of the most beautiful women I ever saw.' "

She looked at Rocking curiously but he appeared to be still in that infuriating calm of his. His reply further caught her off guard.

"Yeah, I do, actually. Prettiest eyes I've ever seen. Anyway,"

The said eyes were now looking at him, watered up. Not because of his comment but because of the men's earlier behavior. As if his statement had been a reminder and an encouragement, the lines on her face hardened and the tears soon looked out of place on such a cold expression. She appraised the men coolly, though there was some fear still raging inside of her, her pride had been relinquished.

After some time, they were being thrown into a cellar - which was not only dirty but damp as well. And there was a rotten smell hanging in the air that almost made her retch. Apparently, their boss was not coming till tomorrow and they were to spend the night in this disgusting room. Elizabeth hunted down a relatively clean place before depositing herself on it, sitting down with folded knees. She hadn't sat down on a floor since she was three and now it felt so odd. Her knees hurt slightly with the pressure but she would be damned if kept her arse on the filthy floor.

Elizabeth observed Rocking as he went about checking the supplies, which in her opinion was worse than what she fed her cats. She ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing out the tangles which was a difficult task as her wrists were bound together and then wiped off the mess on her face. Rocking now sat beside her his hand extended in a furtive invitation. She almost scoffed at him. As if she would ever touch him. Willingly, she added after the memory of their earlier position in the van resurfaced.

"Can I -" her voice came out scratchy because of all the sobbing she had earlier involved in. After a good throat clear, she start once again though her voice was slightly timid - friendly almost - certainly not like her commanding one the same morning, "Can I ask you something?...Of course I can. Why did you defend me when those assholes were ganging me up? I mean, you do seem like gentleman but...You know, I wasn't exactly..." she paused for a moment thinking of an appropriate word before deciding to take a leaf out of the thugs' book, "Okay, I was totally bitchy with you. Not that I regret my behavior or anything. But...?" She trailed off, trusting him to interpret at least that. He didn't seem like that much of an idiot. "And what was with that comment about me being beautiful?" She asked sharply, "I am your boss not your girlfriend, remember that. You don't have the right to appreciate me. In fact you don't have the right to speak anything about me," she finished with a huff feeling slightly guilty for being so rude to him when all he had been through this time was considerate. But she needed to vent it out on someone. She needed to overpower someone. Or Good Lord knew that she would go insane.

Can I - Can I ask you something?

"Of course," he replied, still rummaging through the food and discovering, to his joy, a block of Cadbury chocolate.

Why did you defend me when those assholes were ganging me up? I mean, you do seem like gentleman but...You know, I wasn't exactly...Okay, I was totally bitchy with you. Not that I regret my behavior or anything. But...?

He shrugged. "Never regret being a bitch," he smiled. "Bloody mindedness'll often get you through when you're outgunned and outfought. Truth to tell, I've always hated bullies. And beautiful things have always been a great consolation in my life, against its sordidness and ugliness. So, naturally, I defend it when I can. If those wankers had been defacing a graceful cathedral with spray paint I'd have done my best to stop them."

In fact, he knew how scared she'd been, and they'd been more compassion in his actions than he was letting on. But he didn't think humiliating her by revealing that would help her confidence any, which is why he'd taken refuge in flippancy.

And what was with that comment about me being beautiful? I am your boss not your girlfriend, remember that. You don't have the right to appreciate me. In fact you don't have the right to speak anything about me.

He shrugged again.

"It wasn't a 'comment' Ms Dwight. It was made outside of your hearing, and not intended for public consumption. Said as an act of defiance to that thug who was badmouthing you, and hoping to intimidate me. Hardly my fault if he chose to repeat it."

He deliberately neither affirmed or denied if his assessment of her beauty reflected his true feelings or not. This was not an oversight.

"And, erm, actually, I don't blame you if recent events have driven it out of your mind but... are you actually my boss? I never got it quite clear, amidst all your posturing and posing. Did you actually sack me? Or just threaten to? There was some talk, I recall, that indicated you regarded my job performance at slightly less than employer-of-the-month standard."

He broke the chocolate bar, handed her the larger portion.

"And while it might not be exactly diplomatic to mention it... might I remind you that whatever our relative official status, right here and right now your status as queen-bitch super-rich executive probably doesn't carry quite as much weight as it might in another milieu. In fact, Taffy, Charlie and Psycho seem to have struck something of a blow for democracy, wouldn't you say? Right now, our status is about as equal as you could get, yeah? 'Alike in dignity,' as that writer guy from Birmingham put it. Well... almost alike," He allowed his glance to sweep, just briefly, up her leg, then turned away. "Except the cut and colour of my underwear's still a secret for the moment."

"Girlfriend, now? Hmmm." He thought for a moment. "Actually, I don't recall ever offering you that particular status. The idea certainly never crossed my mind... though apparently, since you brought it up, it has yours. Tell you what, let's shelve that one till we get out of here, and talk about it in a more civilised atmosphere, hey?"

With difficulty due to his trussed position, he conveyed a piece of chocolate to his mouth and chewed hungrily.

Elizabeth glared at Rocking, though it was of more playful annoyance rather than hostility. "Well, never in my life have I been compared to a cathedral. But I will be taking that as a compliment," she spoke with slight humor lacing her voice. It was minute and a careless listener would have never caught it. But she was certain that Rocking was not a careless listener. Not to give him ideas that she had gone soft, she turned back into her cold, calculated self instantly, maintaining a neutral disposition.

"It wasn't a 'comment' Ms Dwight. It was made outside of your hearing, and not intended for public consumption. Said as an act of defiance to that thug who was badmouthing you, and hoping to intimidate me. Hardly my fault if he chose to repeat it."

And there he went, ruining an almost comfortable moment. She scoffed at him in displeasure and a small, minuscule part of herself was even disappointed at his dismissal of the comment. It never hurt a girl to hear that she was pretty a time or two. But she herself had evoked such a reaction from him acting all bitchy. She shouldn't even be bothered about him and his talk. He was a lowly clerk and she - she was the endangered CEO of the company. A chill ran down her spine at the unpleasant thought.

Hold on, she mentally chastised herself, your father must be knowing about what had happened at the office. There must be already the best men around looking for you with their dangerous weapons and dogs tearing down places...

"And, erm, actually, I don't blame you if recent events have driven it out of your mind but... are you actually my boss? I never got it quite clear, amidst all your posturing and posing. Did you actually sack me? Or just threaten to? There was some talk, I recall, that indicated you regarded my job performance at slightly less than employer-of-the-month standard."

She glared at the man wondering how stupid he possibly could be.

"Well, you see I never got to doing anything other than being kidnapped by a bunch of brutes after our little 'talk'. And sacking you hardly matters now as we -," her voice faltered a bit at the harsh truth, "we might as well be dead by tomorrow. And anyways, I have got better things to do than to think about a lowly clerk's job. Your presence or absence hardly makes any difference to me," she knew that the last part was not true. Even though she did despise him, if he hadn't been there the thugs would have done something unspeakable to her. But she would be damned if she showed him that she appreciated his efforts.

She accepted the piece of offered chocolate and bit on it, reminded that all she had had the day was just a satisfactory breakfast back home. The chocolate was probably the cheapest meal she ever had in her life but it was filling her stomach and that was well enough.

"And while it might not be exactly diplomatic to mention it... might I remind you that whatever our relative official status, right here and right now your status as queen-bitch super-rich executive probably doesn't carry quite as much weight as it might in another milieu. In fact, Taffy, Charlie and Psycho seem to have struck something of a blow for democracy, wouldn't you say? Right now, our status is about as equal as you could get, yeah? 'Alike in dignity,' as that writer guy from Birmingham put it. Well... almost alike,"

His words even though spoken casually, were a harsh reminder of the fact that she was in fact stripped of her beloved power in this filthy warehouse. She was - bile rose to her throat at the thought - just a commoner now, at the mercy of the thugs. Her eyes drifted off to him as he enjoyed his share of chocolate and noticed that his piece was relatively smaller than hers. She chose to let the comment go, not because she was not capable of brewing up a comeback but just because he was, well, actually correct. She was no CEO of Dwight & Sons now and he was no lowly clerk. If one thought about it, he had a more stable future than hers. He would die - probably trying to save her as well - but she would be humiliated and degraded and raped for Lord knows how long, before the brutes pitied her - or simply got tired of her - and killed her off. The situation and her helplessness against it brought out a fresh round of tears which she was able to stifle after a couple of moments. Showing weakness in front of a man who had the power of selling her out to the kidnappers at the cost of his life would never help her.

He peered below her skirt and she clenched her legs in retaliation, glaring at him.

"Except the cut and colour of my underwear's still a secret for the moment."

"If you know what's better for you, you will not do that again. Or else I am going to utilize my killer nails on your petty face and then relish the moment blood runs down your cheeks. Maybe stuff my shoe in your mouth since your voice has begun to offend me!" A moment too late she realized that she did not have her stilettos on at all. But her legs were folded behind her, which prevented him from knowing that little blip of hers.

"Girlfriend, now? Hmmm. Actually, I don't recall ever offering you that particular status. The idea certainly never crossed my mind... though apparently, since you brought it up, it has yours. Tell you what, let's shelve that one till we get out of here, and talk about it in a more civilised atmosphere, hey?"

Elizabeth snorted at his deluded words. "Please, spare me the visuals! Me, as your girlfriend? Men whom you do not even begin to compare with, grovel for my attention. I have had proposals from even Royalties. I can have anyone I want. And even if I didn't I would never ever stoop so low as to think of you romantically. So don't flatter yourself. I would rather have the Welshie than to actually be with you," she spat in contempt, "And as for the usage of such a term, it was just spontaneous. I wasn't thinking clearly."

She finished with her chocolate and sighed. Suffering through their behavior was one thing but sitting here anticipating their behavior was pure torture.

"Yeah, they do tend to, don't they?" Tris replied, in answer to her comment about men grovelling for her attention. "I've noticed that. Pathetic, I call it. I've never known grovelling get anyone anywhere, personally." He shrugged, which in his current trussed situation was something of a waste of effort. "Personally, I'd have thought you'd have other things on your mind right now than any future relationship you might be contemplating with me. I mean... well, our survival's not exactly a hundred percent guaranteed, is it? Though I strongly suspect the odds are a lot better than you seem to think."

He smiled, sardonically. Pitched his voice lower so that it could not possibly echo in the cellar.

"I can't actually verify it, of course, but I strongly suspect it's the charming Psycho whose been given first watch just the other side of the door here. For all his posturing, he's actually the least dominant of the three. The taffy is the most self-assured, and the cockney sparrer is - well, I doubt he'd take shit from anyone. But it's the geordie that's the weak link in the chain, and it's him we need to work on.

"Getting untied from these ropes would be easy enough - I've already managed it enough to do three quarters of the job, but I can't go any further without making it obvious what I've done when they come back. And I prefer to keep any gains we make a bit of a secret until we have to." He continued talking, as if musing to himself, summarizing tactics. "And like me you probably heard the lock click after they left, so getting out of here is going to be a long-term job. I could do it with a lockpick, but I left mine behind. You don't expect to need it when you're the mail boy for a cosmetics company, do you?

"So, I guess you'll agree, it's a case of watching and waiting for the immediate future, at least. There's three expert thugs, highly trained, and well-armed on their side, and all we've got is our minds. Once I manage to get hold of one of their guns

(The "when" rather than "if" was said with a casual self-assurance, as if he regarded it as a formality)

we'll still be out-gunned, so we need a bit more in our favour."

He took the last piece of his chocolate and chewed thoughtfully.

"Now, what I strongly expect this boss-man to do is send a ransom note to your father. Is dad likely to pay up? If so, that's hopeful, but we can't rely on it. Guys like this have been known to take the money and not deliver, hold out for another pay-out. And in the meantime, we can't be sure that they won't try little tricks just to confirm their bona-fides. Things like cutting off a finger, and sending it to him, that kind of thing. Though on balance I doubt it. More likely they'll want to hand you over in one piece. Thing is about professional kidnappers, you see, is that they do this kind of thing a lot. And one day, they're going to get caught, and they won't want a lot of past GBH charges hanging over them.

"Now, when I had my little chat with Psycho, he told me his personal plans for you. I dropped the hint that if he carried them through, I'd mention it to his boss when we met. Looks like our sheep-shagging friend is genuinely as terrified of his boss as most of the staff back at the company are of you, and I think I dissuaded him, at least for the moment. Mind you, he whipped me with the butt of his pistol for reminding him of the fact, and I've got a nasty mark down my face, which fortunately you can't see in this pitch darkness. If you're one of those women who find physical wounds upsetting better not look at my face when your eyes adjust.

"OK, plans. Now, unless you have any better idea - and, with all due respect, I doubt you do - I suggest that you keep up the act of being a docile little lamb when in their presence, as if you're scared out of your wits. It was a great idea to put that act on, and it's going to help a lot once we get a chance to turn the tables."

(In fact, he knew damn well it had been no act - he knew a terrified woman when he saw one - but if there was anything she needed right now, he knew, it was some kind of boost to her ego. She had been through a lot.)

"Now, as to our comfort. I doubt the rations are going to get any better, but it won't do you any harm to miss out on gourmet food for however long we're here. When you need to attend to bodily functions, I'll happily look the other way, and sing to drown out any embarrassing noises you might make, but you needn't bother to do the same for me. Guys stand next to each other in urinals as a matter of course, and we never think anything of it. Erm... I hate to mention this, though, but tied up as you are, you're not going to be able to get those pretty boy-legs down, and back up afterwards without help, so, er... I'm afraid it won't be advantageous to your dignity. Me, I can manage my fly as I am so at least you won;t need to help me."

He smiled.

"Now, the shuffling I can hear suggests either mice or rats. If they do come and investigate us - and they probably will, some time during the night - I've always found kicking them away works wonders. Once they see something isn't easy prey they tend to back off. You're not the kind of girl whose scared of rats, I hope?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes when he instantly replied with another cheeky comeback. Her earlier headache, which she had forgotten about due to the thugs, began to resurface with an intensity and she hoped that Rocking would stop with his useless blabber. Tilting her head back on the wall, she allowed her eyes to be shut and drowned out his voice.

Or at least tried to.

"I can't actually verify it, of course, but I strongly suspect it's the charming Psycho whose been given first watch just the other side of the door here. For all his posturing, he's actually the least dominant of the three. The taffy is the most self-assured, and the cockney sparrer is - well, I doubt he'd take shit from anyone. But it's the geordie that's the weak link in the chain, and it's him we need to work on."

Elizabeth almost scoffed at his pretentious assumptions. As if a lowly clerk would be aware of what were the weak spots in those brutes. He was probably just going on to show her how high and mighty he was, something he had been doing since the morning.

"Getting untied from these ropes would be easy enough - I've already managed it enough to do three quarters of the job, but I can't go any further without making it obvious what I've done when they come back. And I prefer to keep any gains we make a bit of a secret until we have to."

She peeled her eyes open at that, hope and curiosity fueling her actions; and true to his words, Rocking's binds seemed less constricting than hers. Her eyes quickly darted to his face. He was calm and casual as if he were discussing the weather, not a possible chance they had at survival. The intuition she had conceived before about him, that he seemed like he had more layers to him, blossomed again and she found herself intrigued by the man. For the first time since ages, Elizabeth Dwight's eyes held no contempt or coldness in them, and instead regarded Rocking with curiosity and something akin to respect. Her features were also greatly affected by this shift; they morphed into a soft acknowledgement of the fact that she did not see him beneath her - at least for the time being - and her visage almost looked childlike. Like some student gazing up at their newest tutor, unsure about the authenticity of their knowledge and yet curiously accepting it.

"And like me you probably heard the lock click after they left, so getting out of here is going to be a long-term job. I could do it with a lock-pick, but I left mine behind. You don't expect to need it when you're the mail boy for a cosmetics company, do you? So, I guess you'll agree, it's a case of watching and waiting for the immediate future, at least. There's three expert thugs, highly trained, and well-armed on their side, and all we've got is our minds. Once I manage to get hold of one of their guns, we'll still be out-gunned, so we need a bit more in our favour."

Elizabeth did not miss the self-assured 'when' and that somehow seemed to assuage her nerves just the tiniest little bit. Rocking may not have been a competent records clerk yet she doubted that he was better at these thuggish arts. Well, she thought with slight mirth, suits him perfectly. I should have known that that cheeky arrogance can only belong to the streets.

"Now, what I strongly expect this boss-man to do is send a ransom note to your father. Is dad likely to pay up? If so, that's hopeful, but we can't rely on it. Guys like this have been known to take the money and not deliver, hold out for another pay-out. And in the meantime, we can't be sure that they won't try little tricks just to confirm their bona-fides. Things like cutting off a finger, and sending it to him, that kind of thing. Though on balance I doubt it. More likely they'll want to hand you over in one piece. Thing is about professional kidnappers, you see, is that they do this kind of thing a lot. And one day, they're going to get caught, and they won't want a lot of past GBH charges hanging over them."

A soft sigh escaped her lips at that particular thought of Rocking.

"Listen now, you might be more comfortable and experienced in this environment but I think you got it wrong there," she began in a slightly tentative note, like someone younger interrupting an older, adept person in their speech, "Didn't you hear them right there? They were talking about gaining some kind of information. And I know, I know. You will say that they just said that to mislead me from their motives, but in my opinion I don't think anyone would kidnap me to ask for ransom from Father. I mean, I have established myself fairly well. I am not some Daddy's helpless little princess that someone would seize me and try to shake some cash out of Daddy's pocket. Especially since my father is not that public about his affections for me. In front of everyone, he is my boss and I am his employee. It's like he is cold and indifferent towards me, which he sometimes is in private too..."

The last part was mumbled tightly and not meant for his ears.

"But anyways, my point is: if anyone would have wanted to get the best out of my father's bank account, they would have captured my brother. Everyone in the United Kingdom knows how much Harold Dwight loves his littlest son, which is the reason he is such an obnoxious brat," her lip curled in a playful sneer at the mention of her little brother....whom she might not ever see again. She gulped down the wave of sadness and concentrated on the task at hand.

"You get my drift? I don't think anyone would target me for gaining ransom. I think it is something else. I mean...Yes, I have got hell lot of rivals who will tear me down without batting an eye if they get the chance...But who will stoop to kidnapping? Not only it is dangerous but also corporate suicide. If they get found out, their whole life is going to be shattered into a million shards. I suspect that anyone who has done this must be really, really brave. And a son of a bitch." The curse escaped her lips before she could censor it and a grimace settled on her lips. Hanging out with lowly people had really lowered her own standard.

She shrugged when Rocking mentioned his facial wound. Living with Henry, who had a certain penchant of getting into brawls even though he would be out with a couple of blows, had her habituated to gruesome wounds. She felt indifferent about them. Though part of her - the silly part - was slightly disappointed that his attractive face had been marred. She mentally slapped herself for that particular thought.

"OK, plans. Now, unless you have any better idea - and, with all due respect, I doubt you do - I suggest that you keep up the act of being a docile little lamb when in their presence, as if you're scared out of your wits. It was a great idea to put that act on, and it's going to help a lot once we get a chance to turn the tables."

She almost wanted to poke her tongue at him when he mentioned her inadequacy at forming any plans but stopped herself as he spoke about her 'act of being a docile lamb'. She frowned at that. Did he think that she was so cold and distant that she had lost the capability of expressing her emotions? That any showcase of such things was just an act?

She had a small, vague feeling that his words were meant to provide comfort and meant something else yet the dominant thoughts were quick to suppress those. She had begun to think that Rocking saw her more than some robot that ruled over everyone's ass with her cold iron fist. She thought he viewed her as human female who sometimes needed to be brought down a few notches (Even though she certainly disliked that part of him). But no, Rocking too assumed her to be some calculating, hollow woman who exploited every possible chance she could gain. Did her genuine fear and distress all seemed fake? Her head began to throb with increased vigor and she deemed her thoughts as irrational and choppy, assuming her earlier position of rest.

She was aware of Rocking mentioning something about boy-legs and urine but she could not muster up enough strength to consider his statements. Also, she ignored it vehemently as talking of relieving oneself always created the need to relieve herself for her and right now, it was the last thing she wished to do.

But then -

"Now, the shuffling I can hear suggests either mice or rats. If they do come and investigate us - and they probably will, some time during the night - I've always found kicking them away works wonders. Once they see something isn't easy prey they tend to back off. You're not the kind of girl whose scared of rats, I hope?"

At first she did not respond to him at all. One might have thought that she hadn't heard him in the first place. However actually, she was processing his words, imagining all sorts of vermin crawling up her body, into her clothes. And with small shriek she jumped and had deposited herself on Rocking's lap, all curled up so that not a single part of her touched the disgusting floor, clutching at his shirt as she buried her face in his neck.

As if to mock her further, there was a distinct scurrying noise in the room and Elizabeth pressed herself more firmly against Rocking's body. She did not care that she breasts were completely smashed up against Rocking's chest, or the fact that she could feel his breath tickle her hair every time he exhaled or when hers whispered across his neck. She certainly did not care that her body was pressed up so tightly to him that she could feel every little contour of his physique, or that her derriere was in complete contact with his groin, or the fact that she was popping some of the buttons of his shirt from the deathly grip she had on the said item of clothing. All she cared about was getting as far as humanly possible from the rats that seemed to haunt the place.

Elizabeth could handle any sort of trouble that ever dawned upon her company yet she was more afraid of rats than people were scared of ghosts. She had been fortunate enough to have avoided them most of her life but today all her luck had drained out faster than fine sand through fingers. She snuggled closer to Rocking and whimpered when there was a particularly loud sound of scuffling.