12.
“Angel, come in here!” Undigested annoyance crackled from the intercom.
“Right away, boss.” Angel stood, grabbed his pen and pad and hustled into Harmony’s office. He found her sprawled on her furry day bed in a fog of agitated ennui and surrounded by a sea of well thumbed tabloid magazines.
“Look at this crap!” Harmony shrieked. She held up a two page spread outlining Paris Hilton’s dog’s work out regimen: Puppy Pilates. “I’m supposed to think that dog really does all those exercises? Where’s the muscle tone? Nowhere, that’s where!” She seethed with volcanic fury. “And not even one article about me and Mr. Pussy! We could so do Pussy Pilates. Shoot! I should have thought of that. At least Mr. Pussy is believable as an athlete. This mangy mutt is just selling canine sportswear. It’s pitiful. Don’t you agree, Angel?”
“I do. I agree. Pitiful.”
“And Mr. Pussy is the cutest, most photogenic pussy in all the world, aren’t you?” At last Harmony’s doting gaze fell upon the preoccupied feline. Mr. Pussy crouched on the carpet and began to heave, emitting a hoarse, rhythmic retching sound until he finally coughed up a sizable wad of hair and mucus. It was only then that he looked up into Harmony’s adoring face with a furry grin and began to groom once more with gusto.
“Angel.” Harmony’s finger waggle sent Angel straight to work removing the evidence of Mr. Pussy’s indigestion. At his return Angel found Harmony puzzling over her perceived publicity problem.
“Should I call in our paparazzi?” Angel stood ready to mobilize the troops.
Harmony sighed at that suggestion. “That’s too obvious. Isn’t that too obvious, Lorne?” Lorne emerged from the shadowy corner, deep in thought.
“It can’t be too obvious when it comes to you, lamby-kins. Hey! What about the premiere tonight?” Lorne snapped his fingers, indicating a eureka moment. “You show up on the arm of that reality show heart throb, Dink Nibbler, and the rest is Paris envy.” Genius, absolute genius. “I predict five covers minimum from that dishy coup.”
“Dink Nibbler?” Harmony bit her mango fever tinted lips. “Why do I know that name?”
“He’s the winner of our little top rated reality show, remember?”
“The underwear model?”
“No.”
“The porno guy?”
“No.”
“Lorne! I just can’t remember every tanned slab of man muscle you’ve paraded across the television. Which one was he?”
“He’s the, um, pool boy.”
“The guy the piranha chewed off his swim trunks?” Harmony’s eyes widened at the thrilling memory.
“That’s him.”
“Ooooo! He’s really cute.” Harmony tossed the offending magazines aside and sat to attention. “All those razor sharp teeth near his thingy and he didn’t even flinch. I like that in a man.”
“He’s the hot property of the moment and more to the point, he’s your hot property, Harmony. Just picture it,” Lorne held up his fingers like a director framing a scene. “You’re walking into “Skin City” with fearless Dink on your arm. I predict seizures in three states from the flash bulb blast alone.”
Harmony squealed with delight. “Angel, have the limo pick up Dink and bring him here for his premiere make over.”
“Yes, boss. Right away.” Angel whooshed out of the office already scribbling a long list of preparations for Harmony’s big night out.
Just as Angel left, Marcus Hamilton swept into the office and stood in all his shining, malevolent glory in an exquisite Italian suit and hand made dress shoes. His eyebrows descended. “What’s this I hear about you dating?”
Harmony swung her feet onto the carpet and stood up. “You can go now Lorne.” Lorne nodded and left the office grateful to be anywhere but in the vicinity of Marcus Hamilton, the Senior Partner’s corporate bogey man.
Harmony sighed and casually acknowledged the finely woven masculine obelisk that stood before her. “Red carpet is not dating, it’s work, and you know we’re not exclusive, Marcus.”
“That’s news to me, muffin.”
“Really? You’re always off communing with the Senior Partners or so you say.” Harmony flashed an accusing look in Hamilton’s direction. Being pushed aside wasn’t a pleasant feeling. “What am I supposed to do? A girl has needs, Marcus.” Harmony threw back her shoulders to give Hamilton a tempting view of her determined chin and deeply chiseled cleavage. “Evil, evil needs.”
“Hey baby, I thought I filled all your evil requirements or do you need another demonstration?”
“You talk big, Marcus, but where does that leave me? Alone in my office with only Mr. Pussy for company.” The kitten flicked its tail contemptuously from atop Harmony’s pink upholstered cat tower and then started viciously clawing a roughened cylinder to sharpen its claws. One glance at the office visitor set the small kitten on high alert.
Hamilton reached out and grabbed Harmony’s wrist and pulled her decisively against his chest. He held her there as the embers of sexual possession burst into flames in his eyes.
“I don’t want you dancing with other men,” he declared in a sultry yet venomous voice. “You know it drives me crazy.”
“We’ve been over this before; that’s a group dynamics thing I do with the team. It’s part of my corporate philosophy. Dancing stimulates optimum business synergy. It’s not a couples thing–well maybe with Wesley and Fred–but–“
“So you deny dancing with Sebassis the other day?” Hamilton spit out the accusation.
Amusement and disgust wrestled on Harmony’s face. She did have some standards. “The Archduke?” She eased herself from Hamilton’s iron grip. “No way. We did do a few yoga positions but we used separate mats, I swear.” Harmony explained the harmless interlude with her pampered client.
“That guy is really tightly wound. I can’t decide if it’s the horns or the nostril hair but the littlest thing can interrupt the flow of energy through the body and Sebassis’ inner flow is way wonky.” She leaned back against the edge of her desk. “Seriously. I’m amazed he’s still walking around. I’ve scheduled a pedicure meeting next week, but that’s strictly a working pedicure.”
Marcus Hamilton’s jaw flexed in percussive spasms. His darkening brow perplexed Harmony. He’d seen her flow charts and knew her philosophical thrust, so what was with all this nostril flexing?
“What’s the matter? Is my spanky-bum all jealous?” Harmony wiggled herself closer to Hamilton. A flash of masculine fury sparked in Hamilton’s eye. He rarely showed any emotion but what was there was exacerbated by Harmony’s incendiary femininity.
“Say you won’t dance with anyone but me,” Hamilton snarled through clenched teeth and crushed her against his mountainous chest.
“Wait, Hammy. People will see.”
“I want them to!” Hamilton started to maneuver her masterfully over the carpet.
Looking through the windows from Angel’s desk, Lorne sighed.
“Um, Mr. Lorne?” Angel inquired. “I’m confused. Do we get this Dink guy or not?”
“Yeah. Send the car,” Lorne advised. “If Harmony changes her mind we can always plop the kid on Leno for an quickie interview and then get a flock of video vixens to walk the red carpet with him. It’ll work out.”
“Show business sure is complicated.” Angel dialed down to the garage to relay the instructions.
“The guy’s already braved a tank of piranha in pursuit of his tackle. I think he’ll do just fine in Hollywood.” Lorne winked and flipped open his cell phone to dial the hot commodity of the moment, Mr. Nibbler. “Dink! Baby! It’s Lorne from HQ. This is your lucky day, stud…”
With breathless haste, Wesley flew down the stairs toward Harmony’s office.
Angel jumped to his feet and hung up the phone. “She’s in a meeting, Wesley.”
Wesley slowed to a standstill and stared through the windows. He saw the entwined figures of Harmony and Marcus Hamilton executing the sensual intricacies of the tango with blood thirsty precision.
“My word, ballroom dancing?” Wesley checked his watch. Where had the day gone?
“Did you want to leave a message?” Angel grabbed his message pad and stood at the ready.
“Uh?” Wesley couldn’t pry his eyes from the vision before him. He had to admit that Harmony and Hamilton made a striking couple.
“Message?” Angel repeated.
“Oh yes! I’ve just translated a prophecy.”
“Uh huh.” Angel figured it was something like that. Wesley was always translating something or other.
“I thought Harmony would want to be informed.” Wesley squared his shoulders before enunciating further. “It could mean the destruction of the earth plane as we know it.”
“Really?” Angel looked down at his cheery pink “While you were out” pad and knew it didn’t have enough room for the particulars of a wordy Wesley message. “Why don’t I just put: apocalypse pending, love Wesley?”
“Will she get the gist of ominous doom from that? And “love Wesley” seems a trifle too familiar, don’t you think?”
“Trust me, Wesley, I know Harmony. She’s all about the feel good team vibes. What? Don’t you love her?”
“Well, I’ve never really thought in those terms but now that you mention it, I do have strong feelings of admiration and regard for our fearlessly fashionable leader. She’s done a superb job at the helm of Wolfram and Hart and deserves nothing less than my complete and utter loyalty.”
“She really does.” Angel agreed.
“This prophecy needs her prompt attention,” Wesley emphasized as he stared into the big office. “And sooner would be preferable than later.”
“Hamilton won’t be long,” Angel explained. “They’ll tango for a while and then move to a more, um, specific briefing then he’ll be off to conference with the higher ups, or whatever it is he does around here.”
“I fail to see what she sees in that man.” Wesley could not contain his contempt for Hamilton. “He’s insufferable.”
“He is a snappy dresser.” Angel wasn’t above a little suit and shiny shoes envy, especially when it was Armani. No question, the man could wear a suit.
“There’s no denying that.” Venom seethed from Wesley.
Charles Gunn sauntered off the elevator and headed over to Angel’s desk. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“Hamilton is in with Harmony.” Wesley’s information wasn’t necessary. High pitched wails of undiluted rapture rose from inside Harmony’s office as soon as the dancing couple spun beyond the sight lines of the three observers.
“Again?” Gunn quirked an eyebrow. “They’re going at it pretty hot and heavy these days.”
Urgent squeals drifted out to the office commons. Harmony’s unrestrained voice could be heard distinctly. “Give it to me! I want it! Give it to me! Now! Now! NOW!” The men looked at each other uncomfortably. Gunn traced the seam at the edge of his briefcase with his thumb.
“Harmony needs to be totally relaxed in order to work to her full potential,” Angel explained needlessly. Harmony often met in seclusion with Hamilton. Inexplicably, he made her happy. Sounds of Harmony’s ecstatic happiness wafted from her office.
“How have you been, Wes?” Gunn made an effort not to appear too much like a voyeur.
“I’m good, Charles. Just a nasty spot of apocalypse heading our way but other than that I can’t complain. How about yourself?”
“Same old, same old. I’m up to my ears in Lorne’s imploding starlets.”
“Sounds fascinating. Say, we really should get together for a barbecue sometime. Fred’s got this fabbo recipe for baby back ribs. It’s to die for, Charles.”
“Barbecue? Just tell me when and I’m there.”
Angel stood stiffly as his eyes darted from Wesley back to Gunn. A barbecue sounded great but it didn’t look as if his invitation was pending any time soon. When the door to Harmony’s office swung open all thoughts of baby back ribs fled Angel’s head.
Marcus Hamilton emerged taking a deep, calming breath. He looked immaculate. Not a fiber or hair out of place. Nothing betrayed the bout of suspiciously salacious activity he’d just enjoyed.
“We’ll go over those specifics tonight, Miss Kendall.” His booming voice filled the lobby.
“Okey-dokey,” Harmony giggled in the doorway. She tossed her voluminous curls back over her shoulders and nibbled on the caramel nougat chocolate bar she’d successfully wrestled from Hamilton’s pocket. “I’m certain I’ll be able to fit you in, Marcus.”
“The man never breaks a sweat,” Wesley hissed a whisper. “It’s inhuman.”
Hamilton stared at Angel, Wesley and Gunn and then turned to Harmony. He bared his teeth and growled softly at her. Harmony blew him a kiss which he caught and placed in his breast pocket. A quick pivot turned him back toward his unintended audience.
“Gentlemen, I bid you good day.” Hamilton sauntered toward the elevator and was gone.
“Harmony? Do you have a moment for an impending apocalypse?” Wesley spoke up hopefully.
“Oh, not today Wesley.” Harmony managed a pout and began to close the door.
“Well, not actually today.” Wesley tried to clarify but he knew the glazed look on Harmony’s face too well. No more business decisions would be made this day.
“Dink Nibbler?” Angel’s voice strained toward the door.
“Cancel all my appointments, Angel,” Harmony ordered. “And get Toy and his team over here pronto. My hair needs to be perfect for tonight.”
Angel nodded and sprang to the phone. That directive meant summoning the buff ‘n’ fluff squad from Harmony’s favorite spa and an afternoon crammed with all manner of waxing, make-up application and hair sculpting, topped off with some personal shopping time over at Jimmy Choos ‘R’ Us. Angel was going to be run off his feet again. Being the power behind the power at Wolfram and Hart required single-minded dedication and commitment.
And a fully charged cell phone.