The Moira assault, as Brian had christened the first step in the scheme to win her over, was scripted to begin at the annual dinner for the city's top entrepreneurs, of which Barton Weston was currently number one. WesCat had a ten thousand dollar table in front of and to the right of the judge's table on the dais. The hall was sold out to the captains of the industry and their minions, all eager to bask in the media coverage of the event. Attendance was mandatory and so Miriam and Myles, Peter and one of his plastic models, a stag Brian and lastly Moira, all joined Barton for his night of recognition.

Speech after speech droned on through the evening and the wine flowed more freely as the time dragged on until at last the presentations were made, creating another interminable round of repetitive thanks, then the tables were cleared and a large band set up for the dance portion of the evening. Immediately, the ladies all fled in a group to the restroom, leaving the men to stretch their legs, light cigars and enjoy various liqueurs.

The lounge was packed with chattering wives and partners busily reconstructing hair and makeup. After several minutes the crowd thinned and the WesCat group of women took their turn at the sinks and mirrors.

"That was so nice for Barton," Miriam cooed as she touched up her immaculate makeup in the gold-flecked mirror under the pink lighting, cannily installed to softened complexions and soothe tender egos.

"I suppose," Moira agreed. "He's got shelves of trophies both at home and at the office. Why he needs more of the damned things..."

"Gee, I'd love to get stuff like that," Peter's model chimed in, filling the air between the women with a cloud of Elizabeth Arden from a pencil-shaped dispenser. "Says you are somebody, don't you think?"

"There are trophies and there are trophies, dear." Miriam remarked with frosty condescension.

"Well, all I know is that it's pretty neat to have people recognize your value." The model gathered up her purse, fluffed her hair, pouted in the mirror and left.

"Peter could do so much better, don't you think?"

"Depends what he's after, I suppose." Miriam scowled at the departing woman.

"Hmm, so right, Miriam. So right."

"Speaking of being after something, should I be concerned about you over this merger rumour?"

Moira jerked her head around, almost writing her lipstick across her face. "What? What do you mean, concerned about me?"

"About the possible balance of shares you control if it comes to a vote."

"I really don't think that's any of your business, Miriam. Besides, as far as I am aware you don't have any personal investment in WesCat."

Miriam smiled and looked down. "No, not directly. But Myles does-just a little-and he's been a bit of a nuisance at home lately with all the talk."

"What talk?" Moira wiped the mess off and began again, keeping an eye on Miriam in the mirror. "Are you saying that there's talk going around about me? If I remember correctly, you were the one that called me and mentioned-"

"No, no. The company, dear." Miriam put her cosmetics away and snapped her purse shut. "I'm just saying that Myles seems very concerned about the possibility of a change at the company. He always feels a little insecure when there is a big change. Maybe you could do me favour and have a chat with him, explain your position should things come to a head."

"Maybe I should remind you, Miriam that I don't really have to discuss anything with anyone about the business except my husband." Moira put her own makeup bag away and faced Miriam brazenly.

"Perhaps you should rethink that situation, my dear." Miriam said with a trace of acid as she gave herself a final appraisal in the mirror and left the lounge.

"Aah, the return of the angels." The men all stood as the women preened appreciatively and retook their seats. "Everything come out all right?"

"Oh Peter..." The model shrugged a ditzy grin and she gave his arm an effeminate slap.

"Come Moira," Barton arose, hand extended. "Time to partake in my victory dance." She set her purse on the table and with a distrustful look at Miriam, allowed Barton to spin her away aggressively and carelessly into the crowd.

"Typical Barton," Brian tutted, draining his liqueur glass.

Miriam leaned over and touched his arm. "Give them a minute or two and then go and rescue her. Moira would certainly be most grateful."

"You mean cut in on my senior partner."

"Why not? Nothing ventured, Brian." He held her eyes for a moment, smiling and wondering again, then left the table and crossed the dance floor.

The lights dimmed and a slow ballad seemed to further blur the effects of cocktails, dinner wines and liqueurs, giving the room a dreamy ambience. Couples shuffled clumsily on the crowded floor and Moira suddenly sensed that her new partner was interested in a little more than a slow, two-step. She leaned her head back and looked into his eyes, feeling the force of his interest and when his lips parted in a provocative smile she couldn't resist answering with one of her own.

"Enjoying yourself?" He dropped his hand slightly on her back and pressed.

"I think I am now," she said feeling suddenly daring and lightheaded as she boldly leaned against him.

"Oh?" He remarked with interest. "Does this mean all my hard work has begun to pay off?"

She pulled back. "Hard work?"

"Yes, dancing with all those old fart's wives and giving them the jolly talk?" She laughed and quickly glanced across the room to her husband. "You worried about Barton?" Moira blushed and hid it by resting her face on his shoulder.

"He can be... sensitive... to certain situations."

Brian pulled her close again and she showed only the slightest resistance. "Surely a corporate function dance can't be viewed as something suspicious, can it? I mean, we're just dancing." He made a slow turn, pressing her to him.

"Are we, Brian... just dancing?"

They moved silently around the floor, locked in their own thoughts, unaware of the other dancers until the sound of voices behind them caused them to separate quickly.

"Such a lovely couple. Wonderful party isn't it, you must be very proud of Barton." Myles canted his head and smiled at Moira, freezing it as he directed it to Brian. "Brian." Brian nodded politely.

"Yes, of course, but these things are never much fun really." Moira gave Miriam a pointed look.

"Fun is where you find it, dear. " Miriam offered, letting her eyes stray over the couple.

"Might I have the pleasure of a few turns about the floor, Moira?" Myles released his wife, took Moira's hand and swept her away into the crowd of dancers.

"May I, or would you rather sit and have a drink?" Brian slipped a hand over Miriam's arm.

"I think a drink might be just the ticket, thank you." She cocked her head and allowed him to lead her from the floor.

A few women and one man, who seemed to be holding sway with renditions of office gossip from the various companies represented, occupied the sitting room off the main ballroom. Brian and Miriam moved unnoticed to a loveseat in quiet corner behind a lonely looking baby grand piano.

"Moira has become most popular since the merger talks began." She goaded him without disguise.

"As I recall, your comments suggested such tactics."

"And do you have a sense of victory yet, Brian?"

"You don't expect much, do you? I was beginning to just as you and Myles interrupted."

"Aah, and was that about her vote or her conquest?" She teased maliciously.

"You have an evil mind, Miriam. Let's just say I'm priming her for old Myles. Once she agrees he's the one responsible for the legalities." Miriam's face tightened and she looked away for a moment.

"He is next, isn't he? I mean, Peter's had a go and I'm up to bat at the moment..."

"You have an evil mind yourself, Brian. I'm just the wife of a man who might be shouldered aside if WesCat merges with someone. I think I have a right to be concerned."

"Concerned... I believe your ah- investment will be safe and secure." He said without alacrity, excusing himself and returning to the main room.