Chapter 7. Author's note: I'm sorry this is late, but I've been really busy with both schoolwork and the play that I was in, and for some reason I had a good deal of writer's block. My apologies! Votes and comments - especially comments - would make me extremely happy...oh, and dedicated to prettyasapicture because she always votes, on every single chapter! Thanks so much!

"Um, Mr. Harrington?" Aaron heard a voice ask.

He looked up from what he was doing, which was smoothing his hair in the reflection of a compact mirror.

"Yes, Barbara?" he asked, seeing one of the new interns looking at him nervously.

"You're using my mirror, sir," she said, pointing to it.

Aaron looked down. As he'd been walking through the office late Monday evening to check up on his underlings - something he hadn't done in a long time, but which seemed to make them both nervous and surprised - he'd seen a gorgeous little compact mirror sitting in a cubicle and had snagged it, meaning to check his reflection.

"Of course," he said, putting all his suave charm into the words as he noticed the glass was engraved with the name "Barbara".

"Not at all, sir," she said, her voice becoming less agitated as she smiled warmly. "And might I say that you look very handsome?"

Brian, who had just joined them, papers in hand, looking ready to interrupt, looked surprised. More than surprised. With his jaw brushing the rug and his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets, he looked as though someone had just told him that the earth was flat.

And Aaron knew why. It was because Barbara, though she did not know it, had committed a huge mistake. Everyone else in the office knew that it was a crime punishable with as close to death as Aaron was legally allowed to dish out to be familiar with him.

And she'd called him handsome. Normally, that sort of friendly insubordination would earn one a verbal scourging.

But Aaron just smiled at her. "I do, don't I?" he purred, stroking one hand through his pale hair, marvelling as he remembered that Anne had commended it so many times.

Barbara smiled, and this time Aaron took offense. Not because her words were any different, not because he has suddenly realized that he, the tyrant, was meant to be shouting at her, not exchanging pleasantries, but because her tone and posture shifted.

"Very, very, handsome. Sir," she added, her voice coy and winsome as she leaned forward, exposing cleavage between a truly spectacular pair of breasts.

Aaron's lip curled at the woman's flirting.

Pathetic bitch, he thought viciously, clenching his teeth. She took a step back, and based on that, Aaron knew that his expression must have been fearsome. Can't she see I'm not interested?

"That's enough," he growled. "Go back to work."

She, her eyes wide with fear, confusion, and hurt, but backed away, throwing him an unhappy gaze over her shoulder.

After a moment, Brian seemed to have deemed it safe to approach, for he tiptoed up to Aaron. He all but clicked his heels and saluted as he stood at attention beside Aaron, flinching slightly away as though worried Aaron might swing his fist.

"Yes, Brian? This had better be quick. I'm meeting someone at seven thirty." Aaron glanced at the clock it was not quite seven ten as he made his way back to his office, Brian in tow.

"Ms-" began Brian

"If Ms. Hardwick has called me again, so help me I will honestly jump out this window," snarled Aaron, gesturing to his office window as he slammed the door angrily.

"It was Ms. Graeme," said Brian, his voice soft.

"Oh. Good," said Aaron. He grinned at Brian, his anger replaced by happiness so fast it was disconcerting, even for him. "What did she say?"

"She said that you ought to be at least fairly well dressed," said Brian.

"That's a given. Anne's a woman of taste," bragged Aaron.

"There's something else," said Brian.

When Aaron quirked his eyebrow quizzically, Brian took a deep breath.

"She says that if you even think of showing up with any alcohol in your bloodstream, and I'm quoting directly from her now" - Brian took out a slip of paper from his breast pocket - "'If you so much as eat one of those brandy-filled chocolates, let alone have a sip of the bourbon I know you have in your desk drawer, so help me I will never speak to you again.'"

Aaron began to laugh. "Oh, she's got nothing to worry about. Thanks, Brian."

Brian nodded and moved to depart.

"Oh, and Brian?" he said.

"Yes, sir?" asked the man, hovering at the door.

"Go home. I'm sure Sheila-"

"Shelly," corrected Brian.

Aaron shook his head, not fazed by the fact he'd gotten Brian's wife - the wife of a man he'd known for years - wrong. "I'm sure she wants to see you. I think I've made you neglect her. So go home and spend some time with her," he said. "You love her, and if you ever let go of her, you'll be sorry."

Brian smiled. "Of course," he said, and left Aaron contemplating the wisdom of his own words.

Then he glanced at the clock and gave a yelp. If he didn't get a move on, he was going to be late.

However, he managed to make it there precisely at the stroke of seven thirty-five. Perfectly late, "fashionably" so, as Anne had always said, Aaron walked into the restaurant. As his eyes swept the tables for the tell-tale chestnut head that belonged to Anne, his eyes landed instead on a head even more lovely.

Aaron had to chuckle. Even he, a man, could recognize Dorian's arresting beauty as something astonishing. The man was the fucking epitome of good looks. He outdid Aaron by a long shot, even outdid the pretty, brunette woman sitting beside him with her dark eyes trained on Aaron.

Now his chuckle turned to a sigh. As he approached the table, he tried to arrange his features into an apologetic expression for Marta. Though, he supposed, there wasn't much he could do to apologize for what a horse's ass he'd been. Not that he particularly wanted to apologize for it, either.

"Aaron," said Dorian, standing and grasping his hand in a firm shake. "How are you?"

"Awful," he laughed. He peered carefully into Dorian's crystalline blue eyes. Would the man be angry for the way he had treated Marta? "What about you?"

The pair of them sat, Dorian and Aaron side by side, across from Marta and an empty seat, and Dorian chuckled. "Never been better."

"Of course," grinned Aaron. He was aware of a strange feeling beginning to spread through him. It was almost a happy, satisfied one. But that was impossible. There was no way that seeing one of his friends, someone he hadn't seen since Anne had dumped him, could make him feel like that. "You're always doing well."

"Hello, Aaron," said Marta, interrupting them.

Aaron sent a cold little glance her way. "Marta," he replied, with a nod of his head.

"Got your message, by the way," she said. She did not look up at Aaron as she said it, but instead down at her serviette, fiddling with it before tucking it into her lap. "Is that how you respond to everyone who calls you at work?"

"Pretty much," he shot back.

"That's odd," she snapped. Aaron's eyebrows rose. Never, in his three years of taking Marta's unrequited love for him for granted, had she ever been short with him. As much as he most definitely deserved her anger, he had never got it until now. "If Anne called you at work, would you tell her to fuck off?"

"No," he said bluntly.

Marta bit her lip, looking upset.

Dorian, his pretty face twisted with either unhappiness or discomfort, quickly changed the subject. "Speaking of her, where the hell is she? It isn't like her to be late," he said, craning his neck awkwardly in search of her.

"Maybe Jack...ah...held her up," muttered Marta, putting emphasis on the word "hold" to twist its meaning. With a sadistic little smile, she looked up at Aaron. "He's always doing that. She never seems to mind, either."

Aaron jerked back in astonishment. "Since when did you become cruel?" he retorted, feeling the words slip out before he could stop them. It was surprise that made him say it; Marta, in all the time he had known her, had always been the very model of sweet, albeit teasing kindness.

"Marta's always been a wicked little bitch underneath that adorable exterior, haven't you, sis?" Dorian said quickly. Behind the roguish chuckle and the affectionate ruffle of Marta's hair, Aaron could sense his nervousness.

However, it seemed to pacify Marta a touch, as she smiled at Dorian before peevishly exclaiming: "When was I ever a wicked little bitch to you?"

Dorian laughed and drew the attention of at least four women and two men, who all stared at him, mouths agape. "Do you remember that time you replaced my shampoo with moisturizer and made me hideously ugly before I caught on?"

Marta began to giggle, and even Aaron was transfixed by the beauty of the sound.

"I do," she replied. "But that was only because I was very angry. You deserved it."

"I'm sure Dorian deserved anything you did to him," chimed in a new voice.

Aaron looked up to see Anne standing before them. In that moment, though her beauty was lovely, she seemed to surpass every single other being in the room. Marta's and Dorian's loveliness seemed to fade like flickering light bulbs before the pure, heavenly aura Anne exuded.

He was sure he was gaping as she sat down next to Marta, pecked her on the cheek, and then smiled at Dorian.

"I do not deserve anything, Annie," said Dorian, pretending to be affronted.

Anne rolled her eyes before they came to rest on Aaron. He was sure that she gave him more than just a once-over as she settled herself in.

"Oh, come on," huffed Marta, her cruelty replaced by her usual verve. "You're a pain in the ass, Dorian. You deserve everything anyone could dish out."

"It's true," Anne chimed in, her words almost running into Marta's. "You're so irritating that anything that Marta could do to you would be entirely justified."

Aaron smiled a little. It was astonishing to see how Marta and Anne - once rivals for his love, though Anne had not known it for a long time, and still rivals for his affection - were as thick as thieves. Somehow, Marta still loved Anne though she was the woman Aaron would always want, always pick above her. And Anne still loved Marta, despite her attempts at winning over Aaron in the past.

Women are strange, he thought.

No, he answered himself. It's not a gender thing. It's that Marta and Anne are grownups. They don't let one person get in the way of their relationship.

"Why are you so late?" he found himself snarling at Anne.

She raised her eyebrows coolly, obviously not impressed with his tone. "It's none of your business," she said, voice reserved.

Dorian coughed into his napkin, but his cough bore a striking resemblance to the words "fucking Jack".

Aaron's fists clenched. Marta's face tightened in what looked like anger as she shot Dorian a vicious look. Aaron wasn't sure whether the anger was over Dorian's unkind baiting of Aaron, or whether she was jealous.

"Charming, Dorian," said Anne, rolling her eyes again. "But just because you can't keep your dick in your pants doesn't mean we all lack restraint."

Marta and Dorian both burst out laughing, Dorian not seeming to mind that the humour was at his expense. The waitress, who had just delivered their menus, looked at them a bit warily, but went about her business anyway.

"No, really, Annie, where were you?" asked Marta, her pretty face - one that Aaron was not loath to admit was lovely - bright and happy, as it always bad been before Aaron had dragged her down into his own misery.

"I dropped my rings behind the freezer in the basement," confessed Anne, holding up her left hand. For the first time, Aaron noticed the glittery rings that sat as a testament to Jack's love on her ring finger. The diamonds were not as big as the ones he'd given her, he noted.

"You're so clumsy," Dorian chided affectionately.

She shrugged, smiling ruefully. "Anyway, it took me ages to get them out. Jack wasn't home, so I had to try to move the freezer myself. Then when I couldn't, I had to ask a neighbour to help me. Needless to say, it took ages."

Aaron breathed a sigh of relief.

Dinner passed quickly. Aaron stared at Anne most of the time, watching how she moved, how she spoke, how she laughed. He barely listened to what anyone said. All he noticed was how beautiful she was.

Though, once or twice, he did take note of how she nudged Marta and made her speak, or exchanged a crafty glance with Dorian. And he, knowing Anne well enough, knew that she was plotting something.

But when Anne and Dorian said in perfect unison that, at the end of the meal, they were leaving, Aaron knew what it was.

 "You're trying to set me up with Marta," he hissed in Anne's ear as she bent over to kiss his cheek. He was seated at the table, and she, coat thrown over her shoulders, almost ready to leave.

"I am, sweetheart," she murmured, and Aaron noticed once again the use of the endearment she must have learned from Jack as they had never used it towards each other. "It will be good for you, and good for her. Please, try and make yourselves happy."

"Come on, Anne," said Dorian, patting Anne's elbow.

As Anne was pulled away from him by Dorian, Aaron saw her shoot a pleading look his way.

And so, with a sigh, Aaron turned to Marta, who was glaring at him.

"You look very pretty tonight, Marta." They were the only words he could manage.

"You were only staring at Anne," she replied. Though she sounded adorably miffed, he could hear some sadness in her voice. For the first time since Anne had left him, Aaron felt pity for her. It was strange, but he'd never pitied her at any other time, not when he'd fucked and used her, but now, seeing her jealousy of Anne, he was moved.

"You were sitting next to Anne," he volleyed back.

Marta's lips turned up at the corners as he watched her quickly suppress a smile, frowning petulantly. "Why did you tell me to fuck off, when I was just trying to help?" asked Marta.

Aaron was silent. He could not meet her eyes, and so he stared at his hands instead.

"I put up with your shit for three years, Aaron. And for some reason I still want to put up with it!" she snapped. Even in her snappishness, Marta's voice was high and charming. It did not have the musical quality that Anne's did, but it was still pleasant.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, unbending his masculine pride for those two little words. He did not want to apologize - though he was very sorry indeed -  but he knew it was what Anne would have wanted.

He looked up to see her breast heaving with anger as she glared at him. Her dark eyes sparkled with anger and she glowered at him with more ire than seemed able to fit in her small body.

"Bullshit," she growled. It was more a yip, really. "You've been letting me take care of you for three years and you just now tell me you're sorry?"

Aaron looked back down at his hands.

"So, Anne waltzes back into your life and all of a sudden you're a changed man?" she snarled. "Did she really make you that fucked up, Aaron?"

Aaron looked up at her, any apologetic humour long gone. Without another word, he removed a few bills from his wallet, slammed them down into the tray containing the bill, and left the restaurant.

He had taken only a few steps onto the street when he heard her calling for him plaintively.

"Aaron, Aaron, wait!" she cried.

Hearing the patter of her footsteps reach him, he turned around.

"I don't need to apologize for how Anne fucked me up," he told her, staring down at her diminutivefigure. "That's not my fault, and don't you dare say it is!"

With that he turned and began to walk again.

"I didn't mean it like that!" pleaded Marta. She was now trotting beside him, half-running in order for her short legs to keep up with his long strides. "I was hurt, Aaron, and you can't deny that you hurt me!"

By this time, Aaron had reached his car. "No, I won't," he said, turning on her. She bounced back a few steps, eyes wide with fear. "I was awful to you, and as hard as it is for me to admit it, I'm sorry. You know why I wasn't sorry before? I didn't care! I didn't give a flying toss about myself, let alone the woman who let me fuck her when I was sad and lonely and horny! But Anne, even in the four days that she's been back, has made me care again! So don't try to blame me for being sorry now. Blame me for what I did then, not for how I am now!"

Aaron reached the end of his tirade out of breath. As he panted, gasping for air, his eye fell on Marta. She, with her face turned up, regarding him, struck a very pretty pose. The darkness and the street lamp over head dyed her hair and eyes a shimmering black, and bleached her skin a translucent white. She looked ethereal and beautiful.

Ethereal, he thought with a detached air. That's got to be one of Anne's words.

"Oh," was all she said. She said it through parted lips that looked very soft.

And so Aaron, without fully knowing what he was doing, leaned forward and kissed her. It was not a soft, possibly accidental brush of lips, but a deep, passionate one. Marta, seeming to be wary for a moment, eventually stretched up on tiptoe and sighed into the embrace.

When he drew back, Aaron was confused. That was not only because he didn't really understand why he had kissed Marta, but also because when he opened his eyes, he expected to be staring into Anne's blue eyes, not Marta's dark ones.

"Aaron," whispered Marta.

It only served to confuse him even more. He heard the winsome desire that Anne used to have, but with Marta's voice.

"Marta," he breathed back, astounded that that was the name he had uttered.

"Do you want to...come over?" she asked. She hid her eyes as she asked, the darkness not concealing the pink blush that spread over her face. She sounded like a teenage virgin beguiling her all-too-willing boyfriend, not like a twenty-six-year-old entreating a man she knew to be in love with another woman.

Knowing that Anne wanted him to move on, and finding Marta far from repugnant, he smiled as suavely as he could.

"Yes," he said, and pecked her lips. It earned him an even pinker blush. "I'll drive."

"Okay," she squeaked.

Aaron felt a little uncomfortable when she took his hand and squeezed it, but quickly shook it off.

On the quick drive to Marta's - Aaron had to ask for directions as he did not know the way - Aaron managed to steal a few glances over at her. Seeing her sitting there, enthusiasm rolling off her in waves, he tried to make himself attracted to her.

She really was very pretty, as she was in possession of a lovely face and a stunning figure, complete with a slender waist, a adorable little behind, and a pair of shapely legs, Aaron could not find himself any more than physically attracted to her.

Oh well, he sighed internally, as they both got out of the car in front of Marta's apartment building.That's good enough for her, and so it's going to be good enough for me.

So Aaron let Marta take him by the hand and drag him inside. She shot him coy little looks as they waited in the elevator, and then simpered for a while as she slowly took out her key and unlocked the door.

Her sluggishness was gone the moment she shut the door behind them, though. In the almost total darkness of her apartment, she threw herself at Aaron, jumping up and twining her legs around his waist.

He kissed her hungrily. He had been longing for human contact and now that Marta was there to provide it, he was impatient.

"You're light as a feather," he grunted as they danced backwards.

He heard her laugh at the same time she removed his shirt and tie in a few fluid motions. "Thanks," she said, and kissed him again.

Giving her hair a bit of a tug and eliciting a gasp from her, Aaron traced his lips down her throat and to her sternum, where he nuzzled his mouth between her pert breasts and her gasp turned into a moan.

When she hugged his head to her, Aaron bit his lips, about to address her again by the wrong name. But, restraining himself, he pushed his way into what he thought was a bedroom, tossed Marta down on the bed, and climbed in with her.

She ended up moaning his name countless times, though he could never bring himself to say hers. To say it would have felt like adultery. But, right at the very end, he did look directly into her eyes and say, without meaning it in the slightest:

"I love you."