Fire Meets Fire``Adrienne:INACTIVE

[mabs]

Of all things, Reed was not a gossiping man. He didn't care for the ridiculous speculations (though most of them surrounded him these days), and hardly had the patience or time for them. He had a firm to manage and deals to make and spin,and money to toss around like it was confetti. And naturally, he was his public relations director's worst nightmare.

However, that morning he was greeted by a particularly miserable bit of literature opened and circled in red on his desk. Thanks to Kelly Kirkland, of course, that miserable PR woman who detested him so. But the content of the article, and to be honest its audience as well, shocked Reed. Often he'd been seen splashed across the Times or the Wall Street Journal, and often the articles remarked on his incredibly ruthless prowess as a corporate lawyer. Occasionally, his likeness was tipped into the gossip columinsts' inkwell, but never named specifically. This however was a comletely different story altogether.

"Bravo, Armstrong. A headline in the most read column of Plush magazine. You've reached a new level of ass in the hearts of New York women," came a familiar voice, and Reed rubbed his face before turning to Kelly, who's small stature and petite sounding voice hardly mirrored her horribly large (and often surly) attitude in concern of Reed's penchant for attracting the media.

Reed didn't say a word before he rose in anger, unsure as to what he would do now. He was always at his office early, and he was certain he'd make it to the office of this insufferable Adrienne Heart by the time she would roll into its doors. He called his driver and directed him to the building that housed the Plush business, and for once Reed was quite silent.

He detested the media in truth. Columnists in particular.

Reed used his charms and his strong arm of power to get escorted to the tartly little woman's office to wait for her, and he glanced about the place. The tone of the article screamed that the woman was of the Sex and the City variety, long legs and a large mouth exercising the power of her words and influence over others to make up for the lack of power she held over men. Or something equally ridiculous. However, the crowded, cluttered office space Reed was escorted to did not reflect that at all.

Reed was unsure how long he waited, and he shuffled about the room, taking to the woman's chair to flip through the things on her desk, satisfying his curiosity as much as he peaked the rest of the office's. It seemed that in no more than fifteen minutes, half the place was gathered about the office window, trying to sneak a look at the well dressed Reed Armstrong in the tartly columnist's office. But where the devil was she?

Reed had his feet propped up beside a computer on the only clear space of desk the room provided, and he was flipping through yet another folder of what looked to be musing writings, things that never made the magazine it seemed. And he kept his eyes down as he heard the door swing open, arrogantly assuming that the woman had finally made her appearance to work.

"I should sue you for emotional and irreparable damages, Miss Heart," Reed mused in a decidedly bored and arrogant tone of voice, his eyes still trained on the writings in his lap. Well they were quite good. If he was of a mind to admit it. And he was not.

[rocky]

Adrienne Heart was never on time. These days she didn't even make the pretence of it, Frank's complaints on the subject always fell upon deaf ears, and even he had to grudgingly admit that in order to write a successful column on dating in New York, one often had to go dating, in New York.

With such an active night life she often didn't get to bed until it was much too late. This was the first day there had been a welcoming committee waiting for her, however. The office girls were Adrienne's biggest fans and her worst nightmare -- they exemplified the women who read her column, women who usually sneered at Adrienne herself, and they tended to give back handed compliments like wow, you're such a good writer. Who knew that you understood what it's like, to be a woman?

Today they were bubbling with excitement over the fact that Reed Armstrong is in your office. Ade couldn't tell if it was schadenfraude or genuine girly glee, but either way she was unimpressed with it. She arrived that morning in a pair of battered, torn up jeans (torn in the right places, that was -- if there was one thing to be said about Greenwich Village it was that they knew how to cheesegrater a pair of jeans), a black t-shirt with a ribcage bleached into it, and her traditional pair of chucks. Her orange hair was swept back in a ponytail, and her arms were decorated with numerous chunky bracelets. If he had been expecting Carrie Bradshaw, it was the very furthest from the concept that she could be.

The image of her that went long with her column was perhaps the most misleading advertising in Plush. They had stripped her hair of the bleach and dyed it a natural brassy red colour, and she had been made up, and prodded and squeezed and poked into a slinky little number and a pair of heels; she'd enjoyed it, for the day. But it wasn't who she was.

Adrienne was not thinking about what she was wearing, however. She was thinking about what he was wearing -- some sort of very expensive Italian loafer, from the looks of it, propped up on her desk. Her office had a glass wall at the front of it -- which made for very little privacy. It also meant that Elaine, the editor, despaired over the fact that everybody could see the clutter. Adrienne paid her no mind whatsoever.

She opened the door and breezed in, closing the door behind her, to the bitter disappointment of the interns, who had all poked their heads up like meerkats to watch.

"I should sue you for emotional and irreparable damages, Miss Heart."

"You should get your feet off my desk," Adrienne countered. "And then use them, to get out of my office."

It was then that she realised he'd been rummaging, and lost her cool a little -- she leaned across the desk and took the folder from him, glancing into it and rolling her eyes before she snapped it shut, eyebrow raised.

[mabs]

To say that Reed was shocked by the image of the woman before him now would be an understatement. She was attractive, Lord she was, but she covered her natural beauty with all amounts of...things. The dyed hair, the wretched shoes, the destroyed jeans. Reed almost physically shuddered at the look of her outfit. Though he was drawn directly to her face when she snatched up the folder he'd been pilfering through, her scathing remark amusing him. He made no attempt to move.

"You are an excellent writer, Miss Heart," Reed continued in his unaffected tone. "What was that line you used?" Reed reached to pick up the recent copy of Plush on Miss Heart's desk, flipping to the column that had angrily greeted him that morning. "The other major Deal Reed Armstrong has been negotiating this month has been his Divorce, which was settled with an unDisclosed figure behind closed doors on Friday. I'm sure there's a tasteless joke here about lawyers and heartlessness, but for the sake of Dignity, I shall refrain." Reed's playful attitude melted and he looked at her with a certain air of irritation in his face, much like his father possessed years ago when he did something silly or frivolous.

"I hardly see why my personal matters are of any consequence to your readers, Miss Heart," he mused, finally standing, but only to turned and peer and pilfer at the things surrounding her desk and office. He doubted the readers of Plus cared about his failed marriage as much as they cared about "20 Tips To Know He's Into You" or some other nonsense like that.

[rocky]

Adrienne was given pause, for a moment, as he got to his feet. He was tall, and that was somehow unexpected. It was bothersome, too, how at ease he seemed in her office, at her desk, and touching her things, as though he owned the place. Adrienne found him at once to be overbearing and insufferable, handsome in a way that he didn't deserve to be, and that was, she supposed, largely affected by the suit and the amount of products in his hair.

He had a deliberately sculpted five o'clock shadow that she knew he thought made him look roguish and devil-may-care. Adrienne thought it made him look as though he owned one of those designer stubble razors; the ones that didn't actually shave properly.

"I don't believe I published anything factually inaccurate," she batted back at him, her fingers drumming at her hip. "Nor did I reveal anything new, Mr Armstrong. It's a column, not an exposé. I think you'll find that's the extent of my journalistic duty."

What did he want her to do, exactly? She couldn't work out if he was there on the basis of PR or hurt feelings, but she would have been sceptical, had he tried to claim he was honestly emotionally damaged. As far as she knew, sharks didn't have emotions.

"And kindly stop going through my desk," she warned him, her tone anything but kind, "or I'll be forced to call security."

Their security was shocking, though. Dan was at least fifty years old, about fifty inches around, and usually AWOL. The threat was empty, though not for a lack of Adrienne's intention to carry it out.

[mabs]

She was an intriguing sort, that was certain enough. And Reed could hardly take his intense eyes off her as she spoke directly to him, matter of factly. His hands slid into the silk pockets of his trousers and he leaned against the desk his feet had been perched on moments before. He wore that devil-may-care smile just as he wore the attitude as well, and he hardly did care about much. And a snarky little columnist would hardly change that.

”I’ve never liked columnists much,” he mused in an unaffected way. ”They generally try to lend advice on things they know nothing about to women who would be better off assuming a nice pair of heels and a short skirt in order to get that ‘dream man’ they want.” Reed dismissed her security threat mentally, thinking that surely such a snarky little redhaired (or was it orange?) woman would hardly go through on it. In any case, he didn’t really care. Kelly would have his head for that though.

”Regardless, I feel I should take you out for a fine dinner, madame” he added in a sarcastic tone. ”You took care of the job of annoying the hell out of my publicist for me today. Perhaps I should draw up a contract for you to do so more often.” Reed’s words contained a healthy dose of sarcasm and amusement, though underneath the carefree words, it was obvious that he was pissed. This little woman would hardly make a laughing stock of him and his divorce. An ugly taint on his record of freedom.

[rocky]

"Mm, I don't think my article contained any advice. Would you like some advice? It seems as though you could do with some."

Adrienne didn't let his insults get to her -- if men like Reed Armstrong were in her target demographic she imagined the only thing she would be writing would be a suicide note. She didn't miss the sneering advice that he was giving her, however; he didn't like the way she was dressed.

Ass. She folded her arms and glared at him, wondering just exactly what it was that he wanted from her. She most certainly wasn't sorry, if this was what he was like then his wife had more than deserved her undisclosed divorce settlement -- imagine living with him!

"What do you expect me to do?" Adrienne shrugged standoffishly. "Everything in the magazine goes through the editor, and she approved it."

[mabs]

Reed chose to ignore her snarky comment on the editor too. He didn't really give a damn about the article anymore, and honestly it was good fun to watch Kelly get upset with him over his latest news scandal. Now he was toying with the oddly attractive woman, who seemed to want to spit on his Italian leather shoes if she had the chance.

"And just what sort of advice would you give me, Miss Heart?" he crooned out challengingly with a brow raised high and a healthy smirk on his face. Reed held his stance as he leaned against the desk, his primary objective morphing from causing her a bit of hell to flirting and perhaps persuading her into his comforts for a night or too. He wondered faintly what those long legs under her jeans looked like as his eyes glanced over them.

She was a potent little firebomb of sexuality, snesuality, and misplaced rebelliousness. Reed had never gone for the rebel type before (with the exception of a particularly hot girl in high school with guages and a nose piercing) but now he was strangely attracted by the messy, bright hair and the full, pouty lips. He slightly wondered if she was the liberated sort that her column screamed, liberated enough to take to a stand with him. He hoped so, and he wasn't the only one who did as his body felt restless as he casually watched her. Even immobile and irritated she was sexy as hell. What kind of woman was this anyhow?

[rocky]

"I would advise you to get out of my office," Adrienne said, and rolled her eyes. God. He was giving her that look - the look that said you think you don't like me, but you'll be banging me later. If she had met him under less combative circumstances that may well have been true, but her stubbornness was the only thing to outweigh her complete lack of judgement on that front, and Adrienne had little intention of letting him smirk his way into her pants.

"I would advise you that I am under no obligation to print a retraction on an opinion piece," she carried on, bracing her palms on the back of a chair, to lean forward and drive her point home. Blue eyes locked with dark green.

"And I would advise you, Mr. Armstrong, that if you don't like my opinion of you then it's on you to change my mind. You don't get to walk in here and threaten litigation until I think you're a good person, it doesn't work that way."

Or until she thought he was a real person. Reed Armstrong was a walking cliché, she thought irritably. If he thought she could be intimidated by idle threats and his cavalier disregard for her privacy in her own office, he was decidedly wrong.

"You can, however, look forward to my follow-up piece on corporate men with power and control issues. Tell your publicist I said hello."

[mabs]

Reed had finally pushed himself up off the desk and looked at the woman before him, watching her as he strode closer to her. He was invading her space, and he knew it but hardly cared about it. She was delightful when riled a little, as he was finding out. Reed smirked a little and leaned over her, his stature decidedly taller and broader than his, an image of masculinity.

"Maybe you're so used to having your legs in the air you don't realize it," he crooned out, his mouth upturned in a knowing, teasing smile, "But you're upside down here sister." 

Reed slipped away from her and towards the door his hand slipping out of his pocket to rest on the door. He didn't open it yet for the knowledge that the onlookers of the office were still far too interested in their exchange. 

"I'll be seeing you soon, Adrienne," he added with a wink before stepping haughtily out of the door in one smooth motion. There was a sort o familiarity and sensuality about his mouth and tone with his words when he said them as well. He was a player of the game, and a damn good one. And he knew it. 

[rocky]

Adrienne was speechless as he left the room, her blood thundering in her ears, her lips pressed into a sulky pout. Who the hell did he think he was? He had no right to pass any comment about her sexual liaisons, even if the comment struck upon a particularly sensitive nerve.

She despised the glass front of the office. It meant the only appropriate physical reaction to any degree of emotion was to affect nonchalance. She started to organise her desk, her face downturned so that nobody could catch either the hurt in her eyes, which was completely unwarranted (she barely knew the man, he had absolutely no right to be so under her skin) or the furious pout, on her lips.

As much as she tried to convince herself that she was invincible, and modern enough that sneering judgement on the subject of her sex life didn't bother her, it did. She didn't quite understand how she could be simultaneously validated and demoralised for the same act, and she didn't want to understand it.

Or how he could look at her as though he was mentally undressing her, and then tell her she was promiscuous as though she ought to be ashamed. She only made it worse by chastising herself for being hurt in the first place, and the more she thought about it the angrier she became. She stacked her papers a little more vigorously than she needed to.

She was going to have to sit there and do some work, for at least an hour, to maintain any degree of dignity.

Shit.