Tires squeal and I grin. Yes, when he crashes he'll have no distractions; no reason not to give me something to drink. Mr. Garrison's face registers an expression, one for the Guinness World Records: shock. His face contorts as he wrenches the wheel away from me and swerves onto the shoulder. The cars behind us blare their horns and passengers open their windows to hurl obscenities at us.

Under normal circumstances Mr. Garrison might've threatened them with dismemberment but now he just sits there, immobile, except for hands which methodically clench and release the steering wheel like it's some sort of stress ball. The happy, euphoric feeling I had evaporates like ice in the desert with on glance at his form and blazing expression.

It mightn't have been the smartest idea to pull the wheel away from him. He is the stingiest person I know, what made me think that he'd share his steering wheel with little ole me? Well whatever strange mechanism it was, it's lost its effect and I'm quivering in the wake of his deviation from his usual mannerism.

"I-"

In a flash he relinquishes the steering wheel and replaces it with me.

His strong arms latch onto my shoulders and he shakes me so violently that my shoulder collides with the door. His normally flat expression has vanished and is replaced with something much worse... something akin to a man possessed by a potent rage. Yep if that water makes him loose his cool, I'll never touch another drop again. In his dispassionate eyes, is a new fervour that blazes like a wild fire, spreading to the other parts of his anatomy.

His face morphs into a sneer and his brows furrow into the deepest frown I've ever born witness to. His arms continue to hold me in place even as his body vibrates with the force of his anger. I preferred him as the emotionless businessman... this is just too odd to be real.

By their own accord my hand drifts up and pokes the tip of his nose. His facial muscles spasm and I do it once more. Per usual, the third time is the charm. In all honestly I would've never dreamed of poking him like that, not even once... but something seems to have possessed me. He bats my hand away and slams himself back into his seat.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demands, his voice leeching uncharacteristic anger.

My traitorous hands try to poke him again, and my finger would've landed up in his nose if he hadn't caught it. Mm, his hand feels nice... the kind of hand you don't want to let go. Who would've thought it, that he could be the owner of such nice hands... I'm fairly positive that his nose would've been just as nice, granted, a bit more squalid but who cares.

"You'd have to ask my parents." I say in response to his query, "They're fundamentally muddled, they might've passed along some of those genes."

He remains silent, and I hate empty silence so I'm about to fill it, when his other hand clamps over my mouth and he glances out the window. I start humming against his hand... it sounds different, unlike the usual type of humming sound. My lips find enough purchase to curve into a smile. His hands really are useful.

"You're acting more deranged than any woman." He muses, then suddenly he grabs my face and places his at the same level. He's not going to... kiss me? That would be unprofessional, I would be honour bound to quit... I blink at him. He seems to be frozen. I knew it! He's one of those androids that've just hit the market, his maker just flipped his switch! But no, I'm not that lucky, he yanks my face even closer and places his eye directly in front of mine. "You've been drugged."

"Drugged?"

"Yes." He says, "By the water. It's making you woozy, I'll have to get you someplace where you can sleep it off. Where do you stay?"

Who cares where I stay. I'm exhausted from that thrilling chase, and there's no better place to rest than in here. I close my eyes and lean against the window, ignoring the annoying, agitated voice that's making ridiculous demands, "Don't you dare fall asleep!" like if he were in my position he'd be doing any different.



Hmm, my face is pressed against the softest thing I've ever felt. It must be some sort of new invention, my addled mind muses, it even emits heat. My heating pillow tries to escape but I'm smarter than it. I grab it and shove it under my cheek before it's able to elude me. I still continues tugging and I grasp it even tighter.

My eyes fly open as I realize what I've been using as bedding. Mr Garrison gazes at me with a wry expression, "If you've had an ample time to assault my hand, I need it back."

"Why am I here?" I ask.

I remember walking to work. How did I get here?

A concerned expression appears on his face, "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Walking to work."

He starts pacing back and forth, his fingers laced behind his head in a quiet panic. "You were drugged." He shakes his head, "You've become a target because of your association with me. Our working relationship cannot be allowed to continue."

No, the people who drugged me are far more likely to be searching for me than trying to spite him. Even though the last few hours of my memory has been eliminated, I can't let my job be as a result.

"Yes, yes it can." I say, "You have to admit, we work well together."

His face turns impassive, "So you wish to stay?"

I nod enthusiastically, "Just put me to work sir."

He considers me, then walks over to his desk, "Well you have wasted half a day, sleeping on my couch. I sit up, shaking off sleep and realize that I'm in his office. I take a minute to observe it; the last time, I was too busy checking him out for any breasts. It's clean, tidy, has no personal effects. If not for the plaque at the desk I'd think that this room was abandoned.

Rising, I test my balance, everything seems to be in order. Just my shoulder is a bit sore. I rub it, wondering what happened. Mr Garrison clears his throat uneasily... hmm, interesting.

"What happened to my shoulder?" I ask.

"You had an incident with my car." Oh, so informative... there's absolutely nothing left for me to be confused about.

"And your car attacked me?"

"Quite the opposite."

"I attacked your car." I say, "Well, that's certainly more believable."

"Indeed." He murmurs. "You were driving me mad."

"Oh, so nothing out of the ordinary."

"I suppose not."

He gestures to the chair in front of him.

"We have some business to go over."

"Is it that thing with Asia?" I ask, eagerly.

"Your suggestions had merit, but they still required a bit of... tweaking."

"Of course sir." I say, realizing that he's attempting a joke, "Without your input they would've resulted in monetary losses of epic proportions."

"Intelligent deduction." He pushes a stack of papers over to me and my eyes roam over them greedily. England has been buying up all the stock that was originally unique to Asia. Pottery, art, everything and England is selling it at a cheaper price than the Asians leading to a loss in sales.

I wonder why England has chosen this time to pillage their goods. The documents also state that Mr. Garrison has ordered an emissary from one of the companies to make a trip to North America to further discuss the issue.

"I am planning to purchase all the companies in England who are part of this counterfeit industry." He says, "Then I will liquidate their assets and dissolve the employees into one of my companies."

"Why don't you have any property in England?" I ask tentatively.

His expression darkens, "My only competitor has already purchased anything worth something, except the por-" he stands and almost vaults over the table in his haste to gain proximity to me, "How the hell you know about my properties?"

"There's an entire cupboard with papers with stuff indicating where you have assets." I say.

"And you've read them all?"

I wonder if I should be truthful, the fierce expression on his face indicates that something important is within those files. What does it matter what properties he occupies? He's probably richer than the king... hell, he could probably even buy his way into the throne, there's even a clause to support it. If the ruler's wealth is challenged, the challenger can take charge of the country in extreme financial situations.

This puts things into perspective. His insistence not to waste a cent.

"When's the extreme finical situation going to occur?"

His eyes flash in shock, or I hope it's shock. The only other emotion I can imagine him displaying at the moment is murderous rage and I'm not all that fond of it. I can tell that denial is about to escape his lips, but then he bangs his head against his fist. "Within a month."

"How are you going to do it?" there are probably many ways to trigger a great debt to a country, but all of them take time. Knowing his level of intelligence, it's probably something that I'm overlooking.

With his calm demeanour back in place, he walks past me and turns the lock on the door. Then he approaches me with determined steps until he's in my face, "I am your employer. You are here as my 'partner' so that I'm not under pressure from the media; they won't be able to say that I don't have a mediator. Your place is not to snoop into my private dealings and if I every catch you doing so again you will not be able to run far enough from my wrath."

I've faced down more powerful people than him, but none of them have ever dared to threaten me in this manner... because I've never gave them any leeway to do so. But from the way his condescending glare chills my bones, I know that I won't win anything with him, but like hell am I going to give him free reign over me.

"That fast you go from friend to foe?" I demand, shoving him away from me. In his astonishment at my behaviour, he stumbles back.

"I do not have friends Ms Periwinkle." He says, collecting himself and returning to his desk, "I have people I use to achieve a goal. When I am done with you, you will beg me to fire you."

"Or I'll quit."

Sinister eyes stare at me, "As long as I need you, you won't be able to quit."

"No worries then, I take pride in irking you."

Without a word he continues sorting through files, occasionally passing a few over to me to scan through.



Every since our confrontation yesterday, Mr. Garrison has been working me over like a slave driver on steroids. I haven't even had a chance to eat lunch, yet he sits there, serenely chomping on a Caesar salad. Brutus should jump out of it and stab him in the back. Glaring at him and glancing longingly at the food, I hurriedly complete the draft contract for Mr Ford. He glances at it, "I'll need to add a few escape clauses, but this is passable."

Passible? He insults the masterpiece that I've made by calling it passable?

"How have you managed to remain alive this long?" I wonder aloud.

No response.

I take my phone, punch in some numbers and press it against my ear, "Of course!" I exclaim loudly.

"Silence." Says Mr. Garrison.

"He'd love to sell Cash Companies!"

Then the phone is pressed against Mr. Garrisons ear as he shouts into the microphone. When he realizes that no one is on the line he pushes the phone into his draw and slams it shut. With deliberately slow motions, he retrieves his own phone, "Bring in the replacement..."

He stares at me and says, directly, remorselessly, "You're fired."