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Author's Chapter Notes:
I apologise to Pari that this chapter is a little shorter than the 1000 word limit. I tried to lengthen it but it just wasn't working.

Thanks to everyone that reviewed. I really appreciated your support.
Chapter Two

William ‘Spike’ Rafe exited the elevator of the plush LA office building with a determined stride.

“When was this arranged Dru?” he asked his assistant via the mobile phone that was pressed to his ear.

“Last month,” she replied. “You didn’t like it but you did say yes.”

“Bollocks,” Spike muttered as he approached his agent’s secretary. “I’ll talk to you later.” With an irritated snap he closed his phone and slipped it into his pocket. “I need to see Lorne,” he told the woman at the desk.

“No problemo Mr Rafe,” Harmony replied with a cheery smile. “He’s been expecting you, go right on in.”

Quickly entering the office Spike levelled Lorne with a glare.

“Good afternoon Spike,” Lorne flashed him a million-watt smile from his seat in an overstuffed armchair.

“I’m not doing it Lorne,” Spike stated bluntly.

Casually sipping his drink, Lorne seeming unconcerned about his client’s announcement. “You agreed.”

“So I’m told. Strange how I don’t remember doing that.”

“Well,” Lorne tried to look embarrassed but failed miserably, “I might have slipped it in after handing you a new script to look over. It seems you may have been preoccupied reading it when I asked you.”

“You sneaky son of a bitch,” Spike shook his head and dropped into a chair. He knew for a fact Lorne was aware of how excited he got about new projects. Handing him a script was the perfect way to ensure that he wasn't paying much attention to what was happening around him.

“Come on Spike,” Lorne’s tone was warm but determined. “Just this last one and then I’ll never ask you to do this again.”

Spike snorted, “How long will never last this time?”

“At least six months,” Lorne grinned mischievously. “Maybe even longer.”

Despite his dislike of the situation Spike couldn’t help but smile at Lorne’s use of liberal definitions. This was the sixth ‘Win a date’ contest he’d had to do in as many months. Lorne insisted that the fact that he was single meant that the ‘dates’ would be a big hit with his fans. Spike, however, had never particularly liked the thought of his love life being up for sale to any woman that could buy a magazine and fill in a form.

“It’s a date with a woman who already adores you,” Lorne argued. “Surely it can’t be that bad.”

Spike just looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay so that last one was a bit uncomfortable.”

Spike’s bark of laughter cut him off. “Uncomfortable?” he cried indignantly. “That’s what you call it? That bloody bint was all over me the entire night. I couldn’t pry her off with a crowbar.”

“So she was a little over-eager.”

“When I turned down her rather blatant offer to turn dinner into breakfast she screamed at me about what a lousy date I was, hit me with her purse – which felt more like a hammer than a handbag by the way - and told everyone that would listen that I’m gay.”

Lorne cringed at the memory. “She was a bad seed, obviously. But that was just one incident. What about the others.”

With a sigh Spike admitted the other women he’d ‘dated’ had all been polite enough.

“There you go,” Lorne latched onto the comment as if that ended the discussion. “Sweetums, the winner of this competition is sure to be a darling.”

Spike looked decidedly unconvinced. “And you know this because?”

“Call it intuition.” Though his words were still light-hearted, Lorne had resorted to using his listen-to-me-and-do-as-I-tell-you face. Spike knew from experience there was no longer any point in arguing.

“Right then.” Spike dropped his head into his hands and sighed in defeat. “Date night it is.”

Sitting in a limousine two hours later Spike was still grumbling about killer purses and the faulty intuition of gay men when he realised he had no idea who his 'date' was.

Calling to the driver he asked, “Hey mate. You know the name of this bird?”

The driver glanced at a sheet of paper on the seat beside him. “Willow Rosenberg,” he said as he pulled the car to a stop in front of a cosy looking brick house. “And that’s her place right there.”

Thanking the man for his help Spike took a deep breath and got out of the car. “Okay,” he thought to himself as he walked up the path and knocked on the door. “If this one’s carrying a heavy purse I’m out of here. Public relations be damned.”

The door opened and Spike was struck dumb by a single thought. “If she wants me, I’m hers.”





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