“So when are you guys meeting again?” Willow asked, her eyes lighting up as she grabbed a cookie from the package sitting between the two. Buffy and her roommate were sitting quite cozily on her bed, an unwatched movie playing on their small TV as the blonde entailed the details of her day.
“He said to come Wednesday morning and to stay all day,” Buffy answered, a little shudder running through her at the thought. “I’ve gotta say, I’m more than a little nervous about it. This time the clothes remained securely on, but I’m going to have to bare it all soon and…”
“And you didn’t expect for him to be such a hottie?” Willow offered, a sly smile on her face.
“No!” Buffy protested, too quickly. “All right, he is definitely smooch-worthy, but he’s sorta my boss. I don’t think that’ll fly in the professional world, Wills.”
“And taking your clothes off in front of your boss isn’t usually kosher, either.”
“Good point.” Falling back on the bed and stretching out, Buffy let out a long moan of exhaustion. “It was so weird. Like, unbelievably so. Not awkward—well, there was that, too, but the true weirdness was how hot and cold we were. One second, we were all with the talking and relaxing, and the next, we were both sitting straight and still and trying not to think about fact that I’m going to be naked on Wednesday.”
“Sounds like somebody’s got a crush.”
“I so do not!” The indignant blonde sat up again and narrowed her eyes at the laughing redhead. “Okay, maybe if we’d met at the Bronze or something I would be all over him, but he’s my boss, sorta, and he’s probably not even available anyway.” The last part was said in a huge rush which brought Willow’s eyebrows up in a questioning glance.
“And the reason why you’re wondering whether your boss is available is…?”
“Blah,” Buffy said, giving up. “I’ve got the major hots for William Pratt. How the hell am I going to manage being professional?!”
~*~
“I swear, Clem, this chit’s going to drive me mad,” Spike groaned, taking a large gulp from his cup of beer and shaking his head exasperatedly. His friend sitting on the barstool next to him gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before cracking open a peanut. “The bint’s got these gorgeous eyes. And her hair’s dead sexy, mate. Did I mention her body? And I’m gonna bleedin’ end up staring at that all day Wednesday without any chance whatsoever.”
“That’s rough, Spike,” Clem agreed. The two had met a few weeks earlier when the Englishman had discovered Willy’s bar, a seemingly perfect dive in which to drown his sorrows. Since then, they’d become surprisingly close, almost along the lines of confidants.
“And you know, I thought it would be some god-awful bird, because the big wanker picked her, see? So I never even really expected to be attracted and whatnot. Just look at her like I was copying someone out of Penthouse or something, yeah? But now, all I can do when I look at her is want to shag her senseless.”
“Wow,” Clem said, pensively popping another peanut into his mouth before speaking. “It seems like the two of you aren’t what you’d call strictly business.”
“How can we be, when she’s stripping down to her skivvies and my job is to bloody stare at her?” Spike let out a moan and dropped his head to his hands, mussing up his carefully slicked-back curls. “But that’s not the worst part, mate.”
~*~
“Then what is?” Willow asked, suddenly concerned at the pale and sick look suddenly on her friend’s face.
“The guy that’s paying for the art—Mr. Creepy? He doesn’t just want some tasteful, artistic posing, Wills.” Buffy avoided her friend’s eye as she thought back on the embarrassing call she’d received after leaving Spike’s house. “Giles called me and told me that Angelus’ ideas were bordering on full-out smutty.”
“Oh,” Willow squeaked, her face suddenly as red as her hair. “Oh my god, Buffy, these paintings aren’t going to be for a gallery, are they?”
“No, they’re for his private collection—and I’m not exactly sure which idea mortifies me more.”
They were quiet for a few moments, no doubt reflecting on the “ew” that the thoughts inspired, until Willow spoke. “Buffy, I know you need the money, but are you sure you want to go through with this? No one will think any differently of you if you do, but this Angelus guy seems way stranger than the average art solicitor.”
Buffy didn’t answer right away, the same question having gone through her mind already. “I know I can get the money elsewhere,” she began, “but I didn’t realize until right now how much I was looking forward to having Spike paint me.”
“Um… Spike?”
“Oh, it’s William Pratt’s nickname. I have no idea why,” she hurriedly added when Willow raised her eyebrow suggestively.
~*~
“What’s her name again, Spike?”
“Buffy,” the bleached blond laughed. “I know, never thought I’d fall for a chit with such a terrible name.” He paled the instant he realized the words that had slipped from his mouth.
Clem hadn’t missed them either. “Be careful,” he advised his friend. “I know you like this girl, and you guys seem to get along really well, but…”
“But what, mate?” Clem’s tone had taken on a darker quality that Spike had never heard before.
“You say that Liam Angelus picked this girl out, yeah?” Spike nodded before Clem continued. “The guy is rich, Spike, and has got a lot of power. And I’ve heard rumors that the girls he shows interest in, the ones he really likes—he gets possessive over them.”
“What do you mean?” Spike asked cautiously, eying his friend with curiosity.
“I’m saying that if Angelus thinks you and Buffy have more than a business relationship, he might just make both your lives… bad.”