"The receptionist dabbed at a tear as she spoke into the intercom, "Mr. Fitzwater. There's a Sheila Carson here for Charlie, should I send her in?" Ca...rson? As in Sheila Carson of Liberty Mountain?" My leader and I exchanged puzzled glances as the intercom crackled into silence. A few moments later we stood before the ornate oak door without a name tag. Sheila knocked twice on the entrance to the inner chambers of her departed friend."Enter," the answering voice spoke in a deep baritone. As far as Mrs. Lancaster was concerned, if a woman wanted to get through life trading on her looks and flirting with anything that shaved in the morning, that was fine. To each their own. Hell, Stacy found vapid existences strangely fascinating in a morbid sort of way. The problem, as Stacy saw it, was when vapid bimbos with more cleavage than brains tried to do actual work. Or rather, when they got jobs where they were supposed to do actual work. Stacy had more or less hated the woman since. ‘I think I’ve been deceived,’ he whispered in her ear, making her shiver as it sent delighted tingles up and down her spine, ‘You most certainly are a wench, no Lady would ever tease her adoring knight so without a chance of a kiss.’ ‘One might,’ she said, utterly serious as she realized that she must let him know of her chastity and the need to keep her maiden-head… not that she could phrase it in such undelicate terms of course (the very thought made her want to die of humiliation. Amber eyes. I turn to look at him and his eyes are pleading with me to stop. It’s his day, and I realize it’s not at all fair of me to spend time tormenting Rick on his day. As we eat dinner, I am subtly mean, making certain to make eye contact with Rick at times when I know it will drive him crazy, like when I’m sliding my fork into my mouth, or taking a sip of iced tea through my straw. Whenever I look at him, he’s looking at me already, and I soon realize that Rick is mine for the taking. If I want him..