"Josh."

"Huh?"

"I'm going now."

Josh looks at his watch, "It's four thirty!"

"Actually," I correct, "it's closer to five."

"Don't start that again."

"I'm not starting anything." I feign innocence but, from his expression, realize he's not buying it. Switching tactics I say, "I've finished the bullet points on the new tax cut offer."

"Twelve point?" he asks hopefully.

"Twelve point, double spaced bullets in Comic Sans MS because I know how much you like the curves." I drop the file on his desk.

"Mouthy."

"So I'm going now."

"You can't go so early!" he exclaims.

"It's five, Josh; you don't get the concept of nine to five so well do you?"

"That's because your job is six to nine." He picks up the printout and flicks through the pages.

"And oh how I wish those hours were both in the morning. You do realize most nights I barely get out of here before ten."

"You stay as per your job requirements but today you've decided to make up for it and run off early?"

"Yes, I told you about this three days ago. I have something to do."

Josh looks up from the file, "What?"

"It's private." There is no way I am telling him so that he can mock me.

"Be that way then," he grins, dimples flashing. Man, why does he do that? It's my weakness and I think he knows it but tonight, I really can't stay.

"Nice try buster, I'm leaving." I sling my bag over my shoulder and cross my arms defiantly.

"Fine!" He raises his eyebrows at me, a smile playing about his lips.

"Seriously, I'm going."

"I said fine. I'll muddle along here all alone." He's switched from dimpled schoolboy to martyred saint. Damn it.

"I am going." I back away and he watches me.

"Donna?"

"Josh," I sigh.

"Have a good time." His voice has dropped and is now tinged with teasing huskiness. Oh, I was so close to escaping without...

"Call me if you need me," I offer.

Damn. So close.

He knows he's won now; got the upper hand. The patented Lyman smirk emerges. "You know, Boss, one day I'm going to smack that smirk right off your face."

"I'd like to see you try." He wiggles his fingers in a little wave.

"You wouldn't see it coming," I call back as I slip from his office, closing the door behind me before he has time to respond.

~~

The music is playing something soothing; I have no idea what as it all seems the same - designed to send you into a trance-like state. I'm not so much in a trance-like state because I'm in an extraordinary amount of pain but I'm breathing deeply and trying to focus on how good it's going to feel when it's finally over.

Breathe and relax.

Nope, it's not going to work. Lara is chatty tonight - then again, she's always chatty. I don't know why people in her job always feel the need to ramble but now I welcome the distraction. I can't relax so I forget about the pointless deep breathing as it's beginning to make me dizzy and I'm about to respond to one of her inane questions when my cell phone rings.

I should have turned it off, but I just can't. I used to have it switched off during out of office hours but after certain life threatening - Josh's, not mine - events several years ago, I got into the habit of leaving it on and always within easy reach: tucked into my bag, a pocket, my bedside table. There was a time when I took it into the bathroom in case he needed me while I was showering.

"Sorry," I offer to Lara and she shrugs in understanding as I flip open the cell. "Hello."

"Hey, it's me."

"I know."

"That's because you're omniscient," Josh says.

"It's because I have caller ID."

"I'm trying to give you a compliment."

"And it's much appreciated, although a raise would be more gratifying. What can I do you for?"

"You're not getting a raise."

"Can't blame a girl for trying."

"I can blame you for anything," he laughs.

"Josh."

"Fine, where's the report on the HUD thing?"

"You mean the new statistics?"

"Yep."

"Second drawer of the third cabinet, which I recall telling you as I left," I grumble.

"Did not."

"Did too," I shoot back, suddenly remembering that I didn't tell him. Oh well. That's what he gets for trying to guilt me into not leaving early. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"Maybe."

I hold back a snicker. "Well I'm calling you deaf."

"That's it, no raise for you."

"Yeah, I was really holding my breath," I respond wryly.

"What are you doing?" He changes the subject, normally something I'm used to but I'm lying here right now, feeling extremely vulnerable and I don't have a quick response.

I pause momentarily then offer, "Stuff." Partway through the word, my breath catches in my throat as Lara descends on my left ankle. Damn, that hurts.

"Fun stuff?"

"Yes." No.

"What stuff?" Josh coaxes.

"Stuff, stuff." Riiiiip. "Oh Holy God!" I yell.

"What? What's going on?" He sounds worried but there is no way I am telling him.

I bite my lip to keep from screaming again. "Nothing."

"Where are you?"

"Lara's Beauty."

"And that would be...?"

"A salon." If I give him short answers he might get exasperated and hang up. He tends to give up on me when I'm like this. I've trained him well.

"You left early to get your nails done?" He sounds pissed now. Goody. Lara moves to my right ankle and the glee fades. Damn.

"No, I didn't." Lara pulls and despite my resolve, I shriek again.

"Okay, what's going on?" Ah, he's using the demanding 'I'm going to get to the bottom of this and no one is going to stand in my way and if I have to kill a few Republicans to get there, so much the better' voice.

"I'm getting waxed," I finally relent.

"What?" He sounds confused now. Ha.

"Legs, hot stinging, burning, boiling wax causing me loads of pain."

"You're getting your legs waxed?" Oh the penny's finally dropped.

"I just said that didn't I?"

"Why are you getting your legs waxed?"

Could he honestly act more dense? "Because they need waxing."

"Why?"

"Because without waxing, the grass will soon become a forest."

There's a pause as he digests this - I love it that I'm able to make him decipher me. Lara takes my silence as an opportunity to dole out a little more torture.

"Eeeeek." There's a muffled snort on the phone and I narrow my eyes. "You're laughing at me."

"Yes, but only because you've been walking around with the only national park growing on your legs that the President can't visit."

"I am not amused. Really!"

"Oh, come on, that was good!" he exclaims, still chuckling away.

"I do not want to be thinking about the President anywhere near my legs. It's sacrilege."

"Donna, believe me when I say that I doubt there's anyone who wants to be around your hairy legs."

Oh, he's gonna die for this. "Insults, Joshua? At a time like this, insults are what you're going for when I'm vulnerable and having hot wax spread over my sensitive alabaster skin?"

"It can't be that bad. Stop acting all girly about it."

Okay, yep, he's definitely going to pay. Lara rips again and I can't help emitting a tiny squeal. He starts laughing again. Dead man walking.

"Try it sometime," I challenge.

"No, I like my legs the way they are."

"Wimp."

"Donna, men do not get their legs waxed."

"Baby."

"Seriously. It sends a message."

"Don't be silly, Josh. Admit it, you're scared stupid."

"Am not," he says petulantly.

Lara starts on my upper thighs which, sadly, hurt more than the ankles. I cover my mouth to muffle another scream. I can cope with pain. Deep breathing is all that's required. In and out. In and out.

"Donna, you sound like you're hyperventilating."

"I'm fine," I manage to squeak as a cotton strip is torn from my inner thigh.

"Be strong, Donna."

"Oh good God, you are such a man. I bet you can't go through something like this without screaming." There's silence and I hide a giggle. He's thinking it over. I know him so well.

"Bet?" The tone of his voice confirms what's running through his mind. He thinks he can win. Prove himself right; an opportunity to get one over on me. I love it.

"Yes a bet."

"And if I win?"

"I'll make you coffee everyday for a week," I offer.

"A month," he counters.

"Two weeks."

Another pause, then, "Whenever I want a cup?"

"Yes."

"And if I want something special, you'll go out and get it?" The man is a master negotiator but there's no way he's going to beat me down.

"Starbucks only."

"Donnnna," he whines.

"That's as gourmet as you get," I argue. "Final offer."

"When would I have to do this?"

"Tomorrow."

"Ohhh," he sighs regretfully. "I'm really too busy tomorrow."

"Are you kidding me? I know your schedule. I write your schedule! You have the time."

"Something might come up," he tries again.

"This has come up." I say firmly. "I'll make a late appointment for you. Two weeks of coffee whenever you want if you get your legs waxed tomorrow without screaming."

"And if I do scream?"

"I get the satisfaction of you knowing that you're not as brave as you insist. Oh," I pause as an evil idea surfaces, "and I'll take a photo of your nice smooth legs to show people the next time you dare to call me girly."

"I'm not going to flinch," Josh asserts. "I'll be so quiet they'll think I'm asleep."

"Right."

"You underestimate me."

"Never. Hang on a second." Lara's miming something and I cover the phone with a hand. "What?"

"Your legs are done," she smiles. "Ready for the next part?"

"Am I ever ready?"

"Not really," she grins again and I return to Josh. "I have to go."

"Why? Want to do a bit more screaming?"

"Lara's about to wax a part of me that I'm not comfortable having waxed while I'm talking to you," I reply.

"What part?"

Seriously, can he possibly be this stupid? I feel the evilness emerge again. Pain makes me vicious. "Josh."

"Yeah?"

"Lara's about to do my bikini line. You know... between my legs. I don't want to talk to you while someone's hands are between my legs."

"Unh."

"Sorry, did you just... grunt there? Josh?" Silence. "JOSH!"

"I have to go!" Panic has finally arrived and slapped the back of his head and I hold back another giggle.

"See you tomorrow."

~~

The next day I arrive at work early, but apparently not early enough. Josh is sitting in my chair, head buried in the Washington Post, feet spread over the mess on my desk. I dump my bag on the floor and glare at him. He's ignoring me.

"Josh."

"Hmm?" He doesn't look up.

"Feet."

"What?"

I grab his legs and shove them unceremoniously to the floor.

"Oh sorry, am I in your way?"

"Are you trying to piss me off?" I demand.

"No."

"Good."

"I'm succeeding." He's got that half grin on his face - the one where his dimples are almost showing. I love that grin but I'm not falling for it. I give him a dirty look and snatch the paper from his hands.

"Don't you have work to do?"

"I was waiting for you."

"Josh, as clueless and inept as you are, you don't need me to hold your hand while you work."

"Show me your legs."

I wasn't expecting this, but if it's where he wants to go, I can play along. I hold a leg up and flash my most charming smile.

"Okay, what you're actually showing me are your pants, which are very nice by the way, but I meant your legs."

"My legs?" I refuse to make it easy for him.

"Yes, Donna, the legs that you insisted were being waxed last night."

"They were being waxed."

"How do I know?"

"Why should you know?" I retort.

"I seem to recall a bet being made."

"And?"

"Well, how do I really know you were having your legs waxed?" he explains. "I mean, you could have taken off early to sit in front of the TV and eat chocolate all night."

"I wasn't eating chocolate." I switch on my computer and flick through the pile of papers in my in tray.

"You have a duplicitous nature. You might have been trying to trick me."

I roll my eyes in annoyance. "I really don't know what you mean."

"You bet me to get my legs waxed so I could prove that it didn't hurt."

"I'm glad to see your memory works." He's still sitting in my chair so I lean against my desk and cross my arms in irritation.

"All I'm saying is maybe you were pretending to get your legs waxed to trick me into getting mine done," he concludes triumphantly.

"You think I'm that devious?"

"Yes."

"Josh, my friend, you are seriously deluded, you know that? Paranoid."

"I just want to confirm that you're smooth and hair free." The little half smile that's been playing around his face widens into a mocking grin. "Show me your legs."

I love how he thinks he's got me. It's adorable that he really doesn't know how far I'm willing to go.

"Fine."

Aha, it's the 'I'm da man' grin. Oh, this is going to be too easy. Smug bastard.

"Come on then," he encourages.

"In your office."

"What?"

I lean over him and whisper, "Well if I'm going to reveal my smooth, hair free alabaster skin I don't want the whole bullpen witnessing it as well." I smile daringly, walk into his office before he can respond and am perched on the edge of his desk in front of his chair when he finally arrives after hurriedly shutting all three doors.

"What took you so long?"

"I, uh, had to say hi to someone."

"You're not afraid are you?" I enquire softly.

"What? No! please, I see legs all the time."

"Of course you do." I gesture to his chair, "Sit."

"What - there?" Oh, he's so cute when he's nervous.

"Yes."

"In front of you."

"Josh," I sigh in exasperation, "how can I show you my legs if you're not sitting in front of me? Do you want to kneel on the floor?"

"Right, no, of course not." A brief flicker of confusion passes over his face as he sits down, facing me.

"You're too far away," I complain as I lean forward to grab the chair arms to bring him closer.

"What time is my meeting with Senator Kendrick?"

"One o'clock. Right first."

"What?"

"You can check my right leg first." I lean down, my hair falling over my face, to pull off my right boot and let it drop to the floor. "I'll help you get started, but seeing as this was your idea, you need to do everything else." I lift my leg and rest my foot on his knee. He looks down, then up and his blank expression almost makes me laugh but I hold it in.

"Go on," I encourage with a smile. "We don't have all day."

"'Kay." He reaches for my left leg, one hand supporting my foot as he slides my boot off. there's another clunk as it joins the first one. His fingers are still wrapped around my ankle, he brings his other hand to my right leg and in complete silence his hands slide in tandem over my sock-clad feet. The sensation is so gentle that if I weren't watching, I wouldn't know he was touching me.

"Josh?"

"Hmm?" He's still staring blankly at my feet.

"You might want to take my socks off."

"Okay." He uses both hands to slide each sock off, abandoning them on the floor alongside my boots. "You have nice feet."

"Thanks."

He starts tracing a finger around my toes. "I like this color. I never thought of you as a purple girl."

"I love purple, it's sexy."

"Yes it is." his voice has softened a little. I didn't realize he would be quite so affected. I can use this to my advantage.

"I like having purple toes," I wiggle them gently across his thigh and his jaw clenches. "I like having something so naughty hidden away from everyone. It's like wearing Victoria's Secret underneath a demure button down suit."

His eyes shoot up to my face then immediately slide down over my modest outfit. I let them roam. I love it when he looks at me like this. I won't ever admit it to anyone but I delight in the moments when Josh actually notices me. I feel tingles down my spine as his hands start wandering over my toes again.

"Victoria's Secret huh?"

"Yeah."

"Are you...?" he trails off, unwilling to actually ask though his face says different.

"Perhaps." I stare coolly at him. "Are you done yet?"

"Oh no, your feet are smooth and hair free, I admit that, but what about your legs?"

"Check for yourself." I plant my hands on the desk behind me and nonchalantly lean back.

"If you insist." He's trying to keep the banter going. He's failing miserably but I know he's not going to give in. The thing is - I know he wants me. He won't ever admit it though, and I won't ever admit that I want him just as much. Our working situation doesn't allow for any misconduct, so although I want more than these little games we play, they keep me satisfied. Well, not so much really but I've learned to live with it.

"I insist nothing, Joshua. You're the one who wanted to see my legs." I can continue this conversation, despite the fact that he's still exploring but the problem is now, with his hands caressing my ankles, I do want more. I'm no longer satisfied. his finger slides delicately over the inside hollow of my left shin bone and I stifle a gasp. If he keeps touching me there, I am going to lose it. i've always had a thing for that particular spot. It's only my left ankle that's particularly sensitive. It sends me into a puddle of begging lust, which is why I don't advertise that fact to just anyone and why I breathe a sigh of relief when he moves off that spot.

"You're the one that sat on my desk and told me to feel you up."

"I never used those words!" I argue.

"No but your body language says otherwise now. Look at you - head thrown back, your feet in my lap. You want me to touch you."

"Touch me then," I dare. "Go on, Josh, slide your hands up into my pants, and let your fingers stroke my skin." There's no way he's going to do it. I'm so going to win this.

"You think you're going to win this don't you?"

Argh, I hate how he can read my mind.

"I am winning this," I retort.

"No," he contradicts, the dimples out in full force. "I'm going to win." His hands stop fondling my toes as he moves to the left cuff of my pants. "Anytime you think you can't cope, tell me when to stop."

"I can cope with anything," I mutter as his fingers grip the cuff and begin sliding the linen up.

"Hmm, looks smooth." The pants keep moving but he hasn't touched my skin yet. I watch as he works the material over my knee.

"You're not going higher are you?"

"Do you want me to go higher?" he asks softly.

"No, I don't want you to wrinkle my suit too much."

"Right. I guess I better do the other leg then." Just as slowly, he pushes the material covering my right leg over my knee then folds his arms.

"Now what?" I ask.

"Well, as I said, they look smooth. But... I better check them properly. Just for clarity's sake."

"If you really feel it's necessary."

"Believe me, it is."

Okay, this calls for the big guns; I grab some Post-it notes and a pen and start scribbling. Josh looks up at me with raised eyebrows.

"What are you doing?" His voice holds a hint of amusement.

"Making notes on what I have to do today."

"Why?"

"Well, honestly, Josh I don't know how long you're planning to take and I do have a job to do."

"Are you trying to prove that this isn't affecting you?"

"What?"

"Me."

"Joshua, Josh, Josh," I grin in exasperation. "I'm way past being affected by you."

"Aha, so there was a time when you were."

"Oh, that was way back. When I was young and innocent and thought you were the greatest thing since sliced bread."

"And now?"

"I've discovered toast." I shrug.

He starts laughing and I feel a tiny thrill rush through me. I love it when he laughs. I love it when I make him laugh - not because I've done something stupid, but because I've truly tickled him. It's not the derogatory snigger he reserves for Republicans or annoyingly minor members of Congress; it's not the polite chuckle offered when the President's sense of humor doesn't quite measure up. this is the real thing, head thrown back, waves of delight vibrating through his chest, eyes bright with joy. I love giving him that. I love it when he feels happy; when I'm the one to make him happy.

"Josh, you kind of have to be quiet. Do you want the whole place to know what's going on?"

He stifles his loud laughter with a grin and a pair of waggling eyebrows, "Nothing's going on Donna. Are you expecting something to be going on?"

"I'd rather no one come in to find me on your desk and see you fondling my naked spread legs."

"I've only touched your feet and it was hardly fondling."

"Oh you so totally fondled."

"It was research," he says defensively.

"And I suppose you've arrived at a scientific conclusion?"

"Perhaps." He lets his hands settle on my ankles again, moving them in tandem over each foot. "I really think I need to continue the experiment though." He slides his hands lightly over my ankles and up my calves. I am not going to move. I refuse to let my body respond in the way he's expecting and I focus on the Post-its again in an attempt to distract myself.

"What do you need me to do today?"

"I need you to get me the notes on House Res 474," he murmurs and both hands concentrate on my right leg. He slides them up and down, up and down, with gentle rhythmic strokes. Could this be any more phallic? What is he trying to prove here?

"Right." I note it down then close my eyes briefly as his fingers tickle the sensitive flesh behind my knee. "Are you trying a wax on wax off thing here?" I ask, trying to keep the squeak out of my voice as his hands roam around my calves.

"Ooh grasshopper," he croons in a bad Chinese accent. "You've already had them waxed. Shut up, I'm telling you what I want from you."

"Go on," I gasp, forcing my toes not to curl in pleasure.

"I need you to call Senator Leighton and tell him I need to meet with him sometime tomorrow."

"Okay." He drags his fingers back down my legs, his touch so light that I can barely feel it, but so heavy that it's burning my skin.

"I left the budget report on the DOD's new weapon system on your desk. I need you to make five copies of it - covered and bound." He moves to my left leg, delicately grazing my knee, moving down again torturously slow.

"Uh." I can't write it down because my hand is refusing to grip the pen. It's so warm in here, I think I really need to get a window open but I can't seem to move; my eyes are closed and I'm reveling in the feel of his strong hands caressing my skin. Where on earth did the man learn to massage like this?

"I need you to..." his finger settles on the curve of my left ankle again and I whimper with pleasure. The pen drops to the floor and my nails scrape the surface of his desk. His finger swirls in the dip, around and around. Fast then slow, up then down. I can barely breathe; the man has a serious talent. He's hitting all the right spots; all the perfect spots that send electricity shooting straight up my legs and deep inside.

"Yes?" I breathe.

"I need you to..." he repeats as his index finger stimulates the spot again, "...admit that i've won this little game."

My eyes snap open, "What?" He's grinning victoriously; the dimples are blinding me.

"I win," he says.

"You have not," I dispute. "I was letting you have your go."

"My go? Are you planning on playing with my legs?"

"Tomorrow, yes. Today," I wiggle the toes of my right foot over his thigh and he jumps. hmm. "I was thinking of something else." He's still holding my left ankle, his fingers still doing magic things on my shinbone but I've wised up. I can overlook the tremors inside simply because his gloating will be unbearable if I don't. "Josh?"

"Donna?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You can always ask."

"What kind of man are you?"

His fingers are still moving. I will resist.

"What do you mean?" He's smiling, watching for each change in my face as he trails his fingers around. "Hey do you know something?"

"What?"

"Your eyes practically roll up into your head when I touch you... here." He touches and I flinch.

"Stop it."

"No," he tickles me again and I grit my teeth.

"Stop it!"

He raises his eyebrows. "Do you really want me to stop?"

"Yes."

"Really?" The fingers shift a little more.

"No," I admit with a sigh.

"Victory is mine."

Not for long. "You're doing a good job at distracting me but I'm not giving up. Answer the question."

"Which question would that be?"

"What kind of man are you?"

"The kind that knows exactly where to touch you to make you melt."

"You haven't found my other place," I grumble. Oh, damn.

"Aha, what other place would this be?"

"Oh like I'm going to tell you."

"I could tease it out of you. A couple more minutes of this and you'd be my slave."

"You'd like that wouldn't you, me, at your beck and call? The little woman barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen making dinner?" I shoot back.

"If you were barefoot, I could play with this beautiful spot all day."

"And if I were pregnant?" I coax, unsure of what I want the answer to be. He shrugs and looks down at my feet again. "You know, waxing is more painful than giving birth."

"How many babies have you had, Donna?"

"A few here and there. I'm just reminding you how much this evening is going to hurt you. after all, this is what this whole leg fondling experiment is based upon right?"

"Right. Are you just as ticklish on your other ankle?"

"No."

"I'm going to have to check for myself."

"Be my guest." he starts stroking my right ankle and I smirk. Six years of working with Josh lyman has honed my smirk to perfection.

"No effect huh? So this other spot you mentioned..."

"That's not it," I grin.

"You realize that now I'm going to have to find it. You can't just tempt me with a statement like that and not expect me to get to the bottom of it."

"It was a mistake," I insist.

"No, Donna, you don't make mistakes. Well, actually you do, but that's not what we're talking about."

"Shut up."

"No, I think you intentionally let slip you have another spot that turns you on so I would try and find it."

"I did no such thing!" I exclaim with indignation. "And you're not turning me on. The only man that can satisfy me in two minutes is Ben."

"Ben?"

"Jerry helps," I admit with a grin and he flashes his dimples. Oh distraction, distraction. "I can't believe we're talking about this in your office."

"Want to talk about it at my apartment?"
I narrow my eyes, "You want to play the game, Josh?"

"Yes."

"I mean the game. Who's going to draw back first? Who's going to freak out when they realize they can't do this because maybe it's a little too close to home."

"Don't we already have a bet about a leg wax?"

"This is on the side. A little early morning office fun."

He regards me thoughtfully and I know exactly what's going through his mind. There's always been this unspoken agreement of sorts. Light banter, light flirting in the office - things we can say to anyone really, without fear of a sexual harassment lawsuit. Away from work, away from the politics, when it's just us two, we're closer; A little more touchy feely, a little more... tender. There's no innuendo, no suggestive phrases when it's just us. It's calm and peaceful and relaxing when we're alone and away from work. At work, it's fun and frothy and light but today, all of a sudden, it isn't. How dark do I plan to get now? how dark does he plan to get?

Josh smiles at me. "Name the terms."

I don't have to think long before I respond, "First one to panic; first one to lose their nerve."

"You're on," he accepts.

"Great."

"Name the stakes."

"Um..."

"If I win, you have to wear a skirt to work - no stockings - for two weeks," he proposes.

"Two weeks?"

"For as long as you get my coffee," he adds with a grin.

"Oh, we're tying the two together?"

"Yes."

I roll my eyes. "Because you're going to win."

"You really should give up now," he says confidently.

"Not on your life. If I win this little game - and the wax bet - which I will..." Evil Donna appears in a cloud of cackling and whispers something in my ear.

"Anything you want."

"You're that confident?" I dare.

"Just a little faith, Donna."

"If I win you have to wear a skirt. Stockings optional." Well, from the look on his face I can see he definitely wasn't expecting that. His mouth has dropped open in shock and I smile sweetly as he does a fairly passable impression of Gail. "But i'll make it easy on you. Because, of course, I don't want to ruin your reputation as a ladies man too much - that's your job. You only have to wear it for a day."

"A skirt?" he finally manages to splutter.

"Straight line, knee length skirt. With your own shirt and suit coat."

"Fine."

"You accept?"

"I do," he grins.

"Excellent."

"But..."

"Here it comes," I sigh.

"I really think that my penalty is hardly equal to yours. I mean, you already wear skirts - and I doubt getting me coffee will give you the same headache as me having a meeting with the President in which he compliments me on my very pretty legs."

"Hairless legs," I remind him. "What did you have in mind?"

"If you lose - skirt, stilettos -"

"You expect me to dash around these halls in stilettos?" I scoff.

"The highest you can cope with then."

I nod. "Okay."

"Two weeks of gourmet-" Josh continues.

"Starbucks," I interrupt again.

"Starbucks," he concedes, "coffee whenever I want."

"We already decided that."

"Do you think i'm done?" he whines in exasperation.

"You're never done, Joshua."

"With someone like you I'd be done almost immediately."

Oh good God, is he saying what I think he's saying? From the grin on his face it seems he is and I frown irritably, "Am I supposed to take that as a compliment or an insult?"

"Oh, be complimented," he assures me.

"See but the thing is... I'm kind of insulted that you wouldn't wait for me."

"Oh you misunderstand as usual. I'd make sure you arrive before I do. In fact, the very act of watching you arrive would get me there that much faster," he says smugly.

"Oh, that's romantic," I mutter.

"You know it baby." He waggles his eyebrows and I snicker. "And I really think we have to settle the stakes of our bet before this particular conversation continues."

"Where were we then?"

"When I win -"

"If," I correct him.

"Fine, if I win the skirt has to be part of a French maid outfit."

Now I'm the shocked one. "To work?"

"Yes, you can forget the coffee though; I don't trust you not to buy me soy or something equally disgusting. All you have to do is wear a French maid white lace black satin type thing to work. For one day."

Ooh, now I am amused. "I didn't realize that was your fantasy."

"My fantasies would shock you," he teases. "Do you agree?"

"I don't know about your fantasies, but yes, I agree to the bet as it is."

"Really?"

I nod assertively, "Yes, because I am going to win."

"Shake on it then?" Josh offers his hand and I grasp it. "But maybe I'd take you seriously if you stopped blushing," he grins.

Oh now I don't know what to say... or do. The wide grin on his face is starting to genuinely piss me off. He's got the upper hand here and he knows it, and he knows that I know it and when his thumb starts playing with my left ankle again I realize that I've got to get the situation under control or there'll be gloating all day, possibly all week. I won't lose this bet and I can't believe he thinks he's going to win. I actually can't believe he thinks he can win anything against me.

I am strong, I can do this. Game on.

"Josh look at me," I command in the tone reserved for when I mean business. He looks up and raises his eyebrows in question. "I asked you before what kind of man you were. I want an answer."

"And I asked you what you meant by it."

"Are you the type of man that goes for intelligent women?"

"I don't understand," he looks confused and I snicker inwardly. This is going to be easy.

"Do you go for humor? How about musical ability?"

"You have to start making sense, Donna, you're rambling as usual."

Right. Time to break out the big guns.

"Josh, I'm asking what turns you on. Since you insist that my ankle is my... err Achilles heel," I pause while he laughs again. Yay me. "I want to know what turns you on."

"You're welcome to find out. My body is yours for the exploration," he offers.

"Should I pitch a tent and start hiking?"

"If that's what you want," he shrugs.

"Well since you're my boss, I don't feel as comfortable feeling you up as it seems you do me so right now I want to know what gets you going. What gets you hot, Josh?" he's still concentrating his fingers in that spot on my foot, but I'm on a roll now. He's going to regret playing with me. "Do you go for intellect since you're so clever?" I pause again, mentally preparing myself what for I'm about to do. "Or perhaps you're more physical..." He's watching me now but his hands haven't stopped.

"Again, I don't understand," he mutters. Oh yes, he understands all right.

"Does this turn you on?" I flutter my eyelashes.

"Have you got something in your eye?" he inquires with a straight face. Ooh sneaky, but I'm sneakier so I slowly bite my bottom lip.

"What about lips, Josh? Do you like my lips?" I run my tongue slowly over them, as if licking off something tasty.

"Your lipstick is very nice, Donna. Is that a new shade?" I'm greatly amused that he's trying so hard to act normal. I'm not done yet though, he's in for a surprise.

"Yes, Josh, it's called Pink Passion."

"I like it."

"I wore it for you," I whisper and his eyebrows shoot up. "If you want, you can have a taste later... after I've discovered your weakness."

"I have no weaknesses, I'm impenetrable."

I ignore him. "How about hands?" I lean forward and place my palms on his cheeks, letting them move over his skin, barely touching, scraping my nails across his ear lobes. "Do you like my hands?"

"I thought you said you weren't going to touch me?" he reminds.

"Oh, this isn't touching - I was showing you my hands."

"I love your hands, Donna; your hands do amazing things for me."

"Really?" I'm surprised he's capitulated so quickly.

"Yes, they file, they fax, they type, and they answer phones..."

"Jackass." He flashes the dimples. Wow, those dimples really do it for me. I will never, ever admit it though. He'd use them to get anything and everything and there would be no way I could resist.

"In answer to your question, no, your hands do not get me hot."

"What if my hands did... this?" I let go of his ears and bring my hands to my neck. His eyes are locked on as I trail a finger along the collar of my shirt. Oh Josh, you are going to love this. "I'm wondering now if you're..." I let the finger roam over the top button then use my thumb to flick it open. His eyes widen ever so slightly. "I'm wondering if perhaps you're..." I can't believe I'm about to do this, but he's forcing me to play dirty because he's refusing to stop stroking my ankle, which, by the way, is still sending shivers up my spine.

"If I'm what?" oh, look he's regained the power of speech.

"If you're a breast man?" I run a palm across the underside of my right breast and run my tongue over my bottom lip.

He mutters an imperceptible, "Unh," as I dance my fingers over my shirt and I silently laugh at my brilliance.

"Are you, Josh?" I let my left hand slide lightly over the other side.

"No, I'm not." oh good, words again. "That's doing absolutely nothing for me."

"Right, of course not. So me touching myself here doesn't turn you on?"

"Touch away, i'm impenetrable."

"You know, I don't think that's a good word to be using."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Donna, I applaud your efforts here. I'm not a breast man, not an eye or lip man. Definitely not a hand man. You might as well give up. I know about your ankle. I'll find the other part of you one day."

"Good luck to you my friend."

"I don't need luck, I have talent." He's using jokes again and so perhaps the little self-fondling doesn't affect him as much as I'd wished - I'll have to try something else.

"If you keep telling yourself that perhaps one day you'll believe it."

"I don't need to believe it, I have proof," he retorts.

"Oh of course, silly me. All those women you tumble sideways into are still praising your skills?" I feel mean now. I'm not getting to him, he's still got my ankle in his grip and I'm tired because it's six in the morning and hungry because I haven't eaten breakfast. I'm also more than a little aroused, which, let's face it is the thing that's annoying me the most. The tiny curve in my ankle that only two other people know about and only because I had to tell them - then show them - which he managed to find all by himself and won't stop stroking is sending me into silent cardiac arrest. He knows he's getting to me and he's not going to stop until I admit it.

Hang on, wait a second - he's stopped!

"That was uncalled for," he says softly, his brown eyes filled with reproach. "You don't have to be so cruel, Donnatella."

Oh dear, when he uses my full name I know I've done wrong. "I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry."

"I really am," I insist.

"No you're not. If you were sorry, you'd admit that I've won," he drops the frown and grins wickedly and I give him my best death glare. "Come on, Donna, admit it. I win this part of the bet. Crown me the King of All Things."

"We don't have a Monarchy."

"Stop avoiding the issue."

"What issue? is there an issue?"

"You know."

"No actually, Josh, I don't. As far as I recall, this started as your pathetic attempt to fondle my legs under the guise of fearing a trick simply because you're just afraid to get your legs waxed. It then degenerated into a second bet to see who would be the first to freak out from all the innuendo. There is no issue!"

"I'm not afraid. I just wanted to see what my legs would look like after being waxed."

"You've looked, you've touched. Perhaps we should get back to work now."

"See that would be a good idea - once you admit that I can make your motor run but you can't do the same to mine. Once you admit that you lost this bet."

"Is this where our relationship has ended up? Seriously? A war over who's going to give in first?"

"If you didn't want to come here, Donna then why did you ask what turned me on? Why did you name the stakes and the terms?"

"I didn't... oh wait."

"There it is." oh, that smirk is going to be slapped off his face any minute now.

"Huh. So you think I set this up? A painful leg wax and two bets just to get your hands on my legs? Josh, come on, if I wanted you to touch me I would have thought of something far cleverer," I say scornfully.

"And that's why you ran your hands over your..." he trails off.

"You can't say it can you?" I laugh. "The big Democratic Bulldog can't say it."

"Out of respect to your gender and our professional working relationship no, I won't say it. I am, however, going to start on your special little spot again," he warns, seconds before the fingers resume their stroking. Okay, distraction Donna, need distraction.

"I need to start making a list of things you're afraid of." I wiggle my finger in an attempt at air writing. "Leg waxes... breasts..."

"A Republican president," he adds.

"Nightmare," I shudder.

"I'm not afraid of breasts," he declares.

"Ooh, well done you said it," I applaud.

"I like them. what man doesn't?"

"Gay men."

"Ah, republican nightmare."

I giggle, "So how come you couldn't say it before?"

"Because we were talking about yours."

"You're afraid of my breasts?" My eyebrows climb sky high. I cannot wait to see how he gets out of this one. "What, specifically, scares you so much?"

"I'm not scared," he yelps as he stops his ministrations. Oh yes, he's definitely starting to falter.

"Then why can't you talk about my breasts?"

"Because..." damn, his fingers have resumed their tickling.

"Yes?" I push.

"Because they're... yours, Donna."

"And..."

"And it's making me uncomfortable," he admits.

"So you're not afraid, you're uncomfortable?"

"Yes," he mutters crossly.

"What's wrong with them?" I ask innocently.

"What?"

"Is there something wrong with my breasts? Something that makes you uncomfortable?" I push my chest forward and nearly burst into laughter when his eyes bug out.

Donna: 1, Josh: 0.

I roll my shoulders back and look down at myself. "They seem okay to me. I've not had any complaints so far - in fact I've had nothing but compliments." Josh is silent, eyes blankly focused on my chest. Not a breast man indeed. "Are they too small for you, Josh?"

"What?"

"Do you think my breasts are too small? You know, I like to give them a little help which is why I think Wonderbras are the greatest invention since sliced bread."

"Didn't you say I was the greatest?" Ooh, he's snapped out of his trance.

"Oh, that was just to stroke your ego."

"I could think of other things I'd rather have stroked," he deadpans and I blush again. Damn it. "Oh, Donna, for all your bravado about your breasts and Victoria's Secret Wonderbras, and all your talk about turning me on... you're just a sweet lil' innocent girl from Wisconsin. And when it gets just a little bit deeper... when there's a little more innuendo... you can't cope."

"Can too."

"Why then are you bright red?"

"Too much sun," I joke.

"We're inside. shall we return the conversation to your assets?"

"I cannot believe you just called them that!" I huff.

"You know, if you stuffed them inside your Catholic schoolgirl uniform..."

"Should I bring my equipment too?" His mouth gapes goldfish style again and I grin. I can cope with the innuendo; I managed to respond without blushing this time so next time I just have to be better prepared. I squeeze my eyes closed for just a second - I can, will, do this - then snap them open and grin.

He's grinning back, "Mentally preparing yourself?"

"It's terrible that you know me so well, Josh. How on earth am I supposed to hide anything from you?"

"That's the whole point!" he exclaims triumphantly.

"You don't know where my other secret place is," I counter. "And you never will."

"Is it hidden by clothes?"

I smile coyly. "Maybe."

"I need more clues than that."

"Well buddy, you're not getting more. I don't want you to know the other part because with both I turn into a babbling fool."

"It's a good thing when you're speechless." I lean forward and punch his shoulder. "Hey!"

"You deserve a lot more than that," I threaten.

"I didn't do anything!"

"Every comment you've made since we've been holed up in this sordid little office has been deserving of a slap."

"I admire your resistance so far."

"I'm filing them away and preparing retribution."

"It scares me when you quote Leo you know," he comments. "Especially when I've got my hand halfway up your leg."

"Shall we continue then?"

"What's your opinion?"

I'm shocked. "You're actually asking my opinion?"

"Yes!"

"Considering you're still wearing a groove in my ankle and are probably not going to stop anytime soon, my opinion is yes, we might as well continue."

"This isn't affecting you?" He seems surprised at my nonchalance.

"Nope."

"Liar."

I shrug, "Guess you're not as good as you think you are."

"I'm better," he grins assertively.

"You're digging a hole in my foot but I still haven't jumped you. That constitutes failure on your part."

"You're a strong woman, Donnatella Moss, but I think you'll submit."

"This isn't one of your political deals, Joshua Lyman."

"No, this is a helluva lot more fun," he smiles.

Damn, the dimples. "The foot thing isn't working for me."

His fingers pause, "Want me to stop then?"

"Not so much."

"Didn't think so."

I sigh and rest my weight on my hands again. For some reason, despite the serious innuendo, I feel extraordinarily safe in this conversation. After all the years of longing, the desire, the unresolved sexual tension, the little glances, admiring looks and comments, I can push the frustration out and nothing will be expected at the end. It is a game. Everything I ever wanted to say to him and have him say to me can now be said, or at least hinted at under the guise of the game. I can be free.

I feel free.

I feel relaxed - even with his skilled fingers still caressing my ankle. Good God he is talented. He's been working at it for longer than I expected and while it's making me more and more aroused, I don't want him to stop. I want him to keep going - I want him to find my other spot which, contrary to what I would have him believe, isn't hidden by clothes - at least not always. I sigh again and idly watch his fingers. He has really nice hands, the flesh on his fingertips is soft and warm and smooth.

I could stay here all day but it's not possible. "Does it bother you, Josh, that what you're doing to my ankle is doing other things to me that you can't see?" I raise my eyebrows.

He suddenly snaps to attention, "What things and where?"

"Places you can't see. Won't ever see." I refuse to divulge.

"Ohhh... those places." I nod. "Are those places getting excited?"

"Perhaps."

"You won't tell me," Josh pouts.

"A girl has to have some secrets," I tease, "and the pout does nothing to me."

"The dimples do though."

"I plead the fifth," I testify. "The wonderful thing about being a woman is that no one can tell when, um, things are going on."

"Guys don't have that luxury," he mutters ruefully.

"We girls find it helpful." I let my eyes drift down to his lap.

"Hey!"

"I'm allowed to look," I say defensively.

Josh is grinning now. "Have you looked before?"

"Can't help myself sometimes," I confess.

"When?" The grin has widened into something that rivals the Cheshire Cat.

"What, you want dates?"

"In general will be fine."

I stare at him for a beat, assessing whether or not I'm ready to admit how voyeuristic I really am and whether he's really ready to know. Oh well, it's up to him if he believes me or not. "Anytime you're in a tuxedo."

"Reeeealllly?" he drags the word out and I can tell he's mentally counting the many times he's been in the monkey suit.

"Got a number yet bucko?"

"It's too big," he declares.

"I'll take your word for it, although thanks to a crowded cab during a certain inauguration, I do have the memory of something physical while sitting on your lap."

"What... DONNA!" he yells. "I was talking about the tux."

"Were you now?"

"Yes, you have a dirty mind."

"That may be the case but you knew exactly what I was talking about."

"Only because i've been exposed to your depravity for so long," he accuses me. "That was a nice thing I did and you're turning it into something corrupt."

He's displaying a sad face and while I know it's a ploy I feel sorry for him. "Listen, I know I never told you how much it meant that you came and got me."

"I remember a vague thank you."

"I mean it. you don't deserve this reward because you're being evil today but I'm really, really glad you rescued me."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I know you. You were just as likely to leave me there to revel in my misery after you eventually realized what I'd done."

"You didn't do anything bad enough to miss all eight balls."

"And yet, as I recall, we didn't get to them. I was looking forward to all the dancing," I say sadly.

"You looked great in that blue dress."

I smile. "Thanks."

"Do you still have it?"

"Yeah, but I've never had another chance to wear it."

"You'll have plenty more opportunities," Josh says reassuringly. "Beautiful dress, beautiful woman." His eyes are so dark and he's staring straight at me. Okay, now the air is getting too heavy; I have to bring the banter back.

"It's a special occasion dress so I probably won't wear it again. Still, I think I got my moneys worth when I sat on your lap."

"That was my cell phone," he insists.

"Huh. Must have been one of those old fashioned brick sized ones," I muse.

"I assure you, it's not the size of a brick," he says coolly.

"The cell or..."

"You've seen my cell phone, Donna."

"You know if your, um, not cell phone is the size of a brick it'd be rather painful."

"For whom?" ooh, he's over his shock and is trying to get the upper hand.

"For the lucky woman of course," I say airily.

He waggles his eyebrows again. Is he channeling Groucho Marx today? "I'd kiss it better."

"I'd never have taken you for a man that liked kissing it better."

He fakes offense, "Why not?"

"I always figured you for the type who would kiss it only when threatened with extreme duress or possible loss of your favorite limb."

He stares at me sadly. "I'm offended."

"Mr. Selfish is offended."

"Yes!" he exclaims with indignation.

"Josh..."

"Ok, I'm selfish."

"You're agreeing with me?"

He nods. "Yes, but you can only gloat about it for ten seconds."

"You're going to time me?" Nodding again, Josh looks at his watch, the act of which causes his hand to stop playing with my ankle. He's mouthing the seconds and it seems an eternity to be without the warmth of his fingers on my skin.

"Three... two... one."

"I'm much obliged for the generosity." Come on, I plead silently, touch me again. His mind reading capabilities have obviously gone on hiatus because he doesn't obey.

"Well, I like to be nice to you."

"Since when?" I snort. "It's only because you're afraid I'd reprogram your computer or re-label your filing cabinets."

Josh shakes his head. "I live in fear of that everyday, but that's not why I'm nice to you."

"Are you afraid I'd put spiders in your bed?"

He grins, "No, because you're more afraid of them than I am."

"True," I accede.

"I'd like to see you in my bed though."

"In your dreams," I laugh.

"Yes," he says, staring me straight in the eye. Oh when did it get so hot in here? I resist the urge to fan myself with a hand. He'd love that.

"In my nightmares," I manage to shoot back and he frowns.

"That's not very nice, Donna."

"I'm not a nice person," I mutter.

He's shaking his head again. "You're nicer than me."

"Josh, everyone's nicer than you."

"Are you trying to make me feel bad?"

"Yes!" I snap. "Is it working?"

"No. Why are you being mean?"

"Why not really," I say apathetically.

"Because you're not a mean person," he declares.

"You don't know me well enough." For some reason, I'm getting pissed off at him again.

He lets loose a short bark of laughter, "I know you better than you think. And you're too kind hearted to be nasty. You're only pretending to be cruel because I've stopped feeling you up and you're pissed at me."

"Am not," I say sulkily. Why have I suddenly turned ten years old?

"Oh stop the pouting. You think it still works on me after all these years?"

"Guess not."

"I only let you think it works," he adds.

"Do not."

"Do too."

I'm glaring at him now, upset because the pout isn't working and because I can't think of anything clever to say. We've shifted now into a staring competition. And we're both refusing to look away. Josh's office is dead silent but I can hear muffled noises from the bullpen. It must be getting late but I'm not going to break eye contact to look at my watch. If Josh wants to miss Senior Staff, who am I to argue. I'm just an assistant and I'm not going to remind him because I like the silence. Besides, it would amuse me if he got in trouble for being late.

I think it's quite possibly the longest he's been silent ever since I've known him and it must be killing him not to be able to talk. Neither of us is willing to give in or look away so I have no idea how much time has passed, both of us just staring, blinking every so often, when the phone rings. I ignore it until it stops; two seconds later it starts again. Josh is shooting daggers at me.

Not giving in. not.

"Donna," Josh says quietly, firmly. "Answer the phone before I fire your pretty little ass."

"Oh I get it, you're a butt man."

"No."

"Butthead?"

"Donna."

"You think my ass is pretty?"

"It's not pretty enough to slap stupid if you don't answer the DAMN phone."

"I'd like to see you try," I dare.

"Bend over," he says, still in that quietly stern voice.

"It's a bit difficult when I'm sitting down." I stick out my tongue - childish, I know - and snatch the phone from the cradle. "Josh Lyman." Josh is gazing impassively at me; I resist the urge to stick out my tongue a second time and cover the mouthpiece with my hand. "Leo wants to know why the hell you're not in Senior staff."

"Tell him I was stuck in traffic and only just walked in the door," Josh whispers urgently.

I relay the message and listen to the response before hanging up. "He said get in there now."

"I thought you might give me away," Josh admits. "Thanks."

"I'm a professional."

"Professional what?" His eyebrows are raised in amusement and I sigh.

"At the moment, we do not have the time."

"Yeah, I better go." He lifts my feet off his lap and stands up. "I'll see you later?"

"Where else would I be?" I shrug.

"You have nice legs," he says softly, his voice strangely tender.

"Yes," I state impassively. "I do." He's not going to butter me up with sweetness.

"By the way," he adds as he slides his arms into his coat, "if the bits I was kissing better were yours, I wouldn't be able to stop."

My mouth drops open in incredulity as he leans over and drags a finger across my collarbone. "And this is your other spot."

Oh. Good. God.

It's not a question because we both know the answer. "No it isn't." I lie, attempting to keep my voice as neutral as possible, something I'm having great difficulty doing as his finger moves back and forth.

"Liar," he whispers.

Oh I might as well give in because he's not going to stop torturing me until I do. "How did you guess?"

"Your hand kept drifting there while I was playing with your foot. I figured you either had an itch or were trying a little self-gratification." His finger dips into the hollow of my throat and I close my eyes. "And the good thing is," he continues," it's easy to access."

"I'm going to start wearing turtlenecks." I vow.

"Every time you do I'll know that you're afraid of me," he whispers, his mouth right next to my ear.

Well there is nO way I am letting him know he's right so I snap my eyes open and glare at the superior grin on his face. Any minute now he's literally going to start strutting like a rooster.

"You better go; Leo wasn't happy."

"Traffic was terrible." Josh is still grinning. I want to smack him so damn hard.

"Yeah, Dupont Circle is a killer."

"You know it," he turns to leave.

"Leo said he saw you come in at five this morning and that he was going to hang you by your thumbs for making me cover for you." He stops dead and looks back at me, the smirk replaced by panic and I wiggle a finger goodbye. "Have a good meeting boss."

"We're going to have a little talk when I return."

"I'll be holding my breath in anticipation," I simper sweetly.

"That's not all you'll be holding," he threatens. "Be prepared."

"For you... always."

"I can hardly wait."

"Well," I announce as I slide off the desk to get my boots, "you're just going to have to be a big boy and wait. And you're also going to have to GO!"

"Trying to get rid of me?" He's smiling again but I'm encouraged by the fact that his hand is actually on the doorknob.

"Not half as much as you're trying to stay to avoid getting into trouble."

Josh wrinkles his nose. Oh God that's too adorable for words. "I'm not scared."

"The tables have turned," I cackle as I pull my socks on.

"I'm going."

"Let's see you then."

"Seriously," he reiterates.

"Josh, open the door and leave or I'll call Leo and tell him you're cowering in your office like a baby."

"You wouldn't dare," he argues. I pick up the phone and raise my eyebrows. "Fine, I AM gOING." He opens the door and glares at me, "When I get back..."

"I'm dialing now," I singsong at him, while randomly pressing buttons.

"See you soon." He makes a run for it and I drop the receiver and check my watch. Close to an hour of sexual banter and already I'm totally exhausted. How far would he have taken it, how far could I have taken it had we not been interrupted? How much would I have let him into my thoughts, let the suggestive words take root and sprout into something that actually might have meaning?

Do they mean something?

I know I wanted them to at the time and I still do now. There are times when I am unbelievably attracted to Josh, times when I want to shove him up against a wall and kiss the smirk off his face. Run my fingers through his hair, leave scratch marks on his bare chest, make him scream my name in the middle of...

Ooh, no. No way, Donnatella Moss. You are not going there.

I smooth down my clothes and close the top button of my shirt then walk to my desk. No one comments on my absence or the fact I'd been sequestered with Josh for nearly an hour. Everyone is used to that. I am, after all, his assistant.

Twenty minutes, two coffees and half a muffin later, I hear Josh crashing down the hall before I see him. I smile at the scowl on his face when he arrives at my desk.

"In trouble?" I ask in all innocence.

"Nothing I can't handle," he brushes off.

"I expect not."

He glares irritably at me, "STOP smirking!"

"I'm not smirking! My face is showing no emotion whatsoever."

"You're smirking on the inside," he accuses.

"If I'm smirking, Joshua, it's only because I had a good teacher - and you have no idea what's going on inside me," I say in the haughtiest voice I can muster.

"Oh?" His expression softens immediately and the dimples appear. Uh oh.

"I am a closed book," I mutter. "You can't read me." I resume typing, staring resolutely at my computer. Josh is leaning against the frame of the bullpen window, his fingers drumming on the top of the monitor. "Stop that."

"Why?"

"Because I'm trying to work - something you should also be doing."

He sighs happily, "This is more fun."

"You're having fun annoying me."

"Yep."

"Well stop shaking the computer, I'm about to have an epileptic fit."

"What do you suggest I do with my hands then?"

I look up at him and frown, "We're back to this already?"

"We didn't stop. We had a temporary time out while I went off to run the country."

"You don't run the country big shot."

"I'm the man behind the man," he says proudly.

"Oh, so you're batting for the other team now?" I raise my eyebrows in mock shock.

"Yeah," Josh sighs heavily, "I'm having no luck with the girls, so I'm gonna try the boys for awhile."

"Okay but if you refer to them as boys and girls the handcuffs will be snapped on and you'll be read your rights before you realize what's happening."

"Handcuffs Donna? A nice Protestant girl like you? I'm deeply scandalized."

"Pink fur."

"Maybe I can see them sometime?" he asks hopefully.

"Only if you're very good."

"Or very bad."

I grin as I continue typing. "Oh, Josh, I'm sure you're very good."

"Who told you?

"I don't need to be told," I breezily.

"'Kay."

"You have nothing to say to that do you?"

"Not so much."

"Then the conversation is over."

"It's on hold," he corrects.

"Right."

"Until I think of a witty response."

"Good luck to you my friend," I offer as I run a spell check on the document I've been typing.

"Again, I don't need luck."

"I think perhaps you do." Spell check complete - no mistakes - I click save, then print. "Go get my printout will you?"

"I thought you worked for me?" he grumbles, but obeys.

"Yes, but this is for you and again, I'm the only one doing work around here."

"I'm making sure you're doing it right."

I glare at him and snatch the memo out of his hand. "Josh, have I ever not done things right? hang on..." I hasten to add as his mouth opens to argue, "Don't answer that. forget about those times."

"The many, many times," he agrees.

"Fine. Go away please, I'm extremely busy." I begin to read over the memo, ignoring the drumming fingers.

"I'll see you later then."

"No doubt," I say absently.

"We're still playing."

"I never thought otherwise."

"You better think of something good," Josh warns.

"I don't need to think, I AM good."

Josh leans over and squeezes my shoulder. "You'll have to prove it someday."

"Stop touching me before I cry harassment."

"Oh you know you love it."

"Only in my secret places," I stick my tongue out and am rewarded with the full dimpled lyman smile.

Swoon.

No, bad Donna!

"I'll see those places soon."

I wonder if it's a threat or a promise, or if it's just idle banter. I wonder if I would let him see my places - if he'd really want to see them. Okay I shouldn't be thinking about that now. I need to busy myself with work because all of a sudden, for all my bravado, I have no idea what to say to him. My mind is blank; the wit has gone on vacation and I don't like being trapped without a clever rejoinder.

"Josh, honey, I really need to do the work you've asked me to do okay? I'm not admitting defeat, but come on, I have things that do need to be done and so do you."

"Donna, honey," he drawls, "I need the DOD report in ten minutes."

"Not gonna happen my friend, you're talking about five times what..." I grab the report and flick through, "six hundred pages. You'll get it when you get it." I wave my hand in dismissal, grab the report and stalk to the photocopier; he's gone when I return.

The morning passes quickly, like it always does - you don't get a free minute to think when you're running the country - and I spend it typing letters, memos, filing, all the basic office work. Half the stuff Josh gives me to do I just hand off to someone else but today, just to avoid him, I want to keep busy for as long as possible.

An hour later the DOD budget report is still on the go. I have no idea who would have the time to read six hundred pages of numbers, projections, forecasts and speculations but stuff like this keeps me employed so I'm not complaining about the time it's taking. Josh will complain, but three thousand pages are a lot and he'll just have to deal with it; I can't accelerate the laws of mechanics. I only hope that it doesn't break down through overuse.

Ooh idea!

I'm brilliant, I'm a genius - I'm ready for more banter. I'm ready to bring him down a peg or two. I leave the photocopier to its business and wander past josh's open door. I pace three steps then turn around and walk back. I count to five this time then reverse and saunter past the door again, adding a loud sigh when, out of the corner of my eye, I see him watching me.

"Donna!"

I poke my head into his office, "What?"

"You okay?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "Your pacing is wearing a hole in the floor."

"I'm having lots of trouble with the photocopier. It's going to be a little longer before you get your reports."

"Oh that's great news," he mutters sarcastically. "I need those copies!"

"Well you're just going to have to wait. I haven't had an easy morning you know. I've been typing too much and I'm feeling kind of... antsy."

"You've been working today, Donna. You're complaining about your normal job?"

"Nah, I love everything you give me. I'm hungry and I just feel kind of twitchy because I've been staring at my computer screen for too long; I need a bit of distraction I think."

"I can think of ways to distract you," he waggles his eyebrows teasingly.

"No I need something fun."

"I'm insulted."

The set-up. "Do you have something I can play with?"

"Like what?"

The knock down. "Balls? Do you have balls?" His mouth drops open in shock; it's literally scraping the floor and I hold back a bubble of laughter. "Come on, Josh, you must have balls, I need something to squeeze before I start throwing things."

"Don-na," he manages to stammer.

"Toby has balls."

"DONNA!"

Hee!

"Pink rubber ones. You know, he squeezes them for stress, although it's a wonder they haven't split apart by now."

"Oh. My. God," he bleats. "Donna."

"What?" I ask innocently.

"I thought you... meant... I thought... you..."

I perch on the side of his desk and paste a big innocent look on my face. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"You're not making sense, Joshua." Come on, Donna you cannot start laughing now.

"Just... give me a minute." He buries his head in his hands for several seconds then ferociously rubs his face. "I'm good."

"Heeeeey wait - did you think...?"

"No of course not. I thought nothing. My mind was blank. No thoughts in there."

"As usual," I tease. "So I guess you don't have anything I can play with."

"Wait a second." Josh opens his desk drawer and tosses me a round plastic wrapped object.

"What's this?"

"Modeling clay."

"You have modeling clay in your office?" He nods. "How old are you?"

"Hey it's cathartic. Stanley suggested it."

"Well I have complete faith in Stanley's ability to heal your screwed up mind but honestly, Josh, this is grade school stuff."

"Don't knock it, Donna. Whenever I get pissed at someone I come here and sculpt a little figure of them and then take great delight in smashing them flat." He grins evilly and I can't help grinning back. "It's healthy voodoo. Recyclable too. I can make many, many figures, many, many times."

I unwrap the clay and dig my fingers into its softness. "Thanks."

"Make something pretty. A...vase or something."

I tip my head to the side and regard the evil dimpled grin. "You're not trying to recreate the scene from Ghost are you?"

"Do you see a potter's wheel in here?"

"Only in my imagination. I'll check on the report for you now." I wiggle my fingers in a half wave and skip back to the photocopier before he has a chance to respond. The report is churning out the final pages and I lean against the wall to examine the lump of clay.

Clay!

Every time I think I've figured him out, he shows me something else in his life that I find utterly adorable. But now, after having totally won that conversation, I have a sticky ball of clay. And of course, I have to create something out of it. Not a vase though.

Hmm.

"Are you still hogging the machine?"

"What? Oh yeah, sorry Ginger, it's almost done."

"Don't worry, the longer I can spend away from Toby the better," Ginger sighs. "He's roaring around like a bear with a sore head, which really isn't unusual. Ooh, clay! Where did you get that from?"

I hand it to her and she begins to make little fingerprints over the surface. "Josh gave it to me. He wants me to make a vase."

"Why?"

"Err," I pause. "We're playing a... game."

"What game?"

"You probably don't want to know," I admit.

"I'm all curious now."

"Sorry." The photocopier shudders to a halt and I start stacking the paper into piles. There is no way I'm going to be able to carry all this. "It's kind of private." Probably not the right word to use because Ginger's eyebrows shoot up into her hairline.

"Private? You have to tell me!"

"Absolutely not," I declare. "At least... not until I win."

"Aha!" Ginger exclaims gleefully. "Is there anything I can do to help? I assume the clay has something to do with it."

"It was his reaction to something I said. Now I have to use the clay to bring him down and I have no idea what to do. He said make a vase. I don't want to make a vase. It won't win me the next part of the game."

"You know," Ginger is still squishing the clay between her hands, "in high school Art classes my friends and I used to create shapes that got us sent to detention."

Ooh.

"Ginger, you are a genius!" I praise her. "I owe you a drink for that."

"Wait a second, you're not going to do what I think..."

"Oh, I'm going to do it all right. But it's going to be subtle. I'm going to sculpt an object and see what his reaction is."

"This game..." Ginger says slowly. "It wouldn't be one of the dirty kind would it? Donna, in the spirit of the Sisterhood, you're going to have to spill everything."

"I'm saying nothing until it's over," I emphasize but can't help it when a little smile slips across my face.

Ginger grins insanely, "You are truly evil, Donna Moss."

"If you bind these reports for me, I'll tell you what happens."

She thinks for half a second then nods. "Deal. But I still want the drink. Free alcohol is free alcohol."

"Drinks on Friday night, full disclosure of his reaction to my sculpture."

"And the game?"

"You'll get to see the outcome," I promise her. "And right now I have work to do." I take the clay back and tap a finger on the huge pile of paper. "Good luck."

"Same to you."

I go back to my desk, pull out my chair and think about what to make. obviously it has to be something subtle, truly cunning. Something so obviously not naughty that it couldn't possibly be anything but naughty. I roll the lump though my fingers and think.

A flower.

I am a genius when it comes to ideas but obviously not a genius when it comes to making shapes in clay and it takes me the best part of half an hour to make a flower in bloom. It looks pretty good, not perfect of course but Art wasn't one of my majors in college - not that it would have mattered anyway. still, it will have to do and I carefully carry the flower to Josh's office and knock lightly on the door.

"What?" he says by way of greeting, briefly looking up from his laptop.

"I made you something."

"Oh?" I hand him my creation. "It's a flower."

"Yep."

"You made me a flower?"

"Yep."

His eyes narrow. "You made me a flower after all the... um, innuendo this morning?"

"Yep," I nod and examine my fingernails. "You're a smart boy, Josh, you'll figure it out. I'm going for an early lunch and because I'm nice I'll bring something back for you."

"Fries, burger, remember to..."

"I've been working for you for what... seven years? I know how you like it."

"No you don't," he says playfully. "One day, maybe I'll show you, if you're very good of course."

"Shut up and give me some money." He tosses me a twenty from his wallet and picks up the flower again.

"A flower?"

"Good luck," I blow him a kiss as I leave. I've never done that before.

Outside the White House the sun is shining but a cool breeze blows the fall leaves around the sidewalk as I sit on a bench along the Mall and eat a sandwich. I don't stay out for long though, it's cold and having offered to get Josh food I know he'll expect me back straight away. And of course, I want to know if he's figured out the cryptic clay so I hail a cab to take me to his favorite takeout place, get the cook to scorch his burger beyond recognition, and go back to the office.

"One burger, medium rare," I announce as I dump the greasy bag on his desk.

"Funny," he smirks as he digs in. I look over the clutter on his desk. No flower.

"Did you figure it out yet?"

"Figure what out?" Josh asks through a piece of blackened cow. "Oh right." He swallows his mouthful, "I left it on your desk. Oh and 474. It's with the VP's office. Be a good girl and get it for me."

"Okay," I turn to leave.

"Donna?"

"What now?"

"My change if you please." He's holding his hand out, fingers wiggling.

"Oh, Josh, must we go through this every single time?"

"Yes!"

I sigh. "When do you think you'll stop asking?"

"When I die."

"You think that'll persuade me? Josh, I can hold out against you and you're not getting your change."

"Yeah," he sighs dejectedly, "can't blame a guy for trying though. Off you go now."

I don't like being dismissed so I stick my tongue out and flounce back to the bullpen. On my desk is a perfect replica of a pair of lips.

Hee hee, Josh has a deliciously dirty mind.

I know exactly what to make in response and quickly break the mouth into equal halves then roll them around my palms to create two smooth round circles. I press them slightly against each other so they stick and grin evilly.

When I stick my head into Josh's office, he's on the phone so I tiptoe to his desk and place both balls on top of his half-eaten burger. His eyebrows rise in confusion.

"Because you said you didn't have any," I whisper and tiptoe back out.

See? Evil.

It only takes me ten minutes to run to the OEOB and back for the file notes and when I return, sitting smack in the middle of my desk for the entire world to see, are his balls. With nipples.

I have a pair of clay breasts on my desk!

No more Miss Nice Girl, okay I wasn't Miss Nice Girl before but now, I'm really going to play dirty. He started it and as I stare at the perfectly shaped breasts, each with a perky little nipple, inspiration comes to me. I squash the clay into a fairly passable pair of legs; actually, they're not passable at all - they look like two sticks.

Damn it I can't give him a pair of sticks! Why didn't I take Art in college?

I mash the clay a bit more; adding hips and a waist then pull the legs open and bend the knees. Much better. I can't believe I'm doing this. This is what he's reduced me to - I'm being dragged into his seedy little world and with this he's going to concede victory - or he's going to fire me. Either way, I am going to burn in hell.

"DONNA!"

No rest for the wicked. I pick up the 474 notes and deliver them. "Josh, you and I have to have a discussion about the intercom."

He glares at me. "By the time I press the button on it I could have already shouted your name, are you trying to waste my time?"

"No, you're quite capable of wasting it yourself. Do you know it's nearly one? Senator Kendrick?"

"Oh damn, my meeting." Josh leaps to his feet and grabs his backpack. "I'm going to get him on board, I don't care what Toby thinks - the Senator is mine."

"Good luck; I have complete confidence in your abilities."

"And while I'm gone can you please do your job and arrange the meeting with Leighton tomorrow?"

"It's on my list."

"Well put it at the top."

"Stop telling me what to do!" I follow him into the hallway. "I'm not your wife."

"No, if you were, I wouldn't have so many problems with you," he gives me a dimpled grin and I reach up to smack him on the back of the head. "Help, spousal abuse!"

"You wish!" I yell as he strides away.

"Do your work!" he calls back as the doors swing shut, effectively leaving me without time for a response. Oh well, I still have my little figurine and now that he's gone I can stick it on his desk as a nice surprise. I clear away the remains of his lunch - am I a good assistant or what - and stick the legs on the very edge of his desk, right in front of his chair. pretty much the same spot I had been sitting earlier that morning.

I grin. Oh, I am so bad.

I go back to my cubicle and call Leighton's office to make the appointment for tomorrow. At some point when I'd been away from my desk, Ginger had completed the binding on the DOD report so all five copies are now sitting neatly beside my computer. I take them into Josh's office, leave them on a chair and realize that since I have nothing to do I might as well surf the internet.

I like to make efficient use of my time while working for the Government.

Josh has absolutely no creativity in creating random passwords so even though security insists on a change every calendar month he ends up using the same word with different numbers. I know the word - Harvard, and since the number is always the month and year, I have no problem logging onto the network through his laptop. Sometimes trust can bite you in the ass.

Sadly I can't find anything interesting in the private folders. It's so Josh to label a folder Private; honestly does he think that people will respect that? Especially with such an easy password to break?

I wonder though where he really keeps his real private stuff because, frankly, there's nothing here that I couldn't get out of him after a few beers. it's private work stuff on his laptop which means the personal stuff is somewhere else and that means it might be time for another of my office snooping sessions.

Right now though, I really need to mess with his mind.

Feeling wicked, with several quick clicks I download a few choice wav files and change his sound scheme. Now when he powers on his computer he'll be greeted with a rousing digital version of Hail to the Chief. On power down he's going to get the theme from the Muppets.

The game of innuendo is going fine in my opinion, it's still fairly... tame, but I still want to be naughty - in the good way of course - so I rename a few folders here and there, nothing dramatic, just enough to confuse him. It has nothing to do with our banter but, as is demonstrable, I am evil.

Maniacal mischief managed - back to the real job at hand.

What to do, what to do?

I could do with some new underwear and Victoria's Secret has online shopping so I click on to the website and spend a few minutes browsing. Despite what I hinted at this morning, I'm not really a racy underwear type of person. Quite frankly, all the bows and lace and frills itch terribly and there's nothing more unromantic than to have a good old scratch in the middle of a date.

I wonder what Josh would say if he saw some of this stuff.

Ooh.

Evil idea again.

I can't help cackling as I search through the website and, using Josh's credit card number - hey come on, of course I know it - make my purchase. I pay the extra shipping fee to have it delivered by the end of the day and log off his computer then grab the phone and dial Josh's cell number.

"What?" he barks.

"Don't take that tone with me."

"I'm in a meeting, is it urgent?"

"Not really, I'm just sitting here. Bored. Lonely." I let my voice drop, "Thinking about you."

"Oh?"

Crossing my fingers so I won't be struck down for lying I say, "I spilled coffee on myself."

"I guess I'm not the only clumsy one."

"I had to take my pants off and wash them out so they wouldn't stain. i've locked myself in your office while they dry because I have nothing to wear."

"What?" I do love it when his voice gets high and strangled like that.

"Well I could hardly walk around without pants on could I? I'm sitting here drying them on the radiator. I just thought I should let you know in case your meeting ended early and you came back to find me naked in your chair.

"Guh."

"So make sure you knock when you return! See you soon," I caution then hang up before he can reply.

Heh, heh, heh.

I'm back at my desk, studiously pretending to look like I'm actually working, when he bounces in an hour later.

"Someone's in a good mood!" I remark cheerfully. "Meeting go well?"

"Didya miss me?"

"No I haven't missed you at all," I shoot back.

Josh grins, "Guess what?"

"You're mad and I'm not?"

"Trite."

"You're giving me a raise?"

"Not a monetary one," he quips.

"Ooh, funny, how long did it take you to think of that?"

"Straight off the top of my head. What can I say; I'm gifted in the banter department."

"And overloaded in the ego department."

"You gotta sing your own praises, Donna."

"Please don't sing in here, Josh, and I've no time to figure out why you're so bouncy so please tell me what I'm supposed to be guessing?"

"I'm da man, Donna; you didn't think I could convince Kendrick to sign off did you? Well, he's mine, all mine!"

"Actually, as I recall, it was Toby who said you'd never get him so perhaps you should go gloat over in his office."

"Ah, but someone told me I had a naked woman in my office," he sighs. "I was looking forward to a bit of afternoon fun."

"What a shame she's not there now."

"She'll come back, she can't resist me."

"That's what you think but it's all part of her master plan. Your budget reports are on your desk."

"Why thank you Miss Donnatella, come dance with me!" Josh grabs my arms and swings me into a very bad waltz step and I start laughing as he negotiates me around the crowded bullpen.

"Are you high or something, Joshua?"

"High on life, Donnatella, ready to be dipped?"

"Don't you dare!" I squeal as he bends me over backwards to the cheers of the gathered staff. "If you drop me so help me God..."

"You'll what?" he whispers in my ear, holding me precariously close to the floor.

"I'll knee your things north for the winter," I smile sweetly.

"I think the expression is south for the winter and if you do that then i'll have to drop you."

"I'm not kidding, Josh, stop it NOW." A raised voice doesn't usually work on him but this time with the added threat of physical damage, he surrenders and pulls me back up.

"You're no fun," he says sulkily. "I was trying to celebrate my brilliance by dancing with my best girl and she had to go and ruin it all."

"Your best girl agrees that you're brilliant but if she ever gets dipped again she's going to have to punish you."

"Oh?" His voice immediately softens as his eyes darken. "Would this be with her equipment?"

"Yes." I sit back down in my chair and cross my arms.

"I'll have to misbehave more often then."

"Not when you're supposed to be working."

"I have to make notes on the DOD report now," he says unhappily.

"If you have to make notes on it, why did it have to be copied?"

"Ah, the minions get copies as well. Whilst among many circles I am considered a political mastermind, the President deems it necessary to get multiple opinions on this budget."

"Opinions of minions?"

He starts snickering at my expression. "The little people."

"The minions will rise up against you one day. Watch out."

"Then I'll crush them! Can you give a copy to Ed, Larry, Toby and CJ?"

I grin, "I am so telling Toby you called him a little person. Who gets the last one?"

"You of course."

"Why?" I ask in surprise. Defense equipment is not my specialty and budget estimations are seriously not my specialty.

"Because I need you to make notes for me."

I brighten. "Can I use index cards?" I love index cards.

"Yes you may."

"Thanks for the permission boss," I stick my tongue out. This is like the fifth time I've done it today. Mature.

He sticks his out in retaliation. "Come on woman, I need you to make cards."

"You sure you don't need me for other things?" I ask as I follow him into his office.

"Yes, I need you to distribute the copies first." He throws his bag under his desk and looks around. "You were naked in here?"

"Yes," I lie.

"For how long?"

"Half hour or so," I shrug.

"You were sitting in my chair?"

"Yes." There's a pause as Josh regards me thoughtfully. "What'?"

"Nice sculpture." He points to the pair of legs perched on the edge of his desk. "Go deliver the reports please."

Hmm. Guess the legs don't bother him as much as I'd hoped. I feel vague disappointment but shrug it off as I lug the heavy books around. CJ goes slightly green at the size, Toby gives me an evil look, and Ed and Larry rub their hands together gleefully. I do not understand those two.

Distribution done, I amble back to the bullpen to grab a blank stack of index cards and I notice there's a clay sausage on my desk. It's standing on end, looking rather bumpy.

Why would he make me a sausage?

Wait hang on, it's not a sausage... oh my God.

I pick it up and march into his office.

"JOSHUA!"

"Oh, you got it. Rather a good replica although I ran out of clay so it's not life sized."

"And how big should it be?"

"Well, I'm not one to brag," he says modestly.

I glare at him crossly, "You are totally one to brag. I can't believe you made me this."

"Aha you're panicking - that means I win."

"Hardly," I scoff. "I just can't believe you left it on my desk for the whole world to see."

"Do you not know me at all, Donna? I play to win, and if that means I have to play dirty, then I won't think twice." I grit my teeth at his smugness and yank his desk drawer open.

"Donna, what are you doing with those scissors?"

Good, he sounds nervous now. I flick them open, hold up his little model and, with an evil grin, snip the tip. It falls to the floor with a pathetic thud and Josh cringes and crosses his legs.

"I play to win as well."

"Well, that isn't gonna make a difference baby, I've already had it done," he counters with restored calmness. "Wanna see for yourself?"

"Baby? ARGH!" I drop the scissors, along with the mutilated sculpture, into his trash bin and stalk out of his office.

I can hear him chuckling as he calls after me, "Where are you going?"

"To get my index cards," I yell back. I'm a professional but it still takes me a good two minutes to establish a cool exterior before I return to Josh.

"You good now?"

"Yes thanks."

He starts flipping through the report. "Come on, index girl, it's after three already. We have to have this done by five."

"Don't mock the cards or you won't get them," I order as I settle into his visitors' chair and drag my own copy onto my lap. It's heavy and I prop my feet up on the edge of his desk to support the weight.

"You take the second half," Josh instructs.

"I know what to do. Shut up now."

"Yes Ma'am," he salutes.

I hate it when he mocks me. "The next time you do that will be the last time you do that." I warn and he snickers.

"Okay, I'll behave for once."

"Good boy."

He gives me another dimpled grin but I steadfastly ignore it and bury my head in the numbers. It's a typical budget estimation, extolling the virtues of the new weapons system and how it'll revolutionize the defenses of the country but basically it's just a desperate plea for money. My stack of index cards grows steadily but after awhile I realize my legs have lost all feeling in them so I flex my ankles back and forth as best I can while wearing boots.

"What?"

"My legs hurt," I mutter. "This thing weighs a ton."

"How far have you got to go?"

"Nearly done. Just have to take a break for a minute; my eyes are swimming with numbers."

Josh grins. "Want a leg massage?"

"No thank you. We don't have time," I sigh tiredly. "I'm just going to take my boots off for a bit. It isn't an invitation; I'm not trying to tempt you."

"Are you trying to convince yourself or me?"

I heave the report onto his desk and slide my boots off. "Just making things clear."

"Are you going to take your socks off too?" Hmm, his voice has become really deep and husky.

"Why?"

"No reason," he shrugs.

"Joshua..." Something has just occurred to me.

"Donnatella..."

"Are you a leg man?"

Josh shakes his head reproachfully. "Are we back to this?"

"As you said before, it was on hold."

He's watching me carefully as I take my socks off. "You ready to start it again?"

"I'm ready for anything," I quip, noting how his mouth drops open ever so slightly as I prop my now naked feet against his desk again. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you haven't eaten for days and my toes are Twinkies."

"That's a really bad visual, Donna."

"It's like you want to take a bite out of me. I find it very disturbing."

"Do you want me to bite you?"

I grin, "Do you want me to want you to bite me?"

"Do you want me to want you to want me to bite you?" he shoots back.

"Do you?"

"Uh... what?"

"Bite me," I stick out my tongue again. Can I bring the maturity or what?

"I'm lost."

"Big surprise, do you need a map?"

"No it'd probably end up telling me I'm upside down and half the size I thought I was," he sighs ruefully. I stare at him. "Never mind."

"Not the mapmakers again? Josh, I am sometimes completely amazed that any rational thought whatsoever can make it through the debris in your head."

"You like insulting me don't you?"

"It passes the time," I shrug.

"I can think of something else to pass the time," he eyeballs my feet again and I wiggle my toes.

"Later big boy, I have index cards to write."

"Big boy?"

"I couldn't pull that off could I?"

"I can think of something else you can pull off."

I roll my eyes. "Yes and it's in the trash bin with the scissors."

"We won't be going there."

"No we won't," I agree. "Can I please get back to my report?"

"By all means." he buries his head back in his half of the report and I continue scribbling on index cards. The afternoon passes and finally, with a sigh of accomplishment, I finish the last page, close the report and look over at Josh.

I don't believe it.

"Joshua!" I scream.

He jumps and splutters. "I'm not sleeping; I'm checking my eyelids for holes!"

"You were sleeping. I don't believe it, you fell asleep while I was working away like a slave."

"You got to do index cards," he whines. "I know how much you like doing index cards."

"I hate you." I yank my socks back on and zip up my boots before dropping the index cards on his desk. "I'm done now. Enjoy."

I stomp back to my cubicle; I'm annoyed again. He always does this to me - asks me to help him then leaves it totally in my hands because he doesn't want to do it himself. Typical male - well, typical Josh. I take a deep relaxing breath and check my inbox; there's an email from my mom and I spend the next ten minutes responding. She likes to know about Josh's latest antics but because I'm pissed at him I can't think of anything endearing; I end up typing general news of the white House, ask her about the cats and click send.

It's just past five thirty when I finish. Josh's leg wax is scheduled for seven. Nice and late so he can't back out, which I fully expect him to do. The only way he'll get out of it is over my dead body.

"Donna?" I look up to see one of the security guards from the front door. "This was left at the gate for you." He's holding a wrapped box. Ooh my delivery from Victoria's Secret.

"Thanks, Bob," I take the parcel and grin evilly. Bob looks slightly nervous.

"I hope it's not a bomb," he remarks.

"No, but it might have the same effect as one. Oh sorry Bob, joke. Thanks for this."

"No problem ma'am."

See, I like being called Ma'am by anyone other than Josh because he always says it sarcastically. Idiot. Hmm, I'm rather whiny now and since I don't like being whiny I think it's time for payback so I take the box into Josh's office. He's slouched in his chair, moodily flipping through my index cards.

"How many did you write, Donna?"

"About one hundred twenty," I estimate. "You asked for them, don't complain."

"Not complaining. What's in the box?"

"I have a present for you."

Instantly, he cheers up. Typical. "Is it socks?"

"Why would I bring you socks?"

"I need socks. the dryer eats my socks. Don't give me that look, I don't have a foot fetish," he argues defensively.

"I never said it was a fetish, although now I'm thinking it must be and why on earth do you think I'd bring you something you'd need?"

"Because you're nice."

"To those worthy of my nicety I am."

"I'm not worthy," he chants.

"You're supposed to be down on your knees when you say that."

"I can think of other things to do while on my knees."

"Oh like what?"

"Do you really want me to go into detail?"

"With your SAT scores I'm sure your linguistic skills are quite cunning."

He blinks, "What?"

"Any minute now," I singsong.

"Are we," he clears his throat to remove the squeak. "Are we talking about philately here?"

"We might be."

"Because, you know, I could-"

I interrupt him, "You could but I think your knees would give out on you. Do you want your present or not?"

"I want."

I hand him the box and lean against the wall as he gleefully rips it open, bouncing like a child on his birthday. The glee turns to confusion, then shock as he lifts out the matching thong and garter belt set that I had ordered earlier in the day.

"What the hell is this?"

"What does it look like?"

"Is it for me?"

"It's your size."

"You have got to be kidding me!" He drops the thong and leaps out of his chair. "I'm not wearing that, why would you think I'd wear that? This isn't part of the bet!"

"Are you panicking?"

"Yes... NO! No panic. I'm just... lace, Donna? Do you really think I'm a lace kind of guy?"

"Actually Josh, when I imagine you wearing women's underwear you're wearing silk. But they didn't have the silk one in your size."

"How do you know what size thong I wear?"

"You think I don't check you out?"

"Oh, I know you check me out," he smirks.

"What's the problem then?"

He leans over and picks up the thong, holding it between his thumb and forefinger then shrinks back against the window. "I am not wearing this."

"Stop waving it about, Josh! I bought it because I thought it would look so good with your bikini wax," I sulk as I advance around the desk towards him.

He backs sideways like a crab in the opposite direction. "No way, Donna, NO WAY!"

"It's part of the package! Full leg and bikini. You save ten dollars."

"There is no way on earth I am letting some crazy woman smear wax over my... err... NO, no it's not going to happen. I agreed to the legs - that's it. That's it! Legs only! nothing else! Legs!" He's shaking his head emphatically with each exclamation and I can't help snickering.

"Josh, I got mine done remember? If you're trying to prove that waxing doesn't hurt, I think it only fair that you have done what I had done." I realize my error when josh's eyes narrow maliciously. "Oh no. Nope, I am not showing you." It's my turn to shake my head and back away as he slinks towards me.

"Donnnna," he wheedles, his voice soft and dangerous.

"No."

"Are you afraid?"

"No." I'm the one shuffling backwards around the desk now. The cat has become the mouse and I am not liking it. He's going to call me on this and I don't have a clever enough rebuttal.

"Donna Mosssssss."

"What are you a snake?" Ooh bad choice of words.

"You know what I want."

I'm near the door; I can make a run for it. "Well you ain't getting it baby."

"You want to make me beg don't you?"

"Yes," I say stubbornly.

Josh grins, long and slow and I feel my toes curl in my boots. The man has a killer smile. "Donna, I have to see it. I need proof."

"What exactly are you saying, Josh?" He's close now but I'm nearly out the door; just five more steps and I can sit at my desk and claim to be busy with work.

"I'm saying..." he reaches behind me and slams the door shut. Oh hmm, not good. "I need visual proof."

I laugh nervously, "I am not taking my pants off."

"You don't have to strip for me to check you out." I'm now pressed against the door, his hand on either side of my face. I should be feeling trapped but I'm actually incredibly turned on.

"Joshua Lyman, are you saying you want to feel me up? In your office? In the White House?"

He looks down at me, his eyes dark, and a hint of a smile dancing on his lips. "Would you say yes if I asked?"

"Would you ask?" I whisper.

"Would you say yes?"

"We could do this all day you know, which is obviously your plan to avoid going to the salon." I blink innocently up at him. "You want me to prove I had my bikini done?"

"Yes."

"Fine." I slide my hand to my belt, unclasp it and drag it from the loops of my waistband.

"What are you doing?"

"Showing you." my fingers fumble for the button and I flick it open. "Zipper time now, Josh, are you really sure?" His eyes have darkened beyond reason; his lips slightly parted. "Ready or not..."

"Okay you don't have to show me," he splutters. "And I don't need to feel either."

"Afraid?"

"No, it's just... not here."

"Where then?"

He closes his eyes for a beat. "Donna, I'm not admitting defeat but seriously, you can't take your clothes off in here. Impropriety and all that. I'm speaking as Deputy chief of Staff here."

"Hiding behind your title? Josh you should be ashamed!" I grin, slightly relieved to have gotten out of it. If he hadn't stopped then he would have won because despite removing my belt, there was no way I was going to remove the rest.

"I'm not hiding, I believe you're all nice and err, hair free, down, um there... but I'm not getting my bikini line done. There is no possible thing you could do or say that would convince me to allow an enthusiastic misandrist near my boys."

I start spluttering, I can't help it. "Your boys?" He looks stunned as I lean my head against the door sucking in gulps of air, laughing hysterically.

"What?"

"You call them your boys? Oh, Joshua, Josh, Josh." I grab his shoulders and give a little shake. "You can't call them your boys. That is quite possibly the saddest thing i've ever heard."

"Hey wait a minute, I seem to recall you calling them my things earlier today."

"Well yes things are okay," I wheeze, trying desperately to control my giggles and failing miserably. "But, Josh, calling them your boys is as good as giving them a name."

He looks momentarily embarrassed and I blink in disbelief. "Oh no, oh, Josh, no. You haven't?"

"What's wrong with it?" he mumbles.

"You haven't named your um... you know... also?"

"Maybe."

He looks quite mortified now that I start to feel sorry for him. "Oh, Josh, I apologize for laughing. It's just really quite hilarious."

His hands are still planted on either side of my head and he sighs. "Don't tell me none of your previous gomers named their territory?"

"Oh, of course they did, and mine as well but honestly, Josh-"

"Yours?" Uh oh. He's perked up again, the boyish humiliation vanishing as he leans closer. "What exactly have yours been named... and what of yours are we talking about?"

"Tell me what you called yours first," I challenge.

"You promise to go after?"

"Promise."

"Cross your heart and hope to die?" he demands.

I look straight into his eyes. "Cross it for me."

"'Kay." He slides one hand off the door and very lightly draws a cross over my heart. I feel his finger lightly grazing my breast, first one way then the other and I close my eyes and swallow, forcing myself not to lean into his touch. The sensation is so light it's like a brush of air.

"There you go," he whispers.

I look at him again and smile sweetly, trying to quell the fluttering deep in my chest. "Go on then, what have you called your boys?"

"Well, one is called Tom."

"Tom?"

"Yes."

I raise an eyebrow, "I really hope that isn't after someone you know."

"Shut up," he says softly. "The other is called Harry, and then my -"

My eyes widen as it hits me. "Josh, no."

"Yeah," he mutters ruefully.

I don't even try to keep the reproach out of my voice. "Oh, Joshua, you couldn't have been a little more imaginative?"

"I was six!" he cries defensively.

"And you've stayed with the same names for nearly forty years?"

"Don't be mean!"

"You live in a creative vacuum, Josh."

"Yeah," he smiles jokingly, "It's a Dyson."

I start giggling, "So how on earth will you come up with names for your kids?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

I jab a finger into his chest. "You and I are not having kids."

"I didn't mean you and I, I mean my wife and I. Besides, you and I would have to have sex before we got to the naming of the kids part."

Silence.

"It's your turn to say that we're never going to have sex," he prompts.

"Why should I be the one to say it?"

"Why should I be the one to say it?" he mimics.

"We're not talking about sex here you know."

"Funny," his left hand slides off the doorframe to brush a piece of hair from my shoulder, "I thought that was the direction of this little game."

"It's a game Josh!" I huff. "There's no deeper meaning to it."

"Isn't there?"

"No."

"'Kay. What have you called yours?"

"I have no kids," I say innocently.

"Funny girl."

"I would like you to please bear in mind that I have never named any part of me. Other people have done the naming. Are you quite sure you want to hear all about my ex-boyfriends?"

"Yep."

"Sure?"

"How long is it gonna take?" I reach up and slap the side of his head. "Hey!"

"Don't make me do that again," I warn.

"If it means you'll touch me, I'll do anything."

"Shut up or you don't get to hear the names."

"Go on then."

"Well there was Freddy," I begin.

"He's the first one right?" He emphasizes the word with another eyebrow waggle. "The one with which you became a...woman?"

"Yes, the very same."

"You jumped his bones didn't you?"

"I was sixteen and he was really cute and he had this weird hair thing going on and he wore glasses."

"I don't wear glasses," Josh remarks.

"Nope."

"I do have weird hair."

"Yep," I nod.

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Oh nothing just idle hmming."

"Do you want me to tell my story?" I snap.

"Yes."

"I told him I was having issues with French."

"You had issues with the French?"

"No, French class and would you stop interrupting or you won't get to hear about it."

He looks intrigued. "I didn't know you could speak French."

"Mais oui. actually no, I'm lying because I've forgotten it all now. Back then I was brilliant but I, err, fibbed a little and told him I was having issues and could he possibly, maybe, consider helping me because I couldn't get the rhythm of the words right. He... well he helped me find my rhythm and then I helped him find, um, his."

"How metaphorical," he smirks.

"The sad thing was he was so easy - he couldn't resist my feminine wiles."

Josh grins admiringly, "You're sneaky."

"I am," I grin back.

"You had a strategic plan to jump him."

I nod. "I did and I was very proud of it and it worked."

"You had premeditated preparation for your first time?"

"Yes. We women think of these things."

"I like how you left it unsaid that men do not."

"Men don't! there is no planning for the first time, there's just desperation to leap upon any unsuspecting girl."

"You think so little of me," he pouts.

"Go on then Mr. sensitive, tell me about your first time," I challenge.

"I'd rather not."

"Because it was quick and rabbit like."

"Pretty much," he sighs dejectedly.

"So making me feel guilty for comparing you with all other men..."

"Yeah that was mean."

"You are mean," I agree. "You'll have to make it up to me?"

"How?"

"Think of something good." Josh smiles slowly and I roll my eyes. "Yeah, not gonna happen. I want romance; I want to be swept off my feet. I want to be wooed."

"You and your wooing!"

"I have needs Josh. I need to be wooed."

"Oh my God shut up already."

"You shut up."

"You're doing such a good job of trying to distract me that I won't slap you for being rude to a superior."

"Oh get over yourself," I roll my eyes.

"No, I'd rather be under you." I gape at him in shock and he grins. "Are you picturing it?"

"Are you?"

"Oh, only since I met you," he says casually. "Come on now, Donna, you can't wrangle your way out of this, what did Freddy Your First call your breasts?"

My annoyance with him is growing. Smug bastard. "Luke and Leia if you must know."

"What?" He starts laughing, "Star Wars, are you kidding me?"

"He was sixteen for God's sake. It was the eighties. Get a hold of yourself."

"Apart from assigning a male gender to one... which one by the way?"

I sigh, "The left one."

Josh bites his lip to keep from laughing again. "Okay, so you have a male breast and a female breast, named after a brother and sister from a galaxy far far away."

I sniff disapprovingly. "You seem to know too much about Star Wars to be making fun."

"You're right, sorry." He looks down at my breasts and grins," Hi there."

"If you try to shake, uh, hands with them you'll find yourself on the floor," I threaten.

"Oh?" His eyebrows twitch in amusement and I stab a firm finger into his chest.

"Knocked out cold."

"Oh." The eyebrows fall and I hide a snicker. "Sorry girls, your mom says hands off."

"Okay, that's sick and twisted. Freak."

"Yeah, what ya gonna do? I have boys, you have girls. And yeah, yours are both girls. You can't have one and the other. That's just wrong."

"That's the only thing wrong here? Oh, and if you call them girls in front of anyone..."

"Out cold on the floor?"

"Bingo."

"I'm a quick study, but seriously, Luke and Leia?"

I sigh in exasperation. "As I said before, I've had no control over the naming process."

"Okay," he nods, "What else?"

"What else what?"

"Don't be coy Donna. Other names please."

"Ah," I wrinkle my brow, trying to remember which, rather amusingly, makes Josh frown. "What?"

"Too many to recall?"

Heh. "Jealous?"

"No. Nooo. Not at all. No. Just, you know, I didn't think you were that type-"

I interrupt him, "You think about the type of girl I am in that way?"

"Well..."

"Shame on you. be ashamed."

He grins widely, "You're trying to misdirect me again."

"Is it working?" I snap back.

"I know your little tricks and I've built up a natural immunity over the years. Names, now."

"No," I say stubbornly. "I'm done sharing with you."

"You're no fun," he sulks.

"I'm lots of fun but I'm bored now. Why don't we leave the boys and the girls to play with themselves..." I close my eyes in frustration. "Uh, you know what I mean."

"Vividly."

I flick my eyes open. He's staring at me. "Stop it."

"What?"

"You're staring at me. Freak."

"Tell me something secret, something no one else knows."

I blink in confusion. "What?"

"I'm letting you off the hook here, free of charge. No more talk about your breasts provided you tell me something."

I tip my head to the side and smile. "Humans and dolphins are the only species that have sex for pleasure."

"Another Donna Moss factoid," he groans.

"You ever wonder why that is?"

"No I never wonder about the sex life of a dolphin."

"I think it's because we're the smartest mammals on the planet. We know how to have fun."

Josh shakes his head. "Donna."

"Well, I know how to have fun."

"Who exactly are you having fun with at this particular point in your life?"

"You of course," I exclaim.

"We're not having sex!" he screeches.

"Well obviously right at this very moment we're not."

"Which other moments are you referring to?"

"Any other moment in time I could be having sex with you."

His jaw drops. "Really?"

"What, you'd say no?"

"Have a little self control, Donna."

"I'm the model of control. At least, on the outside." His smile flickers in amusement as he slowly sweeps his eyes down my body. "Quit it."

"You're admitting something's happening in the places I can't see?"

"Could be. You'll never know."

"Very unfair of you. Selfish even."

"Oh shut up," I mutter.

"Don't tell me what to do, Donna, I'm the boss."

"Do you say that in bed as well?"

He grins, "Only one way to find out."

"Oh god," I groan. "You know I've come to the conclusion that all your problems will be solved by one thing."

"Yes, sex."

"No, death!"

"You're gonna kill me with sex?"

"Good way to go, but no I was gonna kill you with a paper bag over your head."

"My way is more fun," Josh smirks.

"Oh, I bet it is but my way is quicker."

"Where do you plan on getting a paper bag, Donna?"

"I could use the one that came with your lunch," I exclaim triumphantly. "You know, your nose hair scares me."

He blinks rapidly before snorting with laughter. "Your conversational track changes amaze me."

"Well, thank you."

"And if my nose hair scares you, I think it only fair to say your eyes scare me. You have evil eyes."

"What?" I flutter my lashes. "These baby blues?"

"Are you trying to seduce me Mrs. Robinson?"

"What?" I splutter. "You're comparing me to a horny middle aged teacher?"

"Yes because I'm the young manly stud."

"In your dreams!"

He nods his head thoughtfully. "Ah dreams, yes we haven't fully covered dreams have we?"

"And we're not going to because it's getting late and we have things to do."

"Donna, we have nothing to do but this. And this seems to have no end in sight because you're refusing to admit that you've been freaked out the whole day by me."

I flick my hand in annoyance, "Please. You're the one running scared."

"How do you figure that?" he asks, moving his body closer which forces me to press more firmly against the door.

"You're doing it now. Invading my personal space, trying to shake me because you know you can't go on for much longer."

Josh smiles lazily, "Wow, that's female logic for you. Donna logic even."

"Are you saying my logic is worse than normal female logic?" I ask, raising my eyebrows, daring him to insult me again.

"Nooo. No of course not. You're logic is better. Unique even."

"Nice save," I say admiringly. "But you blew it."

"I'd rather you be the one blowing it," he smirks.

"Josh," I curl my lip in disgust. "I hate you."

"Ah no you don't," he murmurs softly, shifting a little nearer. I lean back and find nowhere to go. His arms in shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow, are braced on the door and I realize if I move my head forward a few inches I can kiss him.

"I hate you," I whisper and his right hand slips off the door to rest on my shoulder.

"Donna..." oh God, his mouth is so close. I can't do it though, I can't just lean forward and kiss him but I can't just stand here and if I push him away he'll win.

"What?" I mutter irritably.

"Are you tired of this game?" he asks quietly and I wonder if it's a trick question. The way he's looking at me now makes me think he's tired as well but he's always been good at hiding his true feelings and although I know him so well I have a sneaking suspicion he's trying to play me.

The problem is I am tired. I'm really tired, and not just of this game, but of every game we play. I'm tired of the banter, the verbal foreplay. I'm tired of him being him and me being me and us not being allowed to be us. If us could even exist. I'm tired of standing up, pressed against this door and not being able to do a damn thing about my almost uncontrollable desire to grab him and stick my tongue down his throat.

"Donna?" he prompts.

"Uh. sorry. What?"

"You kind of went into your own little void there. Are you imagining something... naughty?"

Right. This game has to end and it has to end now. I smile at him, showing my teeth. "Josh."

"Yes Donna."

"I'm imagining..." My voice lowers and his eyes widen slightly, "that you're going to..." I touch his chest softly with a finger, swirling it around in big looping circles. His body tenses slightly and I press a little harder, dragging the finger downwards until it rests just above his belt.

"Donna." aha, the strangled voice. "What are you doing?"

I wonder what exactly I am doing, but it's a brief flash of unease and I push it away and steel myself. "Well, you asked if I was tired of this game and yeah, I am. it's all talk and no action. I need some action, Josh. I'm a woman." I curve my fingers into the waistband of his pants. "So I'm imagining that you're about to take me against this door."

"Uh."

"Josh, you must remember to engage your brain before you open your mouth," I admonish sternly and he licks his lips.

"What exactly do you mean by, uh, take you?"

"Oh dear," I roll my eyes in exasperation. "Surely you know what take me means? For the fifteen minutes we've standing here, I've been thinking about what it would be like if you were to touch my collarbone again. Drag your fingers along it, your other hands slipping down over my breasts."

"Donna," he inhales violently.

"Then maybe you'd kiss me, slowly at first, then harder, thrusting your tongue into my mouth and I'd tangle my fingers in your hair and pull you closer so I can feel your body against mine. Would you already be hard, Josh? Or would I have to help you by taking you in my hands?"

I raise my eyebrows in question as I start to unbuckle his belt. "What I mean by take me, Josh, is sex. I'm tired of the banter so I want you to pull my pants down and fuck me against this door."

"Oh god," he yelps, pushing my hands away from his zipper, stumbling backwards in panic. "Oh God, Donna, what are you doing?"

"HA!" I scream, probably a little too loudly for the office but my delight overcomes any worry that people might hear, and I start laughing. "I knew it; I knew you couldn't make it!"

Josh shakes his head as I continue to giggle. "Donna..."

"What?"

"That isn't fair. It's not. You can't just say things like that and touch me and... you can't."

"You blinked first, Josh. I win."

"You set me up," he glares at me accusingly as his hands fumble to redo his belt.

"Yes I did."

"Why? Why would you do that? It's dirty pool, Donna, I should win by default."

I roll my eyes, "How do you figure that?"

"You said..." he wrinkles his nose, "You said the F word."

"The F word? Josh, are we back in school again?"

"No Donna, it's not that it's just... It's just not something I ever expected you to say."

"Come on, you've said it loads of times. God, Josh, you can't get through one day here without swearing your head off at something."

Josh shakes his head you've said again, "But I've never heard you say it and certainly not in that context. I mean you were standing there and I was there..."

"Your powers of recall astound me," I mock. "Get to the point."

He perches on the edge of his desk and glares at me, "We were standing there and you said that and..." he trails off.

"And what?"

"And, yeah it freaked me out!" he admits.

"I reiterate my previous HA! I win."

"Yeah," he sighs dramatically. "You win. But I am not getting a bikini wax and I am NOT wearing the thong."

"But you will be wearing the skirt," I cackle, rubbing my hands together in glee.

"Oh God, the skirt," he groans, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Yes, the skirt - and the wax. In," I check my watch, "ooh a little over an hour."

"I guess this means the bet's over right?"

I shrug. "You flinched first."

"You didn't play fair," he argues.

"When is anything ever fair, Josh?" I retort. "Nothing's fair in life, love or war."

"I think it's just love and war, and this wasn't war."

I grin, "No, it was just a game."

"I don't know if I meant it that way," he muses, rubbing a hand over his face again. He smiles brightly. "Are you hungry?"

I stare at him. "What?"

"Are. You. hungry?"

"Um," I pause. "A bit."

He picks up the phone and dials. "Pizza?"

"Sure," I nod. "Josh?"

"I'm on the phone, Donna," he grumbles, hold up a hand to silence me. "Hey pete, it's, Josh."

While he orders the usual I pad over to his chair and sit down, resting my chin in my hand and when he hangs up he swivels to face me.

"Congratulations on winning, Donna," he sticks out his hand and I tentatively grasp it.

"Josh... it was a game... right?"

"Right." he stares at me for a few seconds then drops my hand and picks up the remote control. "C-Span?"

"Why not," I shrug and he switches the television on, immediately breaking into a one sided debate with the newscaster.

"I hate this guy," he remarks. "I hate his hair; have you ever seen hair that color?"

"Nope."

"I bet he dyes it."

"Probably."

"Are you listening to me?"

"Do I ever listen to you?"

He ignores me. "I mean really, how can you have hair that color and eyebrows that color and not have anyone question it?"

"No idea."

And so it continues; he talks, I throw in idle comments to keep him content and by the time he's insulted seven different people, the pizza has arrived, ably delivered from the gate by Bob. Josh falls upon the box with vigor and I grab a bottle of beer from the fridge.

He raises his eyebrows when I uncap it and take a long gulp. "Where's mine?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," I reprimand.

He swallows quickly and repeats, "Mine?"

"You can have some of this."

"I want my own."

"No," I say firmly, "your complete inability to drink alcohol does not impress me and I do not want you to be drunk. I do NOT want you vomiting over Lara."

"Lara?"

"She'll be the one inflicting the pain tonight."

"Ah," he nods thoughtfully. "But I'm allowed to taste yours?"

"What here? In the office? Josh!"

"Uh..."

"Oh right, we've finished that game haven't we," I sigh. "Pity. Oh well, you may have one sip."

He wiggles his fingers. "You are too, too kind, Donna."

"Perhaps you'd better drop the sarcasm, Josh," I advise, handing it over. "I don't have to share this you know."

"But you do because you're nice," he grins, taking a long gulp, fingers wrapped around the bottle. I try not to remember those fingers on my legs, on my arms... in my hair... but I can't. He takes another sip, hands me the bottle and returns to berating the TV.

I close my eyes and take a deep steadying breath. I've been out of control the whole day; the fact I told him to fuck me finally proved it. I don't use language like that in front of anyone and I've never asked a man I loved to fuck me yet ten minutes ago I practically demanded it of Josh.

Josh: my employer and my friend. And the man I... No.

Even to myself, the most I will admit is that he's my best friend. If I love him it's because of that and nothing more because anything more is inappropriate.

He's my best friend and I work for him - that's all. Emotions stay buried between the lines and the games we play are nothing more than games.

I bite sadly into a slice of pizza; Josh is still ranting at the television. I know he's not expecting me to respond, he just likes to talk, hear the sound of his own voice, so I let him babble away. I eat two more slices and finish the beer then check my watch. "It's time to go, Josh."

"What?"

I lean over and jab my finger into his back, "Time. To. Go."

He looks over his shoulder and sighs regretfully, "I don't think I can go."

"Why?"

"Um..."

I stand up and grab his suit coat off the back of the chair. "I need a damn good reason."

"My head hurts, my back hurts, my stomach hurts," he groans with exaggeration.

"You're not getting out of it."

"My legs hurt."

I nod in agreement. "That's because you're an old man."

"Hey!"

"You're not getting out of it, Josh," I repeat.

"My teeth hurt."

"I'll make a dentist appointment for you then."

"I'm not getting out of it," he says resignedly.

"Nope. Besides, I thought you weren't afraid, what happened to taking it like a man?"

Josh squares his shoulders determinedly. "I can take it like a man." I start laughing and he glares at me. "I can too!"

"We'll see."

"Yes. You will see," he informs me sternly; I hand him his backpack and push him into the bullpen, collecting my bag from my desk on the way out.

We take a cab and I know it's evil of me but I can't help feeling glee at the thought of him screaming for mercy when Lara goes for his ankles. Josh doesn't say much during the short drive and while he isn't exactly looking scared, he's acting very submissive, meekly paying the driver when we arrive and following me inside.

"This..." his eyes roam the reception area.

"Yes?"

"I'm not entirely comfortable here, Donna," he admits.

"And why is that?"

"Um, well," he waves his hand around.

I roll my eyes. "Josh, it's a beauty salon."

"There are flowers and what is that... moaning? And that smell?"

"That would be essential oil, Josh. Soothing, isn't it? Take a deep breath, let it relax you," I encourage. "And the moaning is whale song."

"The smell is too cloying," he whines. "And the whales sound like they're dying, Donna."

"Oh shut up," I retort. "Deal with it, Josh because in about five minutes you're going to be screaming louder than the dying whales."

"Way to encourage a guy, Donna."

"I'm only preparing you for the worst. That's my job."

"Your job is to run my office, not to indoctrinate me into the world of whales and waxes."

"Josh, you need to be a well rounded person," I explain as Lara emerges from the back room and gives me a wave. "And understanding what women go through is a good way to learn."

"Does this mean once a month I can lie around eating chocolate, reading fashion magazines and moaning?" he asks innocently and I reach up and slap the back of his head. "Oh like I wasn't expecting that."

I introduce my beautician to my boss. "Lara, Josh. Josh, Lara."

"I'm only getting my legs done," Josh hastens to add. "No, um, bikini okay?"

Lara does her best to keep a straight face, "Sure. Come on through."

Josh looks at me, slightly flustered, and I grin. "Do you need me to hold your hand?"

"Nooo. No. But, you know, won't you be bored out here?"

"Extremely bored," I nod. "So I'll come with you okay?"

"Okay."

"Because you're not scared right?"

"Right."

"Because you're a man and men can cope with utter and complete twisting agony," I rationalize.

"We can," he nods sagely as we follow Lara to a side room. "You see, Donna, we men are born with strength and an ability to deal with pain that you women just do not have."

"Right," I nod. "So if you men were to have babies..."

"I could cope. Mind over matter, Donna, mind over matter."

"Wow, you are just working yourself up aren't you," I say admiringly. "Josh, I have to hand it to you. Mind over matter, I never thought of that."

He looks at me sulkily. "You're making fun of me."

"How'd you guess?"

"If I can just interrupt for a minute?" Lara queries. "Josh, you're my last client so we better get started."

"Oh, you bet," Josh nods. "Okay, so what do we do?"

"Pants off," orders Lara. "Up on the bed."

"What?" Hey look, it's the high squeaky voice again. I hold back a snicker.

"Pants, Josh, how do you expect Lara to wax your legs if you don't take your pants off," I chide. "Come on, don't be shy, I've seen you in boxers."

"I've seen a lot more than what you have," Lara adds. "And hey look," she holds out a towel, "you can cover up what you have."

"Excuse me?" Josh splutters. "You don't know what I have." He looks at me, "Neither do you."

"Oh please," I scoff, "What happened to being a man?"

"Donnnnna."

"Do you want me to turn my back while you strip?" I ask condescendingly.

He nods like a petulant child. "Yes."

"Fine." I turn around and behind my back, I hear the chink of his belt buckle followed by the zip of his pants and I try to block out the memory of only a few hours earlier when I had my hand on the same zipper. I honestly can't believe I had been so bold. It could have been a quick and efficient way to get fired but then again there's no way he'd be able to cope without me.

"You can look now."

I turn back around. Josh is sprawled on his back on the table, the towel draped across his hips. He's still wearing his shirt but from the towel down he's naked.

"Quite the voyeur aren't you?" he smirks and I flick my eyes away from his legs.

"Just checking out how much hair you're going to lose," I say airily, gesturing to where Lara is busying herself with a pot of wax. "See Josh, your little forest is about to be strip mined."

"Funny."

"I try." I lean against the wall and watch in amusement as Lara starts spreading the hot wax along Josh's thigh.

"Ooh," he breathes in alarm. "It's really hot."

"That's so it'll stick to the hair," explains Lara as she presses a strip of cotton on top of the wax. "Ready?"

"Bring it on!"

Seconds later, I try not to laugh as an almost primeval scream reverberates around the room.

"Wow you sure know how to cope with the pain, Josh."

"Oh God this is... this is..."

"Go on," I coax.

"I am going to kill - ahhheeeeeeooooooooowwwwww," he shrieks again as Lara rips another strip from his thigh.

"Oh be a man," I mutter.

"You hate me don't you, Donna?" he gasps. "This is revenge for everything I've ever done to you."

"How'd you guess?" I say dryly.

"Revenge is so-" he interrupts himself to howl again.

I sigh in irritation. "Josh, just close your eyes and pretend you're somewhere else."

"Like where?"

"Anywhere!" I exclaim. "I know your imagination sucks but come on - surely you can think of a tropical beach."

"Where?" he whimpers.

"In the Caribbean."

"Describe it to me," he orders, gritting his teeth as another part of his skin becomes hair free.

I roll my eyes yet again and describe a white sandy beach, crashing waves, sun lounges scattered about.

"Do they have those little fruity drinks with the umbrellas?" Josh interrupts.

"Yes," I concede.

"And do they bring them to you when you ring a little bell?"

"Oh God Josh, yes if you want, they'll bring you drinks when you ring a little bell."

"I should get a bell for you," he muses.

"You can use the intercom," I reply.

"Nah, I like the idea of a bell. You know, I ring it and you'll come." He exhales noisily as Lara moves down his leg. "You'll come to me... like a faithful puppy or something."

My mouth drops open in rage and I reach over to smack my finger very hard again