Irresistible Forces

'If I accept what you call destiny' — he drew a shaky breath and forced the words—'that means I also have to accept that Margo was never really… mine.'

Only silence answered him, but he knew. His rivalry with Jared Carson and his marriage to Margo were the reasons he hadn't made it all the way into Heaven. He was dead, dammit. Margo wasn't. His mission was to see her happy for the rest of her life. But why the hell did that have to make Jared happy for the rest of his life, too?

Sacrifice… Nick pulled a sheet of stationery from the drawer and scribbled a short note — words he'd buried deep and sworn he would never reveal. Even so, one of the things he'd regretted after his death was taking this knowledge with him, instead of leaving it here for those it affected.

He stared down at the written words, reached for the sheet, fully intending to rip it to shreds. Sacrifice. Truth. Instead of tearing it, he swallowed hard and drew a deep breath. The date he wrote at the top of the page was from the week before his death, two years ago. He signed Nick at the bottom.

Seeing his real name in his own hand again gave him pause. He'd made so many mistakes — had so many regrets. Maybe Seamus had a few points. Maybe. This one was easier than Margo. He folded the sheet and sealed it in an envelope. Very neatly, he wrote a name across the front and slid it to the back of his top desk drawer. Someone would find it when Raquel was gone and think it had been missed after Nick's death.

The receptionist's voice scratched over the intercom. 'Henry Millman on one, Ms. Eastwood.'

'What does that son of a bitch want?'

'Are we having PMS?' the old woman asked, her voice dripping sarcasm.

'Eat sh—' Nick clenched his teeth, rather than complete that remark. 'I dunno. Maybe. Fine, thanks. I'll take the call.'

Nick blew his nose, dabbed the tears from his eyes, grabbed the phone, and punched line one. After he reiterated his refusal to accept the owner of the Studfinder as a client, Nick hung up the receiver. That snake made the need for sexual harassment laws way too frigging personal.

Someone knocked and simultaneously opened Nick's office door. Mrs. Brown, the firm's loyal receptionist, who'd adored Margo and hated Nick in his natural life, entered with a small brown paper bag. The little, gray-haired woman pulled a gigantic chocolate bar from the bag and slapped it into Nick's hand.

'I ran downstairs to the drugstore. This first, to sweeten your mood,' she said. 'We've never had a female attorney in the office, and I'm, well, beyond all this.'

Nick blinked, staring from the bar and back to Mrs. Brown. 'But…' She'd never given him chocolate.

The woman made an annoying tsking sound with her tongue and removed two more items. 'Evening primrose for your PMS.' She slapped the pill bottle down on the desk and removed two small boxes— one of tampons and one of maxi pads. 'And these for later.'

Nick sputtered, unable to contemplate the horror of what she'd just proposed. He stared at the diagram on the side of the tampon box. No way. Not even Seamus would…

'You'll feel better soon,' Mrs. Brown said. 'Take the primrose. Start now.' She opened the bottle, then pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket. 'And a phone message from Steph Knutsen.' Mrs. Brown moved to the office door.

'Wait.' Nick sniffled and tore open the chocolate. 'Thank you. I think.'

'You don't know it yet, but you already did, dear.'

Dear? He shifted the glob of soothing chocolate to one side of his mouth. 'I did?'

'Steph included me in her invitation.' Mrs. Brown flashed a wicked grin and left the room.

Nick grabbed the phone message and simultaneously bit off another chunk of chocolate. Maybe there really was some truth to that serotonin business. He felt better already.

Raquel, meet us at the Studfinder around seven. Mar go's on assignment and we may need our attorney. Bring Mrs. Brown. A smiley face was drawn at the end.

'Oh, my God.' Nick Riley was going to watch male strippers. Revulsion slithered through him, until he remembered that Jared Carson was a main attraction.

He broke off another chunk of chocolate, liking the idea of watching old Jar-O humiliate himself. If only Jared Carson knew who Raquel really was, that could make it all the more satisfying.

'Get serious.' He dropped the unopened boxes into the wastebasket and looked at the digital clock on his desk. It was too early to call it a day, but he didn't have any appointments. Besides, he didn't feel like himself. Well, even less than usual since his new appearance. Maybe Mrs. Brown was right about the PMS.

Heaven forbid.

He almost laughed. 'I know what I'm gonna do to lift my spirits.' He'd have Raquel's long red hair cropped off into something more manageable. And get rid of these manicured claws, too. The more he contemplated it, the more he liked the idea.

He pulled a pair of fingernail clippers from his desk drawer — right where he'd always kept them — and rendered Raquel's red nails into nice, neat stubs. He'd have to ask Mrs. Brown what women used to remove this gunk.

Then he went into the bathroom and scrubbed.off the makeup. When he looked in the mirror again, he noticed something for the first time since this journey into never-never land.

Raquel had Nick's eyes. Behind all that eyeliner and mascara, he hadn't noticed. Maybe if he'd actually washed it off at night like the instructions said, he would've realized sooner.

'I'll be damned.' Maybe the eyes really were windows to the soul. Seamus might have changed Nick's body, but he hadn't changed his eyes or his handwriting. Even Mrs. Brown had commented how much Raquel's handwriting resembled Nick's. Knowing that part of him was still here made him feel better than he had since his arrival back on Earth.

Well, for a few moments he felt better. After using the facilities, he marched back into his office and retrieved the box of maxi pads from the wastebasket. He slammed the bathroom door behind him, tore open the box and read the directions.

'Thanks a lot, Seamus.'

7

Jared had a hunch, and he didn't like hunches. He liked facts. Hard evidence.

A local big shot named Henry Mllman owned the Studfinder, along with at least a dozen other small businesses in the county. In the two weeks since Jared had started this assignment, tonight was the first time Mllman had put in an appearance. Why tonight? And had last night's futile drug raid been timed accordingly?

The rotund, cigar-smoking owner strutted through the dressing room about half an hour before showtime. He made a few ribald comments about entertaining women, not giving any dancer more than a cursory nod, except one.

Millman directed a glare of suspicion that shot right through Jared. He'd seen that look before. The asshole knew something — or at least suspected it.

Jared forced himself to return to the task of closing all the Velcro tabs on his costume, ignoring his sweaty palms and the alarm bouncing through his brain.

Something big was going down tonight. He felt it. Smelled it.

And Margo would be in the audience.

'Damn.'

'What's up?' the dancer with the locker next to Jared's asked. His Tarzan performance opened every night. 'Tough day?'

Jared searched his gray matter for Tarzan's real name, and came up blank. 'I was just noticing the fat guy.' He slid a glance toward Millman, who was now deep in conversation with his emcee. At least he wasn't watching Jared anymore. 'He's the owner. Right?'