Mark just about choked. It couldn't be. They hadn't been there two minutes, and already their backs were against the wall. He'd been so swept up in how Liz looked and the manner in which she behaved that he'd forgotten all about who she really was. He wanted to say something to ward off the inevitable, but his mind was frustratingly blank.

Liz raised her chin a notch. "I'm a mixologist."

Mark blinked. What did she say?

Margaret looked confused. "A mixologist? I'm afraid I don't know what that is."

"Well, it's quite complicated," Liz replied, "but suffice it to say I deal mainly in the interaction between ETOH and glucose, along with CO2 and NaCl."

Mark's heart practically stopped. He couldn't imagine anyone on Earth who wouldn't translate that into exactly what it was: Alcohol, fruit, seltzer and salt. But chemistry clearly wasn't Margaret's long suit.

"That sounds fascinating!" Margaret gushed. "What college did you attend to get such a degree?"

"Lone Star College."

Margaret's eyebrows pulled together. "I don't believe I've heard of that."

Liz gave her an obliging smile. "It's a small but exclusive private college. They offer a limited number of degree programs. But what they do, they do very well."

Mark almost groaned out loud. Yeah, it was exclusive, all right. Exclusively for people who want to tend bar for a living. And as far as the limited number of degree programs, yes, one was pretty limited.

"Well," Margaret said. "A professional woman. How nice."

Mark excused them, putting his hand against the small of Liz's back and turning her in the direction of the ballroom before any more questions could pop out of Margaret's mouth.

"Mixologist?" Mark said, once they were out of earshot. "Where did that come from?"

"Would you rather I'd have told her the truth?"

"No! I mean, yes, but--" He exhaled sharply. "It's not me, Liz. I told you before. I don't care what you do for a living. It's them. They care. They shouldn't, but they do, and with me right on the verge of this partnership..."

Liz turned away. He saw her wounded expression, and a wave of guilt spread through him. He had no business wanting her to be something she wasn't just so he could get the job he was after. But when it came right down to it, what choice did he have?

"Just promise me one thing," she said.

"What?"

"Once you get that partnership, you'll unstuff some of the stuffiness at the top."

Mark nodded. "I will."

"And if the question of my profession comes up again," Liz added, "I'll just tell them I'm a hooker."

"What?"

"That way when I tell them I'm really a bartender, it won't sound so bad."

She smiled, but he could tell this whole thing hurt her more than she was letting on, and the only reason she was going along with it was to help him. All at once it struck him again what a lucky guy he was that a smart, sexy, beautiful woman like Liz would even give him the time of day.

Don't screw it up, his brain was telling him, at the same time it was also shouting, Get that partnership no matter what.

"Don't worry," Mark told her. "Chances are it won't even come up again, and you won't have to tell anyone anything."

They moved into the ballroom. It was a spectacular place, with towering ceilings dripping with chandeliers, walnut paneling and polished marble floors. Couples stood talking to one another, the low hum of conversation filling the air. Mark saw Sloan across the room.

He touched Liz's shoulder and whispered, "Jared Sloan at twelve o'clock."

Liz turned and scanned the crowd. "The guy with his chest all puffed out?"

"That's the one. You'll have to meet him sooner or later."

Liz smiled. "Well, then. By all means, let's do it now."

He led Liz over to where Sloan stood guzzling a glass of scotch and monopolizing yet another conversation. Sloan turned, and when he caught his first glimpse of Liz, his eyes widened with surprise. He gave Tiffany a nudge. She turned, and her expression melted into a comical reprise of her husband's.

"Sloan, I'd like you to meet Elizabeth Prescott. Elizabeth, Jared and Tiffany Sloan."

They made nice all around, and it was all Sloan could do to keep his eyeballs in his head when he looked at Liz.

"So, McAlister," Sloan said, talking to Mark but staring at Liz. "I didn't know you were seeing anyone."

He slid his hand around Liz's waist. "No one but Elizabeth."

Liz looked up at him adoringly, and he wanted to kiss her right then and there.

"That's a lovely dress, Elizabeth," Tiffany said, then crinkled her nose. "I wasn't aware black was in this season."

Liz smiled indulgently. "You know, that's exactly what I told my wardrobe consultant. But he insisted the runways this season were positively overflowing with it." She gave Tiffany a self-deprecating smile. "What can I say? I'm a slave to fashion."

Tiffany blinked dumbly. Apparently she didn't know what to say to that.

"If you'll excuse us," Mark said, "there are a few more people I want to introduce Elizabeth to."

Mark swept Liz away, in awe of how she'd scored a direct hit on Tiffany but had done it so sweetly that the woman barely knew she'd been fired on. And that pleased him immensely.

He introduced Liz to the other partners, their wives, and to his co-workers. Everywhere they went, she made a wonderful impression. She chose her words carefully, speaking slowly and evenly, punctuating her conversation with a pleasant little smiles doled out at just the right time.

This is working, Mark thought, after they'd made it through most of the cocktail hour. She's exactly what I need her to be.

"Mark?"

He turned to see Edwin standing behind him.

"Dinner is in five minutes. Why don't you and Elizabeth join Margaret and me at our table?"

Mark's confidence level about the promotion shot straight through the roof. "Thank you, Edwin," he said calmly, feeling anything but calm. "We'll do that."

Edwin strode away, and Mark whispered to Liz. "That's a really good sign." He ran his hand down her arm and took her hand in his. "Did I tell you that you look absolutely beautiful tonight?"

"Yes. I think you did. How am I doing?"

"You're doing great. Everybody loves you." He kissed her hand, then offered his arm and escorted her to the dining room. Once there, Mark glanced toward the table where Sloan and Tiffany sat with Richard White and his wife. All the partners had a say in the decision, but as the newest partner, White wouldn't have as much pull as Edwin, and Sloan knew it. Then Sloan turned and saw Mark, and if his eyes had been rifles, Mark would have been dead.

Mark smiled. This was definitely going to be a night to remember.

---

Liz took the seat Edwin offered her at the round table for six, which put Mark on her right and Margaret on her left. Edwin sat on the other side of Mark. Oh, joy. Evidently they were going to get grilled from both sides by Top Dog and Mrs. Top Dog. One of the remaining chairs, she discovered, was for Steven Millstone.

"He's been delayed," Edwin told them. "But I spoke to him a moment ago and he'll be here soon."

Liz took a deep, furtive breath. A client. Mark had to make a good impression, which meant she had to make a good impression.

Mark's admiration a moment ago had pleased her immensely, but still she couldn't ignore the funny twinge she felt inside. A tiny part of her had wanted him to reject this image of her, to ask her why she'd go to this much trouble and this much expense when he liked her just the way she was. But judging from the smile he'd worn all evening, along with the compliments he'd given her, right now this was clearly the woman he preferred.

She straightened her spine and raised her chin, deciding that no matter how hard it was to be all proper and perfect, she was going to do it. No matter how much her vision swam when she looked at the place setting in front of her, she was determined to pick up the right utensil at the right time. No matter how much she wanted to slash the sleeves and the skirt right off this overpriced dress, she was going to keep the scissors away from it. She loved Mark and wanted to have a future with him, so this wouldn't be the last time she'd be forced to fit into this crowd. She had to get used to it no matter what it took.

Fortunately, as they ate dinner, Margaret held up her end of the conversation so well that Liz was able to smile, nod and say very little. On the other hand, Mark and Edwin seemed to be carrying on a fairly intense discussion. Liz kept her eyes on Margaret as she prattled away, but tuned her ears toward the men.

"...and you've always had the technical ability," Edwin was saying, "but now it seems now that you finally understand what it takes to become a partner at this firm. The right look. The right attitude." He paused. "Are you serious about Elizabeth?"

"Very serious."

"Margaret tells me she's a chemist."

Liz nearly choked. Is that what Margaret's addled brain had done? Turned "mixologist" into "chemist?"

"She's quite a catch," Edwin went on. "You know how I value intelligence in a woman."

Oh, sure he does. That's why he married Margaret.

Liz could sense Mark freezing up, and she wondered what he was going to say in reply. Fortunately, Edwin kept talking, making a reply unnecessary, then dropped his voice so low Liz could barely make out his words.

"As far as the partnership is concerned, I've decided you've got my vote. And I think I can persuade White and Marbury to see it my way, too."

"Thank you, Edwin," Mark said calmly, but Liz could hear the undercurrent of excitement in his voice. "I appreciate the endorsement."

"Millstone will be here shortly. Let's see what you can do toward getting his signature on the dotted line."

---

The moment he and Liz finished dessert, Mark excused them from the table and escorted Liz from the dining room, a wild flurry of emotions stirring his brain into chaos. It looked as if the partnership was going to be his. Unfortunately, he was going to be able to keep it only for the length of time it took for the people at Nichols, Marbury & White to discover that "mixology" had nothing to do with chemistry.

Once they were outside the door, he took Liz's arm and pulled her behind a potted palm, his apprehension escalating with every second that passed.

"We're in trouble now," he told her. "Edwin thinks you're a chemist!"

"I heard. But I never said that, and neither did you. Margaret made it up."

"But I didn't correct him, either!"

"I know. But you never lied. That's all that matters."

"That's not all that matters! It's appearances, Liz. If it even looks as if I lied--"

He swiped a hand through his hair, trying to combat the tension building up inside him. Steven Millstone could show up at any moment, and if this thing with Liz's job got any more out of hand, damage control would be impossible. Somebody would figure out the truth, and he'd be a laughingstock.

"Hey, boss."

Mark spun around to find Tina standing behind him, holding a drink and giving Liz the once-over. He collected himself as best he could and pasted on a smile of greeting.

"Tina. Hi. Uh--this is Elizabeth Prescott. Elizabeth, this is my assistant, Tina."

Liz extended her hand. "Tina. It's a pleasure."

Tina shook Liz's hand, eyeing her up and down. "Nice dress, Elizabeth."

"Thank you," Liz said, with a gracious smile. "It's a Geoffrey Allen."

"Geoffrey Allen, huh?" Tina raised an eyebrow. "You know, I was going to wear my Geoffrey Allen, but it was in the wash. So I wore my Sam Walton instead."

Mark knew the Walmart reference couldn't have gotten past Liz, but she didn't bite. "Well, it's simply lovely. Fuchsia is the perfect color for you."

Tina gave Mark one of those nose-crinkling looks that said she knew social insincerity when she heard it, and Liz was feeding her a truckload of it.

Liz turned to Mark. "Will you excuse me for a moment, darling?"

She gave his arm a gentle squeeze, then headed toward the ladies' room. Tina watched her walk away, then turned back.

"Interesting," Tina said. "How long have you been seeing her?"

"Not long."

"I've been watching her. She's beautiful."

Mark smiled. "Yeah. I know."

"And that dress really is something."

"It is, isn't it?"

"She has nice manners. And she seems smart, too. I hear she has a Master's degree in chemistry."

A Master's degree?

This couldn't be happening. Apparently Margaret had shared her mixologist interpretation with everyone she talked to, and now some big-mouthed gossip had upped the ante and given Liz an advanced degree. What would she be promoted to next?

"Yeah," Tina said. "She seems pretty much perfect. Is that why she's so stuck up?"

Mark physically recoiled and stared at Tina. "Stuck up?"

"Yeah. She walks like Miss America and talks like the Queen of England. And her nose is so far in the air I'm surprised she can see where she's going. No offense, Mark. But she doesn't seem like your type."

Mark just stared at her, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Tina tapped her drink glass. "Look, boss. Jack Daniels and I are having a close, personal relationship here tonight, so I'm getting ready to say something I know I'll regret Monday morning. But a woman like her will only make your life miserable. You want a woman like Tiffany? Stick with her, and that's exactly what you're gonna get."

Tina walked away, leaving Mark standing in shocked silence. She'd just expressed something that until this moment he hadn't thought possible from any member of the human race.

She didn't like Liz.

He wanted to rush after Tina, to tell her that this wasn't the real Liz, and that she'd like her a lot if only they could go out for pizza or something instead of being around people like the ones there tonight.

No. That's not the Liz you need. The Liz you need is the one the big boys like, not Tina.

A moment later Liz came back across the ballroom. Mark met her halfway and pulled her aside again. "You'll be pleased to know you've just earned your Master's degree in chemistry."

Liz's mouth fell open. "You've got to be joking."

"It's no joke," he said, trying to stay calm and failing miserably. "That's what's going around now. How are we ever going to explain it?"

"Take it easy, Mark. It's going to be okay."

"It's not going to be okay! This could ruin everything!"

She stared at him a long time, her face drifting into a melancholy frown. "Is it really so bad what I do for a living?"

He let out a harsh breath of frustration. "I told you, Liz. I'm not the one who feels that way. It's them."

"But you're part of them. Aren't you?"

All at once the truth of the situation hit him right between the eyes. She was right. He was part of "them", now more so than ever before. He was dressing right, acting right, talking right, which had pleased the hell out of the managing partner, who was now prepared to clear the way for his rise to the top. But it wasn't until this moment that he realized just how much of a stranglehold his job had on his life. His job was his life.

Or, at least it had been until Liz had come along a month ago and turned that life upside down.

Suddenly he felt as if he was wearing an invisible straightjacket made up of the firm's unwritten rules of life inside the office and out. But all those dictates were nothing new. He'd been wearing this same straightjacket for ten years. So why was it suddenly squeezing the breath out of him?

"Uh oh," Liz said, glancing around Mark's shoulder. "Edwin's coming over here. And he's got somebody with him."

Mark spun around, and the tension he'd felt escalated into full-fledged panic. That somebody was Steven Millstone.

"Mark," Edwin said, with as much joviality as a man of his sour nature could muster. "This is Steven Millstone."

"Of course," Mark said, shaking his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You'll be getting to know each other quite well," Edwin told Steven. "Mark will be the one overseeing your account."

"If I decide to go with your firm," Steven said, looking a little annoyed.

"Of course," Edwin said. "But I'm quite sure you want the best. And we are the best. Particularly with men like McAlister here on the job."

Steven looked wholly unconvinced of that. A millionaire at age twenty-six, he hadn't gotten there by wading through a lot of bull. Mark got the impression he didn't appreciate Edwin's "you'd be a fool not to go with us" approach.

Edwin turned to Liz. "And this is Mark's lady friend, Elizabeth Prescott. I was quite impressed to find out that she has a doctorate in chemistry."

Doctorate? Doctorate?

Mark felt as if the walls were closing in on him, squashing him so he couldn't breathe. He saw Liz struggling to keep her panic under wraps, too. At the rate the gossip was flying, it wouldn't be long before she was a Nobel prize-winning scientist conducting experiments aboard the space shuttle.

"I'm delighted to meet you," Liz said to Steven, her voice a little shaky.

Steven eyed her carefully. "Have we met before?"

Wait a minute. She knew Steven Millstone?

No. That was impossible. He was just confusing her with someone else.

"No, I don't believe we have," Liz replied.

Mark glanced at Steven, then back to Liz. What was going on here?

Then Sloan and Tiffany approached their group and edged into the conversation. Under normal circumstances that would have irked the hell out of Mark, but now he was glad to see anyone who would take Steven's attention away from Liz. They all engaged in small talk for a few minutes, Sloan occasionally shooting Mark looks that said you think you've got it all sewn up. But it's not over till it's over.

Then Steven glanced at Liz again, his head tilted in that way people do when they're trying to remember something that's just beyond their grasp. "I know I've seen you somewhere before."

"Perhaps you went to college together?" Edwin said.

"I doubt that, Edwin. I didn't go to college."

Steven looked at her several more seconds. Then a smile spread across his face, his eyes lighting with recognition.

"Now I remember where I've seen you. You tend bar at Simon's."