I used to pride myself on always being
one step ahead of the game
I thought I had it in line
thought I knew what was mine
and then you came
And unraveled every fiber from
beneath my solid ground
I'm feeling like I can't look down
I'm scared of what I'll find
I can tell you anything
but what's really on my mind
I can tell you anything
but what's really on my mind

***

Jen's voice is being recorded on my answering machine as I unlock the door to my apartment.

"… so okay, I know that I'm being more pathetic than usual, but I was just calling to ask - "

I pick up the phone mid-sentence. "Ask me what?"

She pauses, surprised. "Joey?"

I roll my eyes and laugh. "No, I broke into the apartment and I thought I'd take a message."

"It's only eleven. What are you doing home so early?"

I step out of my shoes and walk barefoot to the couch, pulling out the pins that were holding my hair up. "I had to get out of there."

"That bad?"

"You'll never believe how bad."

"Try me."

"Guess who I ran into." I close my eyes and lean my head back. I can still feel his warm breath on my skin, and it's causing everything inside me to feel like they're being given a good stirring.

Maybe it was the tone of my voice, but Jen figures out what I'm talking about in a matter of seconds. "You're joking." Her voice sounds serious, dubious.

"No. My boss drags me over to this tall guy who has a mannequin on his arm, introduces him as Nick Shafer, and the next thing I know, I'm face to face with the man formerly known as Pacey Witter." An odd tightening begins to form in my chest, and I have to swallow several times to keep from suffocating.

She's stunned speechless, much like I was. I stay silent to let the news sink in.

"Holy crap." She says quietly. "Pacey is Nick Shafer?"

I nod even though I know she can't see me. "My sentiments exactly."

Jen doesn't say anything for a few minutes. The party replays itself in my head, my heart sinking more and more from the memory of dancing with Pacey and the havoc he had wreaked on my emotions.

"How'd he look?" She finally asks, sounding upbeat.

"What?" He'd made my insides go completely out of control, and she wanted to know how he looked?

"Is he as cute as they say he is? Does he look the same way he did in high school?"

The devilish grin he had flashed me when he'd asked me to dance comes to the forefront of everything that's crowding into my head, and I have to shut my eyes against the fluttering that begins in my stomach. "He's - he looks - " I stammer out, then take a deep breath. "God, Jen."

"That cute, huh?" She interjects teasingly.

I laugh. "No, he actually had a finger missing. Oh, and he's lost a front tooth, I think. He doesn't look good at all." Yeah, right, Jo. You wish.

Jen laughs hysterically.

"Stop," I laugh a little, in spite of myself. "This isn't funny."

"When are you going to see him again?"

"What?" I exclaim. My voice sounds shrill to my own ears.

"You are going to be working for him, right?"

"Oh, God." Something in my stomach has twisted itself into a tight knot. "I have to look at his place tomorrow," I reply weakly. "To get an idea of what to do with it."

"Good." Jen says with satisfaction.

"Good?" I ask incredulously. "Good? Are you serious? Jen, I hate him. He hates me." I remember the way he'd thanked me when I said that I had worried about him. "He thinks I'm still with Dawson."

"Joey," She pauses thoughtfully. "Something tells me you don't hate each other as much as you think you do."

***

I glance up at the tall building in front of me and steel my nerves before going in, telling myself over and over that I need to do this to keep my job.

My heels click rhythmically on the smooth marble floor. The place is understated and elegant, framed paintings hanging on darkly painted walls. I shift my briefcase from one hand to the other and hope that he doesn't decide to make an appearance during this inspection.

My clients usually accompany me when I'm viewing the space to be designed so that we could discuss ideas, but Pacey's secretary had called me this morning to inform me that he had left a key for me at the lobby. Which I took to mean that he had no intention of coming. And that was just fine with me.

A man sitting behind a desk in the lobby looks up at me inquiringly. I smile and speak before he can ask. "My name is Josephine Potter, I'm here to see Mr. Shafer's apartment."

He glances down at a log in front of him and nods, smiling back. "Yes, of course, Ms. Potter. Mr. Shafer has left a key for you." He takes a silver key from a drawer and hands it to me. "It's on the top floor."

"Thank you." The key feels cool in my hand as I walk to the elevator. I press on the "Up" arrow and the doors almost instantly open.

I had just stepped in and pressed on the number 12 when I hear someone's hurried steps on the marble floor of the lobby. "Hold the elevator, please!"

I hit the appropriate button just as the doors begin to slide closed. A perfectly manicured hand appears on one of the elevator doors' edges, followed by an impeccably clad and flawlessly made-up woman.

A bitter taste emerges in my mouth. Pacey's date from the party.

"Thank you, I - " She turns to me and stops. "Oh, hello." She says coolly.

The sides of my lips turn up in an imitation of a smile as I turn to her, as well. "Hello."

We both look up at the blinking numbers on the elevator. "Looking for a place?" She asks casually, in an I-don't-think-you-can-afford-it-here tone.

It takes a few seconds for me to reign in my temper and keep myself from making a scathing comeback. "No," I reply nonchalantly.

My refusal to provide her with any more information annoys her, and she looks at me with an upturned brow. "What are you doing here, then?"

"I'm on my way to see apartment 1201, actually." I reply. I feel a tiny pang of guilt at the satisfaction I derive from seeing her surprised expression. Obviously, she knows who owns that place.

"Listen - Joey, is it?" Her lips curve derisively after saying the unfeminine nickname. "I don't know what you are in Nick's life, and what it is you think you're going to accomplish," she looks at me from top to bottom. "But I sincerely doubt that he would actually prefer you over me, so take my advice and don't get your hopes up."

I look straight at her. "If that's the case, then you don't really have anything to worry about, now do you?" The elevator gives a little "ding" and stops. "I think this is your stop," I smile sweetly.

She exits indignantly, and I shake my head in disbelief. I have no intention of going anywhere near Nicholas Shafer, and I don't care if he sleeps with all the women in New York.

The elevator finally reaches the twelfth floor. The door to 1201 is right across the hall when I step out, and I slip the key in to open it.

The apartment is completely bare, but incredibly huge. I walk around quietly, picturing what to do in my mind. His living room is almost bigger than my entire apartment, with wide glass windows lining two walls.

I stop at the corner of the tall, clear panes, looking out at Central Park. It's a beautiful spring morning. The sight of the brilliant blue sky against the lush green trees in the park help calm me, the tension from my encounter with Pacey's date - I don't even know her name - ebbing slowly from my body.

I must have lost myself in my thoughts, because I don't remember hearing the door open or close. But the sound of soft footsteps invades my reverie, and the tension returns, my skin tingling with heightened awareness. And I know even without looking that it's him.

He stops so close behind me that I can almost feel his breath in my hair. I can't breathe. I'm afraid to make even the slightest movement, not wanting to have any sort of contact with him for fear of its effect on me.

Damn, I hate him. What is he doing to me?

I feel like I've totally lost control of all my faculties. All rational thought has fled. And he hasn't even said one word.

"Have you seen everything?" His husky voice breaks the silence.

I clear my throat, ignoring the quickened thudding of my heartbeat. "No. I just got here." I concentrate on the glass in front of me. Our reflections are partially visible on it, his shoulder a few inches higher than mine. My gaze falls briefly on his face and then slides away hastily, unwilling to have him catch me looking at him. I close my eyes tightly and attempt to forget the image of him reflected in the glass… the way it seemed like he didn't want to look at me, either.

I think I imagine the slightest bit of contact on my back, the softest whisper of a touch. But he just nods and turns away, walking towards another part of the apartment. "We should take a look, then." His voice is strong now, and businesslike.

I turn from the window and take several deep breaths to clear my head. This is work, Jo. Nothing else. "Of course," I reply before following him.