But before he could fully enjoy the cheque once more...

He realized... he was... sweating.

A lot.

Like, a lot a lot. Even when the sad, rattling air conditioner in his window was on full blast, cranked all the way to "Arctic Winter," he was still sweating. He was just... leaking.

All those drinks he'd had...

All those... special exercises... with Lily...

And then the long, long walk home...

It all added up. He was filthy. He was hot. His clothes were all sticky and stuck to his skin, and the idea of trying to sleep like this, with his dress shirt and his grimy pants on... it was just... disgusting.

A little voice popped into his head.

[Ermm... boss? Not to be rude... but... a bath would be really, really great. For you. And... and for your mental health. You... you smell, boss.]

'Ah! DAMMIT!'

He finally gave in. He had to. He couldn't enjoy his two-million-crown-sleep if he felt like a walking garbage-dump.

So. Did he just... leave his new, beautiful, life-changing fortune somewhere in the room? Alone? Unsupervised? Naked and afraid?

Nop. Not a chance. Not at all.

It was here. In the bathroom. With him.

He found the perfect spot. He placed it, with all the careful, loving tenderness of a new father, right near his bathroom mirror. He propped it up, leaning it against the wall, on the little shelf, right where he could see it.

And then, he bathed. Fully.

But he did it while watching it.

He never, not for one single second, took his eyes off of it.

He was lathering his hair, soap running into his eyes, stinging like crazy? He was peeking through the bubbles, still watching the cheque.

He was scrubbing his... armpits? He was staring at the cheque.

He was bent over, washing his feet? He was looking at the cheque, upside-down.

Two. Million. Crowns.

It was... it was going to make him live the life he always, ALWAYS wanted back on Earth. The life he deserved.

After taking that long, long, leisurely... and super paranoid... bath, he finally got out. He dried off, snatched his precious cheque from the mirror-shelf, and got into his bed clothes.

He slept. Oh, man, did he sleep. He slept like a tiny, happy, filthy rich baby.

And the cheque?

It was still on him. It was tucked safely... soundly... deep inside his brief's pocket. Safe and sound.

...

Knock... knock... knock.

The sound was slow. It was quiet. And it was infuriating.

Alex was dragged, kicking and screaming (inside his head, at least), out of the single best, richest, most wonderful sleep of his entire, entire life.

His eyes groggily peeled open. They were all sticky and blurry.

His very first thought was to curse. To scream at whatever stupid, idiotic, moron was out there, daring to interrupt his perfect, two-million-crown beauty sleep.

And then... his brain, which was still all fuzzy, finally, finally, flickered on.

...Wait.

He wasn't just sleeping. He had to do something! The important thing! The money thing!

His eyes snapped wide open.

"Holy shit!"

His head whipped around, his eyes frantically searching for the sad, dusty, little... clock... on his nightstand.

The little hand was on the 8. The big hand was on the 12.

It was... EIGHT A.M. !!!

'Okay... okay... calm down...' he told himself, even as his heart tried to pound its way right out of his chest.

He wasn't late. Not... not yet. The bank. The bank opened at nine.

He only had one hour.

He didn't "get up." He exploded.

He jumped from his bed so fast the old, thin sheets went flying into the air. He scrambled, he flew, across the room in two seconds. He didn't check the peephole. He didn't even think.

He just grabbed the knob and yanked the door open, super fast and super hard.

WHUMP.

The door slammed hard against the inside wall.

...Startling a poor, terrified Violet, who was standing right there on the other side, her hand still raised like she was about to knock again.

"Eep!"

She let out a tiny, tiny little shriek and physically jumped back a full foot. Her hand flew up to her chest, and she almost dropped the steaming cup and saucer she was holding.

She looked... different.

She had clearly, definitely, taken a bath. Her hair was all combed and pinned up, and she looked all fresh-faced. And... she had changed.

Oh, had she ever changed.

Gone was the sexy, thin, white, see-through satin nightie. Nope.

Today, she was wearing a... a modest... long... boring skirt. It went all the way down to her ankles. And she was wearing a... a blouse. A high-necked, buttoned-up-to-the-chin, super-boring blouse.

It was morning, after all. She had duties. And she wasn't going to be caught dead wearing that... that comfortable... sinful... nightie in the bright morning light. What if visitors came by? Like... like... the milkman?!

...And, not to mention... there was the other reason. The real reason.

She was not going to take a chance. Not again. Not after she knew, deep down in her mortified, flaming-red, embarrassed soul... that Alex had totally, completely, one-hundred-percent checked her out last night. She was not giving him an encore performance.

"Step Mommy!" Alex yelled. He didn't just say it, he beamed it at her, a huge, crazy, blindingly happy grin on his face. "You're a lifesaver! Thank you!!!"

Before she could even blink...

Before she could even think about stuttering out a "G-g-good morning"...

He snatched the cup of hot coffee right out of her poor, shaking, shocked hand, took a big gulp out of it.

Then he just... slammed it down on the little, wobbly table that was right beside the door. Clack!

...And then...

...Before she could even breathe...

...He lunged at her.

He gave her a huge, crushing, bone-breaking, tight hug.

He wrapped both of his arms all the way around her buttoned-up, modest-blouse-wearing self... and he squeezed.

Hard.

"Thank you... thank you... for waking me up!!" Alex yelled, still squeezing all the air right out of her poor, modest, buttoned-up body.

He was so happy.

"Oh my god, Violet, you're perfect! You're an angel! If it wasn't for you, I would have been so, so, SO late! I would have had to stand in a... a freaking QUE! A line! For HOURS! And... and who knows what type of thieves and conmen's would be standing behind me... and... and ahead of me! Ugh! You saved me!"

He squeezed her.

Like, hard as hell. He wasn't just "hugging" her. He was crushing her.

He just... buried his face right into the side of her neck, into her nape, right where her clean, damp hair was pinned up.

And then he shook his head back and forth, nuzzling her, like a giant, happy, stupid, golden-retriever dog that just found its favorite toy. Mmm, she smelled so good. Like clean soap and... Violet.

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