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She prides herself on her poise in even in the most difficult situations that being Sterling Cooper's newest office manager can throw at her -- but even she's finding it difficult to keep her cool in the face of such... perfection.
The rest of the girls are all in a tizzy about the Errol Flynn knock off -- not that Mr. Stark isn't easy on the eyes, but she's much more interested in tall, blond and bashful trailing Mr. Stark. All those well defined muscles barely contained within his sport coat and slacks -- he certainly wasn't the usual breed of Manhattan tom cat.
Miss Potts was making insistent noises about gathering Mr. Draper and Mr. Sterling and starting the meeting already, while Stark basked in the attentions of his female admirers. Poor dear obviously had an unrequited crush on her boss -- judging from the way Potts was giving acidic looks to anyone in a skirt. If she spent less time focussed on all the other girls and more time playing hard to get, then maybe Stark might pay more attention -- not that Joan was going to share that little tidbit, Potts had pointedly looked down her nose at her when she'd tried to ask about the mystery man.
Miss Potts isn't the only one who doesn't appreciate Mr. Stark's fans -- Mr. All American doesn't seem so happy about them either. Darn, wouldn't it figure. Oh well.
Mr.s Sterling and Draper finally arrive with a few apologies about another meeting that had run long (and judging by the state of Roger's collar that meeting was with Johnny Walker) and the office returns to it's usual level of quiet chaos.
She's in the stock room, preparing the usual 'thank you' basket for Stark (and maybe something a little extra for Mr. Stark's associate, even if he isn't interested in her) when a low wolf whistle startles her.
Mr. Stark gives her a familiar appreciative once over, leaning against the doorway.
"I wasn't aware that the meeting was over, Mr. Stark," She asks, pulling down a box of Lucky Strikes.
"Oh, it's not."
"Far be it from me to tell you how to spend your money, but shouldn't you be in that meeting, then?"
"Oh, that meeting's for Steve, I'm just the cover."
So, Mr. Handsome had a name -- Steve, how perfect.
"Well, then we'll have to find something to entertain you while you wait."
"How about you --," Stark leans forward, like cat ready to pounce, "Dinner, maybe?"
"What about Steve," She asks, trying to stall long enough that someone -- hopefully Miss Potts will come and break this up. Stark is handsome and all, and ruthlessly charming, but she already has Roger and she doesn't know if she can handle two of them.
"He can come with," Stark says -- and something about the way he says it has her raising an eyebrow.
Stark's expression grows cagey and he steps further into the room, half closing the door.
"Steve and I -- have an agreement," Stark says softly. "I like you -- You like him -- He...," His voice drifts off and Joan can fill in the rest. "So, threesome -- everyone goes home happy."
A small part of her is tempted -- sharing the attentions of two painfully attractive men in one bed is pretty much a once in a lifetime opportunity.
Being the beard for a couple homosexuals -- well for one trying to make the whole thing less queer by adding a woman to the mix -- that was less attractive.
She's about to politely turn him down, to tell him she already has plans for tonight and every other night this year --
"Mr. Stark, there you are," Miss Potts' exasperation is obvious as she opens the door. "Meeting's over."
Steve is now the center of all the girls' attentions now that Stark is out of the spot light -- and she can see how Stark gazes at him adoringly. He catches her looking at him, and he gives her cajoling.
"Pick you up at your place at 8 then?"
"Anything you want."
Stark gives her a wicked smirk in response before going to rejoin Steve.
She's not getting any older, after all.
***///***///***
She winds up being the main course -- Steve's talented mouth on hers, his big strong callused hands treating her like she's fine china while Stark proves that his reputation as a sexual dynamo is well-earned.
When she can't possibly come again they move on to dessert course. She'd -- well she didn't know what she'd expected. She anticipated on quietly excusing herself while they did whatever --
Watching them together though -- well. Steve, who's been passive for the most of the night takes the lead now, pinning Stark down onto the bed. She thought it'd be painful, what with Steve putting his cock in -- but Stark seems to enjoy it.
She watches their bodies move silhouetted by the city lights, and even though she's completely spent she can feel the faint prickle arousal as each snap of Steve's hips causes Stark's cries to spiral higher. They're almost beautiful together.
After they're finished and Steve has wandered off to the bathroom to clean up she lights up; moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Stark looks debauched, spread across the sheets and when he smiles and gestures she lets him sneak a drag off her cigarette.
"Steve hates it when I smoke," Stark sighs, gazing at the cigarette -- back in her hand now -- wistfully.
"He hates a lot of things you do," She replies, taking another drag and blowing it out slowly. The sex was good -- better than good -- but she's just the pretense here.
"I know," Stark's face is quietly devastated, and she feels a strange tug at the sight of it.
"You love him," She says because it needs to be said -- out loud, not couched in vague references for once, even if it is weird to think of a man feeling that way about another man. Stark has more money than /god/ -- why he cares what anyone thinks of him is beyond her.
"We need to keep up appearances, surely as someone who works in advertising you'd know that," Stark's voice has some bite to it -- she's trod on a nerve there.
"All I've learned, Mr. Stark," She leans over to put out her cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand and starts to collect her clothes. "Is that there /is/ no truth in advertising."