CHAPTER ONE

---

"No. Way!" Buffy Summers laughed uproariously as she shifted into fourth gear, zoomed up the mountainside and hit each of her tuner pre-sets. --"73 degrees in southern California" -- "Branch, and you're listening to my favorite"-- "You did not say that!"

"Sure did," Cordelia's confident voice blared through her earpiece. "And then, get this, I'm all, Donatella, don't even think about teals for Winter. Sapphire is the new teal."

--me up inside, save me from the nothing I've become--

--"almost noon, don't miss your chance to win"--

"You are out of control, Cordelia Chase."

--check out any time you like, but you can never--

"Aren't I? But you haven't heard the best part yet!"

--can't get you out of my head, boy your lovin' is--

"There's more?" Buffy turned up the radio, took a sip of her Iced Nonfat Chai and grinned like the Cheshire Cat. This was what it was all about: carefree joyride in her zoomy Z4, wind in her hair, Kylie on high, new mmm-hottie on her mind, and bestest bud dishing fashionista dirt on her cell.

"-- gave her my down-with-one-strap rant, I kid you not, she gave me her card!"

Buffy gasped. "She did not!"

"Swear it. She said -- fabulous -- wanted me -- fashion week -- York--" her voice cut in and out.

"Wait, wait, I can't hear you -- hold on--" Buffy plucked the amplifier out of her ear and grabbed her phone. "Hello?"

"I think she's totally gonna offer me a job!" Cordelia squealed. "You have to come over and celebrate tonight! Nothing big, of course -- just me and Angel and Harm and--"

"Oh, I wish I could, but I can't! I have to go to Mom's--" Her phone beeped. "Oh crap, phone's dying. Stupid phone. Stupid me for not charging it."

"That's what you get for staying out all night with Parker Abrams..."

"We weren't out all night," a naughty smile crept across her lips. "Just until 3am."

"Buffy! Already?"

"We talked the whole time!" Buffy insisted as the phone beeped again. "He didn't even touch me. Not that I wanted to... you know, yet, but there I was all nice-smelling and freshly waxed, and not even a kiss! Can you believe?"

"The nerve of that guy!" Cordelia commiserated with a laugh. "What man could resist the hotness of you?"

* * *

Spike tossed the empty bottle of Jack over his shoulder.

It met the other two bottles in the back seat with a clank.

"Bloody... fucking... bitch!" he yelled, pounding at the steering wheel with a closed fist for emphasis. The car swerved, and he regained control to hug another mountain curve. "I'll show you."

Her kiss-off looped in his brain:

You've turned soft and sticky! Soft and sticky! Soft...

Eyes determined, fixed on an unbarriered edge, he pushed the gas pedal to the floor. "I'll show you."

* * *

"I mean, look at me," Buffy said, shifting into fifth gear, "I'm smart--"

"And rich--"

"And not unpretty. I've got a killer body--"

"A wardrobe to die for--"

"A shiny new--" As she veered left at the next curve, Buffy's eyes widened. "--car..."

* * *

I'll show you.

A flash of light blinded him briefly -- sun glinting off an oncoming red convertible. Inside it was some chit holding a cellphone.

Fuck me!

Spike stomped on the breaks, tires screeching--

* * *

"Ohmygod, Cordy, ohmy--" Buffy shut her eyes, opened her mouth and let fly a long, end-of-the-line scream.

---

CHAPTER TWO

---

Out of my way, you little--! Look where you're going, you'll fly over the bloody edge!

On a reflexive impulse -- save her -- Spike jerked the wheel to the right, deliberately impacting with her car to stop its trajectory.

They came to a crashing halt at the mountain's interior shoulder.

* * *

The squealing and crunching noises finally subsided, but the screaming didn't.

Oh, that's because the screaming was coming from her.

She clamped her mouth shut.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Am I alive? Am I on solid ground? Oh my god, my car! My car!

Holding the steering wheel tight, Buffy looked up at the black monstrosity that was now wedged into her front fender. Old, dirty, with crustily painted windows. And some idiot inside.

Whoever was in there was so going to jail.

* * *

Spike peered through the window at the blonde, tan, bare-shouldered, thousand-dollar-sunglass-wearing bint he'd just saved from certain death.

His eyes narrowed. Oh yeah. He was Pissed. Off.

"Stupid--" he kicked the car door open, "bitch!"

Buffy's jaw dropped. "Bitch? Hello? I'm the bitch?" Hands shaking, she picked up her phone, saw that the connection with her friend had been lost, and scrambled out of the car. "You come out of nowhere and crash my car--"

"No, you came out of nowhere and got in my way!"

"You've got a battleship -- it's hardly even scratched and--" she glanced at the damage she didn't want to see. Front right side snarled beyond recognition. Hyperventilating now. "Oh my god, look what you did to my brand-new car!"

He didn't miss a beat. "If you weren't yammerin' on your bloody cellphone --"

"Don't you turn this around on me!"

"--there a law against that?"

"No, but there IS a law against going a hundred miles an hour down the wrong side of the road!"

"You should've stayed out of my way!"

Buffy got a whiff of alcohol-breath and stepped back, repulsed. "You're drunk!"

"So what if I am?" He stepped forward menacingly. "What are you gonna do? Tattle on me?"

"I really, really am." As she dialed 911, her phone blipped off, the screen going blank. "Shit!"

He sniggered. "Right then."

God, he was disgusting. Wrinkled clothes, long black leather coat -- in California? -- deliberately-dyed white-blonde hair, cheeks streaked with black eyeliner... He was a disaster. A big, drunk, hideous disaster. "You are so gonna pay for this. My dad's a lawyer--"

"Bully for him." He turned around.

"Where are you going?"

"Far away from you as I can," he said, opening his right passenger door and shoving piles of clothing off the seat.

"Don't you dare hit and run me!" She followed him. "I know your license plate number--"

"Good thing it ain't mine."

She gasped. "You stole--?" She bent forward into the car. "Look you freaking psychopath, there is no way I'm letting you--"

He'd scooted over to the wheel. "Not about letting me, pet. Bye now." He looked behind him, ready to back up.

Buffy jumped in.

"What the -- Get out of my car you nit!"

She folded her arms. "You first."

He growled, "Get. Out!"

"No!"

Spike backed up enough to disengage the interlocked cars, saying, "Fine, have it your--" Looking ahead again, he gasped.

She followed his gaze.

Her car was rolling backward.

"Oh my god! No! No no no no no--"

She jumped out, ran after it. But it was too late.

Her brand-new Bright Red BMW Z4 roadster equipped with Sycamore Wood Trim, Leather Interior and Sport Suspension sagged once, twice, then disappeared off the cliff's edge.

Buffy stared, open-mouthed, incredulous.

She took off her sunglasses.

Spike watched her, a strange niggling in his gut. What should he care about some rich bitch's daddy-bought ride taking a swan dive? What did he care about anything anymore? And why didn't she think to put on the bloody parking brake?

Smartest thing right now would be to go. Gun the engine and drive away, get back to his sorrow-fest, maybe find another cliff.

But, standing there in the middle of the roadway, she looked so... bereft.

Go, go, now, a voice told him. She'll be fine. Just go!

Rolling his eyes, he turned off the car and got out.

When he appeared at her side, she went berserk, hitting him with her phone and sunglasses and screaming, "You did this! This is all your fault! You stupid, white-haired, makeup-wearing jackass! You worthless piece of--"

"Will you hold on a minute?" He pushed her backward, holding her arms down.

"No! I will not hold on!" She was crying now, eyes wide and wet. "Because my car is gone forever!"

Spike hated seeing girls cry, so he shook her roughly. "Get a grip, girl!"

She seethed through clenched teeth, "My graduation present and everything inside of it just plummeted down a thousand-foot mountain! Don't tell me to grip! And don't touch me!" She jumped out of his grasp.

"It's just a bloody car--"

"Yeah, you'd say that wouldn't you, with your stolen crapmobile--"

"Look. Better the car than you, alright?"

"Are you kidding? My dad's gonna slaughter me when he finds out! I'm as good as dead."

He sighed, patience running out. "Daddy will understand when you tell him a big bad man did it."

"You're not big and bad," she spat. "You're short and pathetic."

He stepped back, breathed in. "Have a nice walk home."

She registered this. Glanced at the cliff's edge, down at her dead phone, and at his back, walking away from her. "Wait!"

"Maybe someone'll come by and pick you up." He slid into the driver's seat and added under his breath, "Axe-murderer, I hope."

"But -- hey--" she ran up to the passenger's side -- the door was still open.

"I said someone. Not me."

"Look, I'm -- the things I say, I don't always mean them--"

"Oh, that's truly riveting."

"Okay, so I do mean them, I just -- Why can't you just give me a ride?" It was unbelievably rank in there. But what choice did she have? "Isn't it the least you can do? You obliterated my car!"

"Goodbye."

"I'll -- I'll pay you! Whatever you want!"

"Don't need your daddy's money, princess."

She took a deep breath, whispering an "Oh god" as she geared up for the humiliation of the following word: "Please?"

He shut his eyes, turned to look at her. This was the last thing he needed today. The company of some shiny-skinned, bouncy-haired, venom-tongued Hollybrat.

He exhaled heavily. "Get in."

"Oh, thank god." She hopped in and shut the door, regretting it the second her Jimmy Choo heel stuck in something gummy.

"On one condition."

"What? Oh, no way. I am not having sex with you."

He laughed, "Please! Don't flatter yourself, blondie."

"Shyeah." She put her sunglasses on her head. "As if."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means 'in your dreams'."

"Hardly," he gruffed. "Condition is, you promise you won't press charges. Or tell dear old Da anything about me."

She rolled her eyes, sighed, "Fine."

"I want a promise."

"I pro-mise," she drawled. "God, you're vile."

Before peeling out, he hinted, "Might wanna be careful of that door. Flies right open without warning."