Disclaimer: I don't own Life With Derek.

Prologue

Her father smiles when she comes down the stairs.

Suddenly she feels incredibly awkward. The dress his professional shopper helped her pick out is amazingly sexy.

"I can't possibly wear this," she had protested. At the same time, she marveled at the way the bright red silk slipped between her fingers. She wondered what it would feel like pressed tightly against all of her curves.

"Don't be silly, Casey," the tall, business-like woman sniffed. "Your body is fantastic. I can't think of anything else better suited for you."

"But," Casey stuttered. "But, isn't it a little… inappropriate?"

The woman- Casey thinks her name must be Ms. Summers, but perhaps it was Ms. Samar- simply stared at her for a moment, smirked, laughed in a condescending manner, and thrust the dress into her hands. "Try it on."

Casey bit her lip and disappeared into the dressing room, drawing the curtain. She quickly slipped out of her usual t-shirt and jean ensemble and tugged the dress on over her head.

She had been right; the dress felt amazing. And the woman accompanying her had been right, also: the dress looks fantastic on her.

Of course, it's something that's not her, not her at all.

It's a red silk halter top, and dips low not only in the back, but in the front. The V slits below her breasts, revealing more chest than she's ever shown before, and the dress shows her entire back, covering only the top of her ass and below.

At least there isn't a slit up the side, too, she thought.

It hugs her curves, tight against her body in all the right places, without any flowing material to be found, and skims against the ground.

She turned slowly around in the tiny room, studying the unfamiliar woman in the reflection of the mirror.

"Well," came the impatient voice from outside the fitting room, "does it fit?"

"Um," Casey managed and slowly slid the curtain back around.

The woman had grinned in a predatory way that made Casey cringe. "That is most definitely the one. Of course, you can't wear a bra with it," she ignored Casey's gasp of indignation and continued, "and we'll have to get you a red thong of some sort so it won't show through the gown…"

Now, hours later, Casey has learned to love the dress. Forget like feeling like a princess; she feels like some sort of goddess in it.

Or she had, until she had to actually leave the comfort of her guest room in it. And appear in front of her father no less.

But he's still grinning, and when she reaches the bottom, he reaches out and strokes her cheek. "Casey. You look beautiful. Are you ready to go?"

She clutches her tiny purse tighter and nods, plastering on a smile. Her father thinks she looks okay. Beautiful, even. Clearly she was wearing something acceptable.

When they arrive at the party, there are waves and waves of reporters and cameras, held back by flimsy ropes. Suddenly she feels little more than naked, and she grabs at her father's arm.

"What's with them?" She asks with wide eyes. She can't get out of the car looking like this. Feeling like this.

"It's normal, honey. Socialite and gossip magazines. Relax. You look stunning."

She follows him warily out of the vehicle, and instantly, flashes are going off in her face.

This must be what celebrities feel like. Poor Lizzie. She'd hate to know she was missing out on this.

It's a long weekend; school had been let out on a Friday, and won't resume until Tuesday. Knowing this, Dennis had called and told the girls that a big party was happening that weekend, and he could really use his fantastic daughters to impress an associate of his that he really needed to sign a contract for one of his client companies.

Giggling, Casey had said yes right away. She grasped at any chance to spend any time at all with her father. He'd become sort of an absentee figure in her life, much like the Venturi's mother. The only time Casey had seen her father in the last four years had been during the one time he'd come over for dinner. The only time Derek and Edwin and Marti had seen their mother was when she almost took Derek to Spain with her.

She only ever talked with him on the phone, and even then, that wasn't often; once a month if she was lucky.

Lizzie, however, had agonized over the decision. There was a karate tournament she had been working really hard to get into this weekend, and she hated having to get dressed up and meet important people. Ultimately, she had apologized to their father profusely, but decided not to come.

But she would definitely have loved all these cameras, Casey thinks sadly.

She whisks through the doors, her arm looped through her father's, trying the best she can to keep a smile on her face for all the photographers.

Just when she starts to relax, she realizes that there's reporters and photographers inside too, albeit well-dressed, polite, and inconspicuous ones.

Men in suits like her father's mill about, and gorgeous women cling to their arms or sip daintily from champagne glasses while they flirt, or talk with other women while scoping out people to flirt with.

A few glance over at her, and Casey begins to shift uncomfortably, feeling horribly out of place here, but then she remembers what she's wearing, and she stands up straighter and smirks right back at them as they scan her from head to toe.

"So," she says, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. This place really is fantastic; a wide ballroom at a swanky hotel center, with chandeliers and caterers in white jackets. "Where's this client of yours I need to be impressing?"

Her father smiles at her and she beams back.

"Well, there are two, technically. Business partners, a father and son crew. I thought you could entertain the son while I chat up the father. The kid has a lot of sway, and I know he'll like you right away. I really could use this deal, Case."

"Of course, Dad," she says quickly, because as fun and new and interesting as this has all been, she really does want to help him. To prove to him that she's capable of being someone he's proud of, like she's proud of him.

"They're over there," he gestures, and she follows the direction of his eyes to see two men standing next to a row of tables with printed business cards, thousands of them in rows, lying out for the taking.

One of them looks to be around her father's age; classic and sophisticated, he catches her father's gaze and nods. There are gray streaks in his black hair, and his tan skin is slightly lined around his eyes and on his forehead.

Standing next to him is a young man that seems to be a few years older than Casey. He's devastatingly gorgeous in a debonair sort of way, and she feels her knees begin to tremble and her belly begin to do flip-flops. He has the same tan skin and dark hair as his father.

His eyes instantly go to her, and he takes his time ravaging her with his dark, dark eyes.

The way his mouth tilts as he does so scares her. She's not sure if it's in a good way or not.

Before she knows it they've approached the pair, and she's all smiles and soft giggles as introductions are spoken.

She sticks out her hand for a handshake, which the father takes, but when she turns to the son, he smoothly and gently twists her hand and raises it to his lips.

"Pleasure to meet you," he says, and his voice is equivalent to the silk of her dress.

She lets out a little gasp, her thoughts turning to melted butter, before she finds her voice and regains control of her mind again. "Likewise, Mister…?"

"Anthony. But please, call me Pierre. Mr. Anthony is my father, and he's standing right next to me."

She drags her eyes off of him for a moment to nod at his father, then looks immediately back at him.

"Why don't Mr. Anthony and I chat for awhile? You two kids are young, you should be able to enjoy yourself at these types of events. If that's even possible." Her father winks encouragingly at her, and that's all the nudge she needs.

"Think you can make the night interesting?" She challenges, looking right into those eyes that threaten to drown her and trying her best to look like she's smoldering.

He smirks. "I think I might be able to make that happen, yes."

She loops her arm through his, and he pulls aside a waiter and grabs two glasses of expensive champagne.

She panics for a moment. She's so totally underage, still just in high school for crying out loud. She has that horrible feeling of not belonging again, of surrealism, and then Pierre's glass clinks against hers.

"You really are quite stunning. A girl of your caliber is not what I was expecting when my father mentioned Mr. MacDonald bringing along his daughter." He takes a sip of his drink.

She raises the glass to her lips and tilts it back slowly, sliding her eyes away from his to glance around the room.

The bubbles fizz on her tongue, and the taste surprises her, but she likes it.

"Why?" She asks, putting on a teasing smile and gesturing at the girl -woman?- that had come into her line of vision as she drank. "Is someone like that more like what you were expecting?"

The girl is dressed in something so much more conservative than Casey, and she's sitting in a chair with a dull expression on her face. She has a too-round face and flat shoes. Pierre spares her a glance, and then looks back at Casey.

He laughs. "Perhaps it was. I'm very glad to be proven wrong for once."

He leads her outside through the gardens, and she tries not to ogle the flowers like a silly little kid. Really, though, they're some of the prettiest she's ever seen. She's never been in a classy garden like this. There are tons of people out here, too, and an elongated tent set up with a dance floor and several tables underneath it. More photographers intermingle with party guests.

She shivers when a breeze blows through, and Pierre notices. He stops in the middle of their intense small talk, and stares at her in a way that instantly heats her up. "Cold?"

"A little," she admits, thinking he'll make the move that a thousand high school boys make, and pull off his jacket to wrap around her shoulders.

He doesn't. Instead, he wraps his arm around her bare skin, and draws her close. "Let's go inside, hm? Get you more comfortable?"

Affection swells up inside of her at how sweet and gentlemanly he's being. Now this is truly a fairytale night.

She makes a mental note to thank her father later.

He doesn't take her back inside the way they came. Instead, he takes her through another back entrance, swiping a key card to do so, and when they step inside they're in another hallway. She can see the side entrance to the ballroom from here, but can't spot her father anywhere in the mass of people.

"I just thought we could stop by the room for some snacks or something. Your father wasn't lying when he said these things aren't amusing."

She smiles, relaxing instantly, and follows him into the hotel room.

It's spacious and looks extremely expensive, but the creamy couch cushions are soft when she sinks into them, handing him her champagne glass that he switches out for red wine.

"So about this deal that our fathers are working out," she begins to say. That is the reason why she's here, after all. She can't let herself get too caught up.

"Ah, that," he says, waving a hand dismissively and sitting down next to her. His sleeve rides up to reveal a Rolex. She's never seen a real one in person.

"Yes, that," she says in a teasing sort of way. "Don't you think it's a good idea?"

He smiles softly and slides closer, and her heart jumps into her throat. She sits her wine glass on the table in front of them because she thinks she might drop it. "I think that being involved with any man with a daughter as lovely as you must be a good idea."

She grins.

He reaches out, puts a hand on her knee, strokes her face with the other. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a fabulous idea, personally," she says. "Clearly our fathers get along, and I imagine someone as charming as you must be a great businessman."

His eyes fall to drink in her body, lingering on her cleavage. She doesn't mind. No boys back home look at her this way, like she's some sort of sex kitten or something, and she doesn't think it would hurt anything to let a young man that she'll most likely never see again after tonight look at her this way.

"I'm still undecided," he finally says, tearing his eyes off of her to look into her eyes again. His brow arches in a challenge, his voice dripping sultriness. "Persuade me?"

Then he's leaning in and omigod his lips are on hers. The kiss is slow and hot and full of promise, though what kind of promise she isn't sure.

Does this mean she did it? Does this mean that he and Mr. Anthony will sign whatever deal they have strung up with her father?

She hopes so.

His tongue probes her lips, and she opens them hesitantly, allowing him in.

Suddenly, things heat up. He crashes their lips together with much more force, putting a strong hand on the back of her neck to keep her there. Their teeth mash together and she makes a tiny sound of surprise and pain, but he keeps kissing her, and eventually she relaxes.

Until his hands find her shoulders. His fingers slide underneath the straps of her dress and slip downwards to brush against the sides of her breasts.

She jerks back. "What are you doing?"

He gives her a dashing, mind-numbing smile, but this time she doesn't buy it.

He reaches over and somehow yanks her into his lap. She sits there stiffly in shock as his fingers dip underneath the low back of her dress, giving her a little pinch.

She yelps and almost jumps up, but stays still. Maybe she's overreacting. Yeah, that's it. He'll apologize for being so forward soon. This was a big misunderstandi-

"Come on sweetheart. You know how tedious these business transactions can be. But if you scratch my back… I'll scratch yours. Or your father's. Whatever."

She can't believe what she's hearing.

He wants sex in return for his signature?

"Stay away from me," she snaps, lurching up out of his arms. She's through the door and practically running back into the ballroom in ten seconds flat.

It takes her a couple of minutes to locate her father, and her heart is still beating wildly when she does. She can't even begin to comprehend what almost happened.

Her father is no longer talking to Mr. Anthony, and for that she is grateful. Instead, he's talking to a slender blonde woman that looks to be in her late twenties.

"Ah, Casey, there you are. Where's young Mr. Anthony, hm? And have you met my lovely associate, Ms. Claire Willows?"

Casey doesn't even spare Claire Willows a second glance, but she does retain some form of propriety. "Nice to meet you. Dad, can I have a word with you for a moment?"

Her father's eyebrows scrunch, but he excuses himself from Claire's company and steps a few feet away with her.

"He's a totally sleaze bag, Daddy," she whimpers, on the verge of tears. The nerve of some people!

"Why? Is he balling for extra cash in the transaction?"

"No! He… He wanted me to… In exchange for…"

Suddenly her father looks furious. "That's what's got you so upset? You've had boyfriends before, Casey, and this isn't even anything that serious, it's just a bit of harmless fun. You weren't rude to him, were you?"

She stares at him in absolute horror. The world is crashing down around her. Her lungs feel constricted, and suddenly the lights and the champagne glasses and the chatter all turns into a big whirl of sensation that threatens to overwhelm her.

"Dad-"

"No, Case. I thought I could trust you to help me out on this one! Go back and apologize, will you?"

The universe shatters.

Her father is basically pimping her out for a stupid deal.

"You're pathetic," she manages to spit, and then she storms out, using another side exit. She hails a taxi, not bothering to hunt down the driver in the parking lot.

When she gets back to her father's apartment, she calls the airport and shakily books a flight back home. She rips the dress taking it off, and feels some satisfaction that her father won't be able to take it back and regain his money now.

She shoves her legs into some sweats and throws on a bra (finally) and a tank top. She shoves her feet into furry boots and has her suitcases ready to go in ten minutes, making sure to leave nothing behind but the sexy, shameful silk dress on the floor.

When she stumbles through the door of her house five and a half hours later, almost forty-eight hours earlier than everyone expected, she almost bursts into tears (Again. She cried almost the entire way home).

There's Derek, sitting in his chair, and her mother and George curled up on the couch with Marti between them. Edwin and Lizzie were in the middle of a fight over the remote. She'd forgotten that it's their late-night movie-night. It's almost three in the morning, but everyone is still awake. Even the youngest.

"Casey!" Marti squeals and jumps up to hug her.

Casey leans over and buries her face in the little girl's hair, taking a deep breath and forcing the tears back. She's home. Home. The place where she's not expected to be glamorous and sluttish all at once. Where she's just expected to be Casey.

"Honey! What are you doing back so soon? We weren't expecting you until Monday!" Her mother is looking at her with concern, but not unhappiness.

"Oh, I know. Dad had something last-minute that he had to take care of, though. I'm sorry. I hope I didn't mess up any plans," she says, letting go of her tiny stepsister and giving her mother a tired smile.

"How was New York? Is Dad doing okay?" Lizzie asks eagerly.

Casey sighs shakily. "Guys, I'm really tired. Like, really tired. Can't I just go on up to bed and tell you all about it later?"

"Of course," George nods. "Goodnight, Casey. It's good to have you back. Derek, help her carry her stuff up, would you?"

With much grumbling, Derek grabs the two heaviest of her bags and follows her up the stairs.

She crawls into bed, not bothering to look at him. He sits her things down in the middle of the floor. Usually she'd protest and tell him to put them somewhere more organized but she's too sad and hurt and sleepy to fight with him right now.

"Thanks, Derek," she breathes instead, her eyes already drifting closed. After all, he didn't really have to help her carry them.

There's a beat, a resigned sigh, and then she's vaguely aware of him lifting her body a little at a time and sliding her under the covers. He pulls the blankets up over her shoulders and turns on the dully-lighted lamp that she never sleeps without because she hates waking up to inky blackness.

She slips into sleep as the door shuts behind him.

Review?