AN: LOL! Reboot already! But it was needed... I've made a personal commitment to finish this story, so expect updates once a month. Shout out to my two reviewers: you're amazing. If anyone gets the composer joke towards the end of the chapter, free cookies!

...

'Ms McCormick, would you please bring me an espresso?'

Linden pressed a button on her desk phone and spoke into the device, 'Right away Sir.' After quickly typing out the rest of her reply on her mobile, she slid it back into her bag and hurried off to the small kitchen.

Rhos had sent her another chapter from her book-in-progress, and again Linden had reminded her roommate that getting caught on her phone was not how she wanted to start her career. Scribe was the UK's most renowned publishing company, and a privilege as far as jobs went. It would suck getting fired in the first few months.

Her best friend was relentless though, forever under the impression that despite Arthur Cunningham's needlessness to read unless he had to, his new PA would somehow inspire him to start reading fantasy romances.

'Rhos, he's a businessman, not an editor. The people you're expecting to impress work elsewhere in the building.'

'But you don't work on any of those levels! I'm literally milking the only cow I have in my pen, and excuse me if its udder is far fuller than any other's.'

It was exhausting, and the endless cow analogies weren't exactly kosher.

The brunette placed a cup on the coffee machine platform and pressed the small espresso icon. The premium roast quietly poured out, and she stunted the brief wait by appreciating London's skyline from the window. Working in a penthouse office had more than one perk, and the view never ceased to amaze her. Afternoon storms like today's were her favourite.

As she placed the necessary condiments on a tray, a noise from around the kitchen door got her attention. Was someone here for a meeting? Impossible, the PR team had been the last one of the day.

Tray in hand, she walked past her desk, brow furrowing at the stranger waiting there: a tall young man with tied back russet hair, a lean face and dark eyes currently occupied by a phone screen. 'Can I help you?'

He looked up, and oddly enough her head spun pleasantly.

'I assume so. Is Arthur Cunningham available?'

It took a moment for the reply to form, her thoughts scattered and largely concerned with the stranger's features. 'Unfortunately his schedule is closed for the day, but I'll be happy to make an appointment for you for tomorrow.'

The man was about to reply when a loud cuss from inside Arthur's office resounded, and a few seconds later the doors opened to an irked-looking Arthur staring disdainfully down at the blue ink all over his shirt. 'Bloody fountain pens. Ms McCormick, would you please find me another-' His eyes lifted, 'Rob!'

A small smile appeared on Rob's lips. 'Hey Arthur.'

'It's good to see you, my boy!' They shook hands, 'How have you been? What are you doing back in London so soon?'

Rob's eyes flickered towards Linden who stood awkwardly to the side. 'That's actually why I'm here on such short notice. I've got something urgent to discuss with you...'

'Of course, of course! Ms McCormick, could you please prepare another espresso for this young man? Also, call the dry cleaner's; ask if they can get this mess cleaned up. There should be a clean shirt waiting for me there already, so they can just bring that one now. Great. Rob, you've met my new secretary?'

'Not formally.' His eyes found Linden's, and again there was that pleasantness in her head.

'This is Linden McCormick, Claire's replacement. Ms McCormick, this is my godson Robin.'

'Pleasure to meet you.' His eyes moved across her face, and she swore she almost swooned.

'The pleasure's mine.' Lordy that sounded slutty!

Their gazes didn't separate in the next few moments until Arthur's voice cut through the link, asking Rob about his flight and "the trip to Los Angeles". As they all filed into her boss's office, Linden internally shook herself. What was happening to her? Sure, the man was attractive, but not devastatingly gorgeous. (She spared another glance) ...was he?

Relax, you're just nervous for the meeting later, she consoled herself, putting the cup and other assortments in front of Arthur. Besides, you have a fiancé now.

If there hadn't been anxiety before, there certainly was now. Just thinking about the alliance made her heart speed up. She glanced down at her watch: three thirty. Still another three hours.

Once Rob had his own coffee, and she'd sent out the email she'd initially been busy with, Linden dialed White Collar Cleaners. Hopefully they wouldn't mind a quick run into the city. 'Hello? I'm calling from Scribe, from the desk of Arthur Cunningham. Is there clothing waiting under that name...?'

Within fifteen minutes, the elevator doors dinged open, and a young be-speckled boy stepped out with a wrapped white shirt. ''Ere you are, miss. Where's the dirty one?'

'Thank you Mason, I'll fetch it for you now.' Taking the laundry, Linden made her way to the dark wooden doors and knocked politely.

'Yes?'

'Your clean shirt has just arrived, Sir.' She moved inside the office and hung the package on the coat hanger behind the door. 'Mason's outside waiting for the spoiled one.'

'Marvellous! I'll bring it out in a minute.'

...

The door closed and Arthur made his way to the big plastic sleeve. 'Curious girl, that. She's got a mathematics degree from Oxford, but still wants to work as a PA. I'm not complaining though - she's a solid worker. But that's beside the point, you were saying?'

Rob sobered his surprise and sipped the last bit of his coffee, moving his eyes away from his godfather as he unbuttoned his shirt. 'They called us back two days later, and after a few more sessions in the booth, the directors said they would be willing to take us on-'

'That's fantastic!'

'Just wait. Here's the problem: Jasmine disapproves. Vehemently. She says America is too far away, and that there's no future for the band there. She went on and on over the phone yesterday about how I have obligations elsewhere, and that "Empire's not going to run itself".

'You know, she actually told me she only supported my guitar because she saw orchestra platforms and big classical names covering my repertoire, and that the band is now limiting my options.' He snorted, 'Hypocrite.'

'Well, to be honest, this isn't a complete surprise. We're all familiar with Jasmine's control issues, so I expected resistance on her part.' Arthur fastened the last of his buttons as he made his way over to his chair. Sitting, he reached for his tie and continued: 'She does have a point about it being far away. And she's grown very fond of you as her stepson, even if you haven't ever felt the same about her. So the notion of being separated from you might very well be upsetting her. Where do the rest of your boys stand on this?'

'Expectantly, they're excited. This is by no means a small opportunity, and the sooner we take it, the better. Of course Jasmine has also spoken to them, but we're all eager to take the chance. It's a once in a lifetime thing.'

'I see... Hold on a bit,' he pressed a button on his desk and a beep resounded in the room. 'You can fetch the shirt, Linden.'

A minute later, the woman walked in again, and Rob couldn't understand why his gaze kept following her. Something about the petite frame and curly brown hair fascinated him. Or maybe it was her education. Or her name. Or her sparkling hazel eyes.

She caught his stare for a second on her way out, and he swore he knew her. Not as in the "I've seen you around at the grocery store" sense; it was more like "you and I are close in another life. Very close." It was strange. They had, after all, only just met...

But the door closed soon enough, and the feeling dwindled in its wake. Of course he didn't know her. That would be absurd.

Shaking himself, he focused back on Arthur. 'What now?'

The older man sighed and shifted in his seat. 'Look, practically speaking, you won't see much money from this for a while still, so if you're in it to make your million, don't hold your breath for at least a year. If you're doing this simply because you enjoy it,' Rob nodded at this, 'I must also warn you that the life you'll lead in general fluctuates heavily.

'But,' the businessman paused, regarding his godson with proud eyes, 'that said, I don't doubt you or your talent, and think that, like your father, you don't back down easily. You have my blessing; go for it, my boy.'

'So...you'll speak to Jasmine then?' Rob couldn't keep the excitement from his voice.

'Yes, I'll speak to her.' Arthur grinned at the broadening happiness on Rob's face, chuckling like a grandfather as the younger man thanked him emphatically. No matter how composed and sure of himself Rob appeared to others, he still saw an excited child holding a small guitar; revelling in his boyhood and making big plans for big dreams.

'Always happy to help. Now, what say we toast to your victory in LA? That Bowmore's not going to drink itself.' He reached into a cabinet under his desk, pulled out a bottle and two glasses, and poured the amber drink.

'Shouldn't the rest of the band be here for this?'

'They could come if they wanted to, but this here's only for my favourite people.' With a cheeky wink, the men raised their glasses.

...

'Relax. Just breathe. It'll be like any other meeting.' Linden adjusted her dress and pushed back a few loose tendrils of hair behind her ears. Her made-up reflection was still betraying the nervousness she was struggling to keep at bay. 'You can do this. Wink says he's handsome, which is a plus. Just relax.'

Her hands shook as she reached up to her neck and straightened the pendant Rhos had given her for her birthday – a tiny silver star with an amethyst in the centre. She didn't often wear jewellery, but it was elegant enough for formal meetings, and it comforted her knowing that even though her best friend couldn't follow her here, she was still close by.

'Breathe...'

Giving herself one last once up in the mirror, she huffed with finality and turned to leave. While Linden had an apartment in London, she much preferred getting ready for the receiving chamber in the Oak's catacombs. It would be strange riding the train to Cornwall in her fancy ceremonial robes. Besides, the polished wood and gold-trim cloth of her room here separated the drab, normal city from the strangeness of what happened below its streets. That too gave her comfort in a way.

Wink was waiting for her outside, small pale hands wringing themselves into an even brighter shade than her hair. But when Linden emerged, her features relaxed into an expression so naturally calm, it was as if nothing in the world was a bother to her.

'You look lovely!' She made her away around Linden, brushing the soft beige chiffon of the dress where it looked creased. But once she was back where she started and face to face with Linden, Wink immediately noticed the anxiety welling up in the girl's eyes and pulled her into a hug. 'Oh, baby girl,' she whispered sadly. 'You'll see, once you meet him, it won't be as scary anymore.'

Linden managed a nod, her mind so focused on not letting nervous tears spill that she didn't trust herself to form a coherent reply. Tender moment over, the two women separated and Wink took the lead down the corridor towards the main hall.

The cherry-haired woman stopped before two large oak double doors and tugged on gold plait rope. A bell chimed from the other side, and a second later, the doors opened with a creak. Their own weight made them move slowly, but once they were open enough for the women to slip through, the glory of the throne room filled Linden's vision.

The Queen sat on her throne, beautiful blonde hair falling gracefully over her bust and through the golden circlet around her head. Her Majesty had always had a high liking of fashion, and her green and lilac gown tonight expectedly met her high standards, but it was Amaryllis's presence that truly made one recognise her status as royalty. From the air of grace to the piercing stare, there really was no doubt she was a monarch of note.

Standing on the platform next to her was a young man with hair a shade darker than the queen's and eyes the colour of the sea. They found Linden's as she made her way forward, but she quickly lowered her head before he could get a better look.

Reaching the steps to the dais, both ladies dropped into a curtsy, Wink moving to the side as Linden straightened. The man was still looking at her. 'Your Majesty.'

'Good evening Linden. This is Garan of the Green Isles; I was just telling him about you.'

Of course you were, something in her chirped bitterly. Turning to Garan, she gave him a curtsy too, 'It's an honour to finally meet you.'

'It is more of a pleasure than an honour for me, Miss Linden, although an honour still this encounter is.' He bowed in turn to her, and again met her eyes with a smile.

'Such eloquent words,' the Queen's voice cut in. 'Tell me Garan, did you receive an education from The Isles or did you learn in the city?' As he was about to answer, Amaryllis perked up as if she only now remembered something. 'Excuse me, where are my manners? Let us discuss this over our dinner.'

Looking aside to Wink, the Queen's attendant nodded and hurried behind a marble pillar. Three waitrons appeared a moment later, each carrying a covered dish, and seven men jogged in carrying a carved wooden table and three chairs. As they laid the set carefully in the middle of the room, kitchen maids scurried in to lay places, and the waitrons lined up against the far wall.

Once all the commotion had stopped and the servants had left, the Queen rose and daintily made her way to the seat at the head of the table. Linden and Garan followed, each taking a place next to the Queen but still facing each other. Amaryllis raised her hand and the waitrons walked forward, placing the dishes in front of everyone.

'My head chef, Mallow, has prepared...what was it? Ah yes: Rara Gosht Cymru...in honour of your people.'

'Ostyngedig yr wyf yn diolch i chi, Your Majesty.' Garan inclined his head with another smile, and the dish tops were lifted, a spicy aroma filling the air. 'This smells and looks divine.'

'Enjoy it,' the Queen smiled back and picked up a fork.

'Thank you again. Regarding your previous question, I did receive basic tutoring in The Isles during my young years, but once I was of age, I moved away to Aberystwyth U and pursued a degree in chemical engineering...'

The evening went on like this: between bites of food, the Queen and Garan exchanged questions, but Linden only spoke when she was spoken to. Garan asked about her own education (at which point the Queen excitedly showed off her Oxford history), where she worked now, and what her interests and dislikes were. She stuck with one-sentence answers.

'Is it exciting working for a publishing company?'

'Hardly.'

'What works does the company publish?'

'Business-related texts.'

'And what do you do?'

'I'm a PA.'

'Oh.' Garan looked a little disappointed, and internally Linden smiled.

The Queen shot her a look. 'Come dearie, you're boring our guest half to death! Speak! Converse! Don't just sit there like an ornament.'

She put her fork down and folded her hands in her lap. 'I apologise.' Looking back at Garan, she made sure to look as falsely interested as possible. 'What more would you like to know?'

For a moment the man was at a loss for words. 'Uh... What do you do in your spare time?'

'I work. Then I sleep.' The Queen bristled.

'So...you enjoy your job then?'

She shrugged, 'It's well enough.'

'I see,' Garan's brows drew together.

'Tell him about your piano,' came the Queen's tense voice. Linden nodded to her and looked to the man again.

'I play the piano.'

'Impressive!' A sliver of hope appeared in his eyes. 'Who's your favourite composer?'

'Cage.' The hopefulness left.

'I presume you don't have any favourite pieces then.'

'No, I do.'

'Oh?'

She smiled sweetly, 'Old MacDonald.'

The Queen's hand smacked the table, rattling the wine glasses and sending a loud echo through the hall. Linden pursed her lips to keep from smiling.

'Garan... I apologise profusely for the behaviour you have seen here tonight. I think Linden has had a long day. I hope that next week, when she visits you at The Isles,' the Queen fixed her with a dark glare, 'you will have a far more pleasant evening. Until then, I think it best that you leave once you have finished your desert; I do not wish for you to endure this any longer. We will have to reschedule the dance for another evening.'

Garan swallowed and gently placed his spoon in his bowel. 'That's quite alright, Your Highness. It's late, and I should be getting back anyway.' He stood and bowed; when he leaned back, he looked at Linden, but quickly dropped his face at her fiercely rebellious gaze. 'Thank you very much for the dinner.' And with that, he turned at left.

A deadly quiet filled the hall again.

Eventually, breath heavy with anger, the Queen looked over to Linden and started tapping her fingers on the table top. 'Explain yourself. Now.'