Note from the writer: Ok so this is my first ever SQ fic, but I'm so excited to be starting off. The first chapter is just a small taster to get things started, I intend to make the others longer and the next chapter should follow pretty shortly (as long as I'm not crazy busy). Reviews/feedback/suggestions are always welcome and I hope you like it :).
Emma approached the reception desk with an unusual edge of anxiety. Whilst she was someone who was typically hard to phase, the faceless grey tower of that office block and its thousand gleaming windows had definitely set off something in her. It was only worse inside, almost every surface was marble, clinically modern and minimalist. The workers were all dressed head to toe in designer gear, the women all had their hair pinned back neatly in tight buns or ponytails; and then there was Emma. Her tousled blonde hair had received little more than a quick run through of her fingers before she'd hurried out the door, late as ever. Her red leather jacket felt garish compared to the neutral palette of her surroundings and her jeans ridiculously informal. She looked like she was showing up for a job in a bar not at Brooke, the next biggest fashion magazine after Vogue. She made a mental note never to trust Ruby's guidance when it came to interview attire again. She'd said that Emma wouldn't want to be too formal, that it would make her look too keen particularly when she was just going for a cleaning job.
OK, so maybe Ruby had a point, it would have been a little weird if she'd arrived looking like her greatest desire was to become the next great fashion journalist, but at least then she wouldn't have been sticking out like a sore thumb.
These were all thoughts that had crossed her mind on the way to floor four, but it wasn't like there was anything she could have done about it at that point. She cleared her throat as she waited for the young receptionist to notice her, Emma was relieved when the woman looked up with a warm smile. Unlike the other staff she'd seen she seemed softer, friendlier. Her face was framed by a dark pixie cut and the gentle expression in her eyes seemed to confirm that she was all too happy to help.
'I'm here for an interview,' Emma said, feeling calmer now, 'my name is Emma Swan.' The woman nodded and then turned to her computer screen, she clicked through a few pages and then turned back.
'Miss Swan yes, I have you on the system. If you'd like to take a seat I'll lead you through when Miss Mills is ready,' the receptionist gestured to the seating area just by the desk, 'I'm Snow, by the way, can I get you anything to drink while you wait?' Emma took her seat, vaguely distracted as she wondered what Snow's parents were high on when they named her. It was a nice name, but undeniably weird. She snapped out of it when she realised she still hadn't answered her question.
'I, uh- no,' Emma stumbled over her words slightly, 'thank you.' Snow nodded and turned back to work on her computer. Emma tried to relax a little in the plush beige armchair. Her eyes flitted across her surroundings, if this thing went well, she'd be cleaning them soon enough. At least the minimalism meant that there was less to do, but then she realised that the vast amount of white surfaces also meant she'd have to an extra good job as every stain would show a mile off. She'd never really pictured herself as a cleaner (who did?), but Emma had bills to pay and so she wasn't in a place to be picky about her job.
As she was once again lost in her thoughts her eyes drifted down to the magazine left on the glass coffee table. It must have been the latest issue of Brooke and on the front cover was an undeniably gorgeous woman. She had dark hair and eyes almost exactly the colour of black coffee, the slow roasted kind that left a lingeringly soft yet smoky aftertaste. Her lips were painted scarlet, and they were curved into the smallest hint of a smirk. The woman's outfit was a fierce black ensemble that flattered her figure exquisitely. She was both stunning and terrifying, Emma thought, and then she read the headline 'fashion's own evil queen: Regina'. Intrigued she picked it up, curious about how anyone could have an ego big enough to call themselves an 'evil queen'. Sure this woman was pretty, but was she really priding herself on being mean? Emma flicked through the magazine a few pages until she found the article. There were yet more photos from the cover shoot, Regina was in various fierce poses in each. She kind of had the whole dominatrix vibe gong for her, Emma wasn't sure how she felt about that – and then she read the first few lines and her heart leapt into her mouth. 'Regina Mills, deputy editor at Brooke' Mills? As in Miss Mills who was about to interview her? Why on earth would the deputy editor of a fashion magazine interview a cleaner? Emma suddenly felt even more anxiety than she had before, she pulled off her jacket in embarrassment. She was a confident person, but she wasn't sure she was ready to have 'fashion's evil queen' rip her up. She tried to take deep breaths until she felt a little less panicked, and then she realised that she was tougher than this. Maybe the whole surname thing was just a coincidence, and even if it wasn't, Emma Swan didn't crumble in front of anyone, let alone allow herself to be intimated merely because this woman had a big reputation. She put her jacket back on, and readied herself. If the evil queen of fashion was about to grill her over a cleaning job, then it was their loss. She wasn't that desperate for a job.
'Miss Mills will see you now,' Snow interjected Emma's thoughts, 'please follow me.' Emma stood up and walked determinedly along behind Snow. She was in one of her 'fuck it' mindsets, in which she simply stopped being concerned what the outcome of her actions would be. Snow paused before two opaque white doors with large silver handles.
'This is her office,' she said, and then she added in a quieter voice, 'good luck.'