A/N: I'd like to give a million thanks to my incredible cheerleader and beta, Starfire (CynthiaER on AO3), who helped me through every road block and plot holes, my language insecurities, and made sure the story was flowing nicely. Without you, I wouldn't have finished this, that's for sure!
And thank you to Jess (misthavens) for the amazing cover art you can see in her profile on AO3. I'm in love with it.
Well, I hope you all enjoy as much as I did while writing it, and that it's easy to understand even if you haven't watched The Devil Wears Prada.
Oh, and there WILL be a sequel! I'm already planning it.
Chapter 1: February 2006
The haste with which Emma leaves the comfort of her bed — almost falling in the process —, when she realizes she has definitely pressed the snooze button more than once, would've made her laugh any other day. Not today. Today she has an interview scheduled for 8:00 am and it's already 7:04 am. Human Resources had (politely) told her to be punctual and that near-hysterics senior assistant had, in no uncertain terms, demanded she arrive on time.
Why is she still in the shower repeating her rehearsed words for the interview when she ought to be worming into her only pair of slacks, matched with a white collared shirt and a thin sweater? (Neither were her first choices for comfortable attire, because she would trade both for a tank top and skinny jeans any other day. Except any other day is not today.)
OK, so clothes — check. Comfortable boots — check. What's next, what's next?
Meanwhile, her boyfriend wakes up and yawns, now staring bemusedly at the scene. "Em, calm down, you'll get there in time."
"Good morning to you too," she retorts. Where are her papers and her curriculum? "I can't not get there in time, Neal."
"Good morning. I'm just saying—there's no need to stress yourself over this... Besides, I still can't understand the importance of this particular job. You weren't," he motions with his hand to Emma, who does not see it, since she's inside the bathroom brushing her teeth, "fussing this much when you applied to all those newspapers."
Spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste in the sink, Emma stares at her reflection. Then, she attempts to tame her hair which is sticking out in every direction. (It's also in desperate need of a haircut.) At least the golden color she's so proud of is as bright as ever. "That's because they were all my first options and, as you can see, they didn't work out. I need this to work."
"I believe in you, Em," Neal concludes, dropping the subject. He gets up and gives her a brief kiss. "How about I make you my special grilled cheese, just the way you like it?"
Emma smiles. "Mmm, I've been dying for one of those. I guess there's no way I'd get onion rings for breakfast too, right?"
She doesn't understand why he shakes his head and chuckles. She wants onion rings, damn it... That's it — if she gets the job, her lunch will consist of something with a side of onion rings to celebrate. Perfect.
[SQ]
They won't hire her or dismiss her solely based on her outfit choice...right? The slacks have seen better days, true, and Emma's pretty sure the sweater came from her mother's excessive collection, but... One did not necessarily have to be fashionable to work at a fashion magazine? Ok, so her favorite red fake leather jacket might be a tad too inappropriate for the interview. It serves the same purpose as the "Good luck!" Neal gave her on her way out. Nevertheless — she needs all the help she can get.
Stepping out of her low-rent apartment, down the streets of New York Emma goes. In one hand is a two-years-old briefcase, swinging wildly as Emma leaves the Lower East Side by subway. As she hurries down the packed corridor she once again thought of her trusty yellow bug. Oh, she misses it. The car hadn't made it all the way to The Big Apple. Saying goodbye to it had been one of her saddest farewells when, shortly after graduating college, she'd had to decide what to part ways with. There's no use dwelling on the matter of home now, though. She has more important things to worry about, like "Can the subway move faster, just today?" or "Is it going to be a problem that I have no idea what fashion magazine I'm supposedly interviewing for?"
Despite the initial set-backs, Emma gets to West 48th Street with enough time to stop and stare up at the elegant tower. 'Elias-Clarke Publications' is aesthetically displayed in silver letters on the building's front, giving off a sense of eminence and imperiousness she's not accustomed to. The glass windows are dazzlingly clean and bright even though the sun isn't shining, and the building has at least 20 floors. Whew.
It's easy to become overwhelmed here, she thinks when she has finally trotted inside the lobby. People rush in every direction around her — the lobby itself is huge, screaming opulence. Oh god, what was she thinking? She doesn't fit in here. These chic workers and their expensive suits just made that glaringly obvious.
Every cloud has a silver lining, Emma supposes, since she makes her way to the lobby's reception and is permitted to move on. She boards the elevator, now holding a 'guest' pass, and finds herself alone. Breathe, Emma. You got this.
Through the 5th floor onward, she convinced herself there's no turning back (her heart, trying to burst out of her chest, certainly does not agree).What's done is done, she thinks determinedly. The elevator's doors open and Emma resumes her inner pep-talk, now consisting of "the 18th floor could make or break her".
Taking a deep breath, Emma holds her briefcase like a lifeline and heads towards the receptionist sitting behind a large desk. On the wall above, in gold, fashion-magazine-typical-font is a logo of Runway. Huh. At least now she knows the magazine's name.
"Hi. I'm looking for..." what's the name of that first assistant again? Oh, she has it in a paper somewhere inside her pocket— "...Lena Green?" —There it is.
"You're Emma Swan?" a British-accented voice drawls, coming from a hallway to the left. The woman who'd spoken suddenly appears, a clipboard against her chest, wearing a tight black dress, smartly matched with a tailored blazer on top. The ensemble likely cost more than Emma's entire wardrobe and the fact makes her even more uncomfortable.
Emma does a quick scan of the front of her sweater to ensure there aren't any grilled cheese leftovers on it, because the woman is examining her from head to toe with a frown. It dawns on Emma that, compared to the attire of everyone she's seen thus far, her outfit falls completely within 'the worse for wear' category. Everyone on this floor is clad in similar styles: trendy, chic, fashionable, while she's anything but that. Emma self-consciously buries the hand not holding the briefcase inside her jacket's pocket and tries not to fidget.
"Yeah, that's me," she replies.
"Oh god, Human Resources really are trying to be funny!" the red haired woman tilts her head and smiles in a way that suggests she'll be going straight down to that department to throttle the person responsible for inviting Emma. It's likely that this is the crazy assistant she spoke to on the phone. The woman in question sighs. "Follow me."
As they move down the corridor Lena came from, Emma tries not to pay too much attention to the racks upon racks of clothes, accompanied by fashionable workers moving at a hurried pace. There are also Runway covers of various editions framed along the walls. Apparently this magazine is the real deal.
She's slightly dizzy from all the sharp turns they're taking while dodging people coming from every direction. The glass walls dividing offices or departments, as well as Lena's snitty tone, aren't helping to calm her nerves.
"…as you know, you would fulfil the second assistant's job, which was mine before Ashley got promoted to the Beauty Department."
"Oh, so you are performing a two-woman job at the moment?" Emma quips, while narrowly avoiding getting hit by another person maneuvering a rack of clothes.
"Precisely. The past three candidates didn't last more than a few weeks. Being Regina's assistant is not child's play. We need to find someone who can survive here, do you understand?"
"Of course." Emma nods. "Who's Regina?"
"You cannot be serious."
Finally, after another set of double glass doors, they're standing outside a bright corner room, where two desks are positioned opposite each other. Between the desks is a passageway leading to the entrance of the main office.
"I will pretend you did not just ask me who the editor-in-chief of Runway is," Lena continues, and Emma winces. "Regina's a legend. You manage to last for a year working for her, it sets you up to work anywhere in the publishing world," Lena emphasizes her words by looking directly at Emma. "It's a well-known fact that a million girls would kill for this job."
Work anywhere in the publishing world? Emma mulls over those words inside her head. This turns the tides — doing well in this job could be her ticket to any newspaper or popular magazine. Emma's determination skyrockets with this tidbit of information. Launching into her rehearsed lines, she says, "Sounds like an amazing opportunity. I'd love to be considered."
Lena's snort somehow carries an air of condescension. Then, as if that isn't enough, she replies, "Yes, yes it is, but Emma, Runway is a fashion magazine..." Lena's derision is palpable. "...and this means that an interest in fashion is crucial."
"Of course I'm interested in fashion, what makes you think I'm not?" Emma might be bluffing just a little, but this assistant doesn't have to know that.
The look on Lena's face suggests she's about to be dismembered; thankfully, a beeping sound interrupts their conversation. Lena almost drops the clipboard as she reads the message she's received on her phone.
Emma will later know that Lena's reaction was not unfounded — but now it leaves her confused.
"Oh my god. No. No, no, no!" Lena exclaims in desperation.
"What's happening?"
Ignoring her, Lena goes behind her desk, located on the left side of the room, quickly dials someone on the telephone, and not giving time for the person on the other end to answer, Lena says, "She's on her way. Tell everyone!"
If Emma was lost before, now there's no scale to capture the level of her confusion. She feels like an idiot, gaping like a fish out of water, trying to make sense of new surroundings. This feeling compounds when a well-dressed man walks in a few moments later, setting down a box of some kind on top of Lena's desk. In the meantime, Lena is busy touching up her makeup for reasons unknown to Emma. Said man then comments, "She's not supposed to be here until 9:00."
"I know! But her masseuse canceled!" Lena cries. "And her driver texted and said he's pulling up front with her in five minutes. God, these people!"
"Who's this?" the dapper man asks, blatantly pointing at Emma.
"That I'm not even going to talk about," Lena dryly answers.
What is that supposed to mean? Shaking it off, she looks at the man. "I'm Emma Swan, nice to—"
"I'm Jefferson Hatter, Art Director. If you'll excuse me for a second..." Pushing open the glass door, he shouts, "Prepare your armor!"
"—meet you, I guess." She's ignored and watches in fascination as all the employees freeze for a second then begin running like crazy, Jefferson included.
Emma is transfixed by the transformations happening in such a short period of time. There are assistants pushing the racks of clothes away; conference rooms being reorganized; papers being put back inside folders; workers actually scurrying away to do their work; women kicking off their comfortable shoes and slipping into high-heels. Most are also touching up their makeup just like Lena had done before.
Speaking of Lena, where is she? The last time Emma saw her, the insane woman was skittering around madly, arranging Regina's desk, her own desk and everything in-between. She watches as a crystal glass is set on Regina's desk; bottled water poured into it a few seconds later — probably some expensive label Emma will never be able to afford. Next, a shiny red apple is placed beside the glass. Emma can only stare as Lena's maneuvers are done in record time, leaving her breathless.
Emma jumps when Lena suddenly appears at her side. "Oh my God, you're still here. Go."
Um... Where to?
"Actually, on second thought, stay. I won't have time to escort you out because Regina's probably already entering the building. Here, let me take this, you won't be meeting her with this… thing in your hands—" Lena points helpfully to the briefcase, "the rest will be enough."
Deciding to ignore the backhanded insult, Emma's mind focuses on the first part of the sentence. Meet her? "What?"
"Oh, just..." Lena takes her briefcase and throws it behind the second assistant's station. "Stay." She says as if Emma's a dog, and leaves promptly. Has anyone ever told Lena she is insufferable? No? Emma will do the honors.
"Wow, this is the best boost for self-esteem," she says sarcastically to herself, sitting down on the second assistant's chair.
[SQ]
Her Lincoln Town Car pulls to a sudden stop outside Elias-Clarke. Why acknowledge Sidney, her driver, when he failed to avoid all the unnecessary traffic on the way here? Regina cannot understand how her employees are so incompetent. Is it too much to ask for one day without stress?
Obsidian Kate Spade stilettos are the first item to touch the sidewalk. Regina leaves the sedan with her new pewter handbag by Prada (she cannot deny she loves it already) and the Runway mock-up in tow. She's thankful for her sunglasses, because they hide her emotions from the outside world — should any slip past her iron-clad control, that is. In addition, the dark glasses serve as an effective tool for subconsciously instilling fear.
Measured steps take Regina inside the lobby and, today, she almost lets a smirk make its way onto her face. It should not be so satisfying to watch them all cower in her presence, but oh, it definitely is. Assistants, guards, secretaries and other distinguished executives (whose names she never bothered to learn) bow their heads in respectful greetings she does not return. As annoyed as she is with this day already, it's delightful to have her path unobstructed by these peasants.
Oh, there's no way a clacker will take her place on the elevator. Strutting in seemingly unfazed, Regina's pleased when the woman realizes who she's trying to board the elevator with and hurriedly leaves, apologizing.
Regina still applies for a private elevator every year. The Board always has their variations of the same excuse, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Mills… You see, there are too many workers in the building, and…" She cannot decide if what bothers her is the fact that they are denying her request or if it's theMrs. Mills — it's Regina.
This fear people have of boarding the elevator with her will do… for now.
Regina is already organizing the to-do-list for Lena in her mind. She was raised to be like this — cunning, devious, calculating, and organized to a fault. Plans have always made up a big part of her life. She would not be where she is now, in the prime of her career, had she not planned to follow her own path (despite her mother's wishes).
The 18th floor doors open swiftly and she finally removes her glasses. She steps outside the metal cabin and glances around, raising an eyebrow. No sign of Lena, of course. Sometimes she's such a disappointment… Not an important one, though. Her past has been full of major disappointments, but there's no point in reminiscing.
She sighs. Her employees really seem to think she's oblivious to the fact that they're never ready after the weekend ends. Regina's a perfectionist. This means, for example, that a rack of clothes forgotten in the Sales Department corridor is transparent and ten times more annoying to her than anyone else. After such an event occurred, her resulting monologue made all the employees walk on eggshells for a whole month. Recalling the memory never fails to amuse her. She could also do without their incessant talking. They have the need to fill the short-lived quietness with chatteruntil she has to resort to scathing words. Frankly, it's exhausting.
If there's one thing she despises, well, it's nervous babbling.
That and Fiona Fayette. Insipid woman.
She passes the receptionist, who cheerfully says, "Good morning, Regina."
"Save it."
It's when she's turning around the corner from the first corridor that Lena basically pushes her to the side to accompany her. She'll forgive her this once. There are more important matters to complain about.
"I don't understand why it's so difficult for people to follow through with appointments..." she murmurs.
"I'm sorry, Regina, I actually confirmed last night—"
"How you failed to make a simple confirmation has no excuse." She interrupts Lena as they navigate through the maze of corridors, because honestly she does not want to hear it. "Make sure to actually confirm my appointment with my hairdresser for tomorrow morning. Tell Ingrid I'm not going to approve the girl she chose for the double-page spread—I asked for royalty, poise and composure, she sent me a tired slouch. And cancel my meeting with Gold; I have more important things to attend to."
As they make another turn, a worker avoids meeting her eye and scurries away. She loves how everything's quiet until she's inside her office, not a thing out of place.
"I should say to his assistant that..." Lena trails off, and it's so predictable Regina rolls her eyes. Regina despises stupid questions. Since Lena knows this, she usually rephrases her sentences or trails off. As if it will make a difference.
"I don't know…that's your job." She throws the Runway mock-up on top of Lena's clipboard just for spite. From the corner of her eye, Regina sees Lena battling to reset the agenda on top. She doesn't wait for her, of course. "And R.S.V.P. Yes to Maya's party tonight. I want Sidney to drop me off at eight-thirty and pick me up at nine sharp." This party isn't worth her time, but for appearances sake…
"Nine o'clock…" She hears Lena mumble while writing it down.
They're almost in front of the corner office now, and she doesn't stop her instructions. "Call Anna from that organic market, tell her no for the twentieth time. No, I don't want golden delicious apples. I want red delicious apples." Ugh, these people. "Then… then call my husband, tell him to meet me at that restaurant with the great view after the party. Confirm the parent-teacher conference at Dalton tonight at seven. I need a dress delivered to the townhouse at eight for the party."
Lena pushes open the glass doors, and Regina doesn't hesitate, despite the odd woman sitting at the second assistant's station. "Tell James I saw the Polaroids that Testino sent for the Dior campaign next month. I want them to look livelier. Is that too much to ask for?" She removes her coat and tosses it on Lena's desk, together with her handbag.
"No?"
"Those colors were uninspiring," Regina concludes. She starts walking in the direction of her office, but stops and turns to Lena again to shoot the last instruction for the moment. "I need to see all the things Jefferson has for the new cover. Call him here." She finally glances at the wide-eyed blonde sitting at the second assistant's chair. "Who is that?"
[SQ]
Emma doesn't know what to do. Well, she knows that she's feeling overwhelmed, but this…this warm feeling spreading like a wildfire from head to toe should not be happening.
She hadn't expected to be in her potential boss's presence so soon, for starters. Then, Regina turns out to be a gorgeous woman, not old like Emma had imagined. She's intimidating, besides beautiful, and clearly sharp-witted. Regina speaks in a husky, murmuring voice Emma has to strain her ears to hear. It's like she knows the power she has, and relishes it.
When Emma hears Regina ask about her, Lena begins spluttering an answer. "She's… nobody. Um, Human Resources sent her up about the new assistant position, and she's not suitable, of course… I will see her out now."
They're inside the main office when she hears Regina say, "No, no. The last three you sent me were terrible. So send her in, I will make my own decision. That's all." It makes Emma's hands start to sweat.
Lena comes out of the main office still looking at Regina for a few seconds, probably as shocked as Emma is. In the moment that follows, she whirls to Emma with a glare, and whispers, "She wants to see you. Go."
"She does?" Emma asks as if she hadn't already heard it, getting up in the process, flabbergasted.
Leaving her briefcase behind the desk as instructed, Emma grabs her résumé and shuffles to the main office. Once inside, rocking on her heels, the sound of her heartbeat is pounding in her ears. She cannot even stop to admire the place. For that reason, even if Regina has not acknowledged her presence (shuffling around with the papers on her desk as she is), Emma breathes out, "Hi."
Regina gives a cursory glance at her. "Who are you?"
Can she sit down in one of these chairs in front of her? Her legs feel like jelly.
"I'm Emma Swan." Her hands shake as she hands over her CV. "I recently— I just graduated last year from Storybrooke University—"
"And what are you doing here?"
"I c-came to New York to be a journalist, so I sent letters out everywhere… a-and got a call from Ruby up at Human Resources here at Elias-Clarke." Her voice is shaking, but she stands tall as Regina, with her dark eyes, seems to stare right at her soul. "I-I think I could do a good job as your assistant. Basically, it's Runway or Auto Universe."
"So you don't read the magazine." Regina states quite accurately, now busy with the International Herald Tribune instead of Emma. It's unfair how Regina still looks fashionable while wearing rimless glasses. She pulls off the look quite effortlessly; whereas when Emma wears glasses, she feels like she's back in her high school geek phase. That's why she made the point of wearing contact lenses for the occasion, and not her black-rimmed glasses.
Oh, god, should she lie or... "Um, no," she says instead. Damn her terrible fabrication skills. She can always figure out when someone is lying, calls it a 'superpower' even, but, of course, when it's for her benefit, she panics and tells the absolute truth.
"And before today, you had never heard of me…"
Emma winces accordingly. "No?"
"You are dowdy and you have no sense of fashion…"
Emma titters. "Well, I think that depends on your point of—"
Regina raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "That wasn't a question. Your red pleather jacket is proof enough," she interjects.
Setting the newspaper aside, Regina's now giving Emma her full attention, making Emma feel small under the scrutiny. She starts telling herprobably-will-not-be-my-boss-in-a-million-years about her accomplishments while at university, such as being the editor-in-chief of the Storybrooke Daily Mirror and winning a national writing competition.
It appears that Regina doesn't care, because she tilts her head, waves toward the door and says, "That's all."
And that should have been it. End of story, end of her career ambitions — end of her dreams.
Yes, that should have been the end, but Emma has never thrown in the towel before. Not when administering a newspaper meant sleepless nights, not when that horrible girl in kindergarten made her life hell because Emma broke her pencil (by accident, might she add), not when Dad tried his best to thwart her from choosing journalism over law school.
And she will not give up now.
"Look, I get it. I don't fit in here… like, what the hell am I doing here, with my unfashionable clothes," she pauses, looking to the floor briefly, before raising her eyes to meet Regina's, "except I will do my best." Regina removes her glasses and regards her with an inscrutable gaze. Emma crosses her arms then continues. "And even though I have been treated horribly since the moment I stepped inside this building, I would commit one-hundred percent to the job. I learn fast and I will work very hard—"
"I got the exclusive you've requested, Regina, but mixing the Armani suit with those accessories will not work. It's like she'd enjoy being somewhere else — so incredibly dull," Jefferson deadpans as he circles around Emma and completely ignores her (just like before, she recalls). His sudden appearance and lack of acknowledgment cause Emma to trail off.
Regina hums in agreement, now analyzing whatever an 'exclusive' means. Emma's had enough. "Thank you so much for your time," Emma scoffs and prepares to leave the office.
Right before she's completely out of the room, she hears, "You'll start tomorrow. Go settle the paperwork at Human Resources." Emma turns around and does her best deer caught in headlights impression.
"Lena." Regina calls out.
"Yes Regina." Lena is by Emma's side inside the office instantly, pad and pen in hand.
"Show the new girl to Human Resources. She starts tomorrow. Then I need a new blue Hermès scarf. That's all," Regina says airily, and Emma realizes that dismissing people is probably her boss's favorite activity. Also, there's the matter of Oh my god, Emma, she's your boss. You got the job. Onion rings, here I come!
[SQ]
Regina almost did not believe it. What the hell is wrong with her today? Not chewing out whoever chose that monstrosity they called accessories for next issue's cover? And— worst of all… hiring that woman as her second assistant? Since when does Regina Mills take chances on unfashionable women who wear outdated slacks, floral patterned sweaters and, she shudders, fake leather jackets? Scarlet colored, no less.
"Did you just—"
"Jefferson, if your next words are not a solution for this mess of a cover, then I quite honestly do not want to hear it," she tells him in a threatening tone.
"As I was saying," he coughs, "we could reshoot the cover with the right jewelry…"
She continues to listen to his ideas while tapping her fingers on her desk, (because she's a natural multitasker), and questioning herself again… Why take a chance… why hope that— what's her name again? Not that it matters, of course. No use in learning the girl's name if she will not last. Why hope that Emma Swan will succeed? Well, she has an impressive résumé and work-ethic... She smirks. The girl certainly had no qualms about saying exactly how she felt after being dismissed.
Regina cannot lie — she has missed a challenge. Her routine, while varied in terms of opulent events and appointments, has become monotonous. Most of the time, she's already aware of what's to come next: run-throughs without sufficient preparation; incompetent people; fights with her husband; and, dare she say the one that matters the most, Henry's eyes filling with sadness, because she's rarely home to play games or tuck him in. Because he hears her arguing with Robin although he's on the third floor, and because It's so loud, mom.
Brushing aside unwanted thoughts — she does not get misty-eyed while working, that's reserved for her employees — Regina tries to picture Jefferson's suggestions. They are not useless, she'll give him that. "Have Lena call Dolce & Gabbana to match their gold collection with the suit… Actually, call Lena here." She reconsiders, waving the hand holding her glasses dismissively. "Otherwise she's prone to make mistakes," she adds as an afterthought.
Glasses now pushed down her nose, Regina grabs her pen and goes back to the exclusive, clearly done with the conversation. After crossing out the ridiculous accessories, she sighs — and hopes that tomorrow she won't send another assistant running away in tears. Is she too strict? She supposes so. But she does it to achieve greatness. There's something about Emma Swan, though, that is intriguing and she wishes to learn what it is before she inevitably runs.
[SQ]
There's a long day of fidgeting at home (after her lunch, of course) waiting for Neal's shift at the restaurant to be over so she can go over there and tell him and August and Lily the news during dinner. Emma's excited. She's nervous. She doesn't know what to feel anymore! Leaning back on her lumpy couch and looking up, she tries to imagine a good outcome for tomorrow. None come to mind, however.
Emma has a knack for being a pessimist sometimes — worst-case scenarios are often more fun to imagine, aren't they?
She, Neal and their friends have done 'Monday Night Get-Together' every week after Emma and Neal arrived in New York. They'd all known each other in Storybrooke and had sought each other out for support while navigating the big city. Although they attended different schools later, they didn't lose touch. After Emma'd presented them to Neal, whom she'd met at university, the four of them had been inseparable — it made the transition to the big city a lot easier, knowing that they were here as well.
Now they are sitting at a round table, catching up after a pleasant dinner consisting of burger and fries — Emma's favorite meal. She's in the middle of explaining the events of her quest through the Elias-Clarke building. What a crazy day.
"The guy came in and completely ignored me, cutting off my 'last chance' speech," she marks her words with air quotes. "Then Regina started paying attention to him — it was like she had forgotten I was even there to begin with. So I thanked her in a really not polite way..." she winces and they chuckle, probably already imagining her doing exactly that. "And, out of nowhere, she said I will start tomorrow." Emma blinks and smiles, finishing her story. She's still shocked, if she has to be honest.
"Wait, wait, wait. You got a job at a fashion magazine?" Neal's mouth is open in shock.
"Yeah?"
He closes his mouth and smirks. "Are you sure it wasn't a phone interview?" he teases.
"Hey! What the hell, Neal!" she exclaims, taking mock offense.
Her friends laugh at her expense. "Well, Regina is known for her unpredictability," says August.
"Okay, August… How is it that you know who she is and I didn't?"
"My boyfriend's a model. I'm reading Runway all the time, Emma."
"That explains a lot," Lily comments with her wine glass raised.
"Good point," Emma concedes, munching on a fry.
"Seriously though, Regina Mills is a huge deal. I bet a million girls would kill for this job," he explains. And it's kind of creepy that his words are so similar to Lena's.
"Yeah, that's great and all, but I don't care about the fashion aspects of it, you know that."
"Look," Lily starts matter-of-factly, "you gotta start somewhere, right? I mean, glance around. This place Neal works in is a dump," she smirks.
They take turns teasing each other. "Oh yeah, Lily? What about that gallery you work at doing… what is it that you do again?" Neal tosses back, and Lily narrows her eyes.
Wanting to avoid an argument, August says, "At least I already have my dream job."
"You're an accountant." Lily deadpans, taking a sip of her drink.
"Oh, you're right. My job sucks," he chuckles.
"No, August…" Emma pats his arm in comfort.
"It's true, though. I can't wait to finally publish something." While their ambitions are slightly different, Emma can still sympathize with his struggles.
"I say we toast," Neal says. "To jobs that pay the rent."
Everyone raises their glasses and repeats after him. It makes Emma feel a little bit better.
[SQ]
After Emma's departure, there's a long time of reorganizing for the cover in the morning, followed by the actual shoot in the afternoon. The model takes too long to understand what she wants so Regina stays in a permanent scowl for the rest of the shoot. Overall, there's nothing new there.
It comes as no surprise that her mood further deteriorates when she has to wait fifteen minutes for the parent-teacher conference to start because 'The previous meeting is running a little bit late. Would you mind so terribly waiting a few minutes?' Um, she does in fact mind, especially because she needs to get to the townhouse, change into the Alexander McQueen dress and make her presence known at Maya's party.
The party is a boring affair, as usual. She moves around the venue, champagne flute in hand, socializing with people who either hate her or want tobe her, and Regina does not know which of those two options she dislikes the most. Maya drawls out her name, "Regina," and is the perfect host, although she knows Maya (or, as Regina prefers to call her in her mind, Maleficent) is one of the people who fit the first category. She has yet to ascertain the reasons for that. Not that she particularly cares — it could simply serve as an advantage somehow.
Now she's sitting at a table for two at the "restaurant with the great view" (also known as Pastis). Across from her, Robin has a sour look on his face, and she's staring at the menu like it will provide her some answers on how to start a conversation. Try as she might, it does not work. The atmosphere is stifling. Even though she's used to the stares she cannot avoid from being constantly on the spotlight, she prays no one picks up on the unbearable tension radiating from their table. It's mortifying. If she sits any more rigidly because of it, it's almost certain that her spine will suffer.
When did things change so much she cannot recognize the man she married six years ago?
"How was your day?" Robin asks, and she's aware of his tight grip on the menu. He's angry, she realizes. She failed to arrive on time again — the traffic was unexpected.
"Oh, nothing much…" Regina trails off, flicking one of her curls away from her face. "Henry's teacher says he excels in Arts, though he's been having trouble with Math. I'm going to ask him if he wants some help."
"Hmm." Robin nods and they go back to their menus. He's never really interested in hearing about Henry.
Thankfully, a waiter breaks the awkward silence. "Hello, I'm Josh and I'll be your server tonight. Are you ready to order?"
[SQ]
They are inside the town car on the way home when Robin mutters, "There I was, waiting for you again, Regina."
She presses the button to slide the partition screen up, lest Sidney overhear another of their arguments. "Robin, I tried to get to the restaurant as soon as I could. Those people just wouldn't stop hovering," she explains, still patient.
Regina looks at his profile as he shakes his head and smiles a tight-lipped smile, staring at nothing in particular. "Of course…" He looks at her briefly, nodding. "Yes, because your husband waiting for over half-an-hour means less to you than your so-called friends do, Regina."
"Robin." She sneers. "You know I'm not there to pat their heads and say how grateful I am to be in their lives." She massages her temples; they have had this discussion over a million times. "It's business."
He scoffs and turns his gaze to the window. "And having— having your quotes on Page Six about their designer dresses is really important for business," he says quietly, probably rolling his eyes in the process. However, she understands the meaning behind his words perfectly.
"I won't listen to your belittling of my job again." She presses her lips together in annoyance.
Whenever they argue, which is becoming frequent, Robin sleeps on the guest bedroom for the night. Tonight isn't any different.
[SQ]
"Oh, Neal… You should see the way everyone at Runway dresses," Emma recalls as they stroll down the streets of New York hand-in-hand to their apartment. "I felt completely underdressed."
"Come on… You'll just manage the phones and get coffee. You need an expensive suit for that?"
"To be honest, I think I might. With the way they looked at me—"
He pushes her closer and says, "Well, I think you look great no matter what."
Smiling, she shakes her head and gives him a kiss to the cheek. " I think you're a liar."
They laugh softly. "Let's go home."
[SQ]
A shrill noise wakes her from her amazing dream consisting of giant grilled-cheeses and a warm sunny afternoon in the park. Opening her eyes just a fraction, she peers at the phone and wills it to stop, to no avail. Holding her head in one hand, she grabs the device from the nightstand and answers it.
"Hello?" asks Emma, her mind clouded with sleep. She clears her throat.
"Emma, Regina decided to kill the leather jackets story for April." What? Kill leather jackets? "She's pulling up the Givenchy shoot from May…"Emma's officially lost. "You need to come to the office right now." That definitely wakes her up. "And pick up her coffee order on the way. You'll need to write this down, it's very important."
"One minute!" Emma shoots up from the bed and goes in search of something that writes and a piece of paper. She ends up with a small pencil and a napkin in her desperation. Putting on her glasses, she says, "Okay, I'm ready."
"Finally," Lena sighs. "She will want one no-foam skimmed latte with an extra shot…" Emma writes it down as fast as she can, because Lena isn't stopping. "…and three drip coffees with room for milk from Starbucks."
What type of order is this?
"Oh, searing hot. And I mean hot. " Lena emphasizes. "Otherwise, don't even bother entering the building. I'm serious." The line is cut off.
She glances at the alarm clock on her nightstand and can almost hear '6:15 am' laughing at her. Is the sun even out at this time?
Oh, great. This will be fun. An amazing way to start her Tuesday!
[SQ]
"Is there some reason my coffee isn't here yet? Is it beyond her abilities to accomplish this simple task?"
"No. No, she's on her way and—" Lena stumbles through her words, clearly agitated.
Regina rolls her eyes and goes back inside her office. The new assistant is already failing? Such a shame. And here Regina thought the woman stood a chance.
Why does she feel slightly disappointed?
She busies herself with Ursula and Greg's ideas on the Givenchy shoot she has brought forward from May to April. She can imagine the earful Mr. Gold will be giving her soon. No matter. There is no way leather jackets will become a fashion trend in a couple of months. It was enough having seen that cheap excuse for a jacket Emma was wearing yesterday. No need to see it in large quantities all over New York. She shudders at the thought.
"These will do," Regina points to a hat and earrings set on one of the pictures. "We should go for something more practical for women at work, while being chic and modern at the same time, so here…" she trails off as she sees Lena strutting inside her office with her coffee order in tow. Finally. "Lena. Do tell the new assistant the next time she's late she's fired," she says, grabbing her latte. She barely manages to stop the surprise from showing on her face. The coffee is still hot — no new assistant has ever managed it before on their first attempt. She usually has to throw it out and demand another.
Will wonders never cease?
"Also, don't forget to let me know as soon as Dolce & Gabbana calls back. Give the new Lena some instructions, because I cannot bear to see another second of her sitting there," Regina nods to Emma, "doing absolutely nothing."
"Will do, Regina."
What is she even wearing?
[SQ]
There's no time to change into her contacts after Lena calls. Emma has to settle for black-rimmed glasses and a loose ponytail both of which make her groan in frustration. So much for professionalism…
Just like yesterday, in her haste to leave she can't think about her wardrobe choices too much. A green sweater on top of a white buttoned-up shirt and a plaid skirt is her last minute outfit. Considering it is February and winter is definitely making her shiver, even more when she recalls she has to walk through New York's streets soon, she puts on black tights and her favorite Dr. Martens.
As soon as Emma manages to get inside the building with a tray of extremely hot coffee (she may have burnt her hand in her haste to get there in time) she calms down slightly and tells herself everything will be fine. Lena doesn't want to hear her excuses about how the barista at Starbucks took their sweet time on her order thanks to it being for Regina Mills. For this reason, they wanted it to be perfect. Ugh.
Lena simply tells her to hang her coat inside the closet full of much more expensive coats. Seeing the closet contents makes her swallow thickly. They are one more reminder that her chances of maintaining this job are very slim.
A few minutes ago, Lena grabbed the coffees from her and went inside Regina's office. Emma now hears "…the next time she's late she's fired," and immediately knows it's meant for her.
She can't screw up again.
Lena comes out of Regina's office a few moments later, carrying a tray of some half-eaten breakfast food. "Okay… We've already established you're totally wrong for this job. However, you're not going to mess this up. No." Lena shakes her head, setting the tray on the counter in the adjacent kitchenette behind Emma's station. "It's my head at stake here. So listen up."
"Right, yeah— yes." Emma says, getting the keyboard and mouse from the hidden drawer on her desk. She turns her chair to Lena, who's still fretting over something in the kitchen. Lena has the power to give Emma a headache — authority and restlessness appear to be doing battle in her every movement.
"First of all, you and I answer the phones. Each and every phone call must be answered. If a call rolls to voicemail, she gets very upset. So if I'm not here, Emma," she explains, coming out of the kitchen and motioning in the general direction of Emma's station, "you are chained to this desk. No excuses."
"But what if I need to…?"
"No. Excuses." Lena says through gritted teeth. "You know… one time an assistant left the desk because she sliced her hand open with the letter opener. Regina missed Yves Saint Laurent before he boarded a fifteen hour flight. Needless to say, she now works for TV Guide," Lena gives her a twisted smile and retreats to her side of the outer office.
"Got it. Chained to the desk." Who knew Regina could be this terrifying?
Lena sounds so full of herself when she goes on and on about how Emma and she have completely different jobs. Emma will run errands and get coffee. Lena will take care of Regina's schedule (which she's currently printing), appointments and expenses. "And, of course, I get to go with her to Paris for Fashion Week in the fall," she says dreamily. "I get to wear couture, go to all the shows and, um, all those parties… I meet all of the designers… It's divine, from what the last first assistant has said."
Emma listens attentively to Lena, making mental notes on everything she needs to know to man the desk. Although she's not interested in fashion, going to Paris could mean meeting journalists from all over the world. She just has to last one year. That is, if she survives her first day.
Lena comes over to the front of Emma's desk and places the schedule on a clipboard there. "Okay, so… Stay here," says Lena, her tone serious again. "I'm going to the Art Department to give them the Book."
"The…?" Emma trails off.
"This is the Book," Lena proudly displays the big binder full of post-it notes she's now holding. "It is a mock-up of what is in the issue we are currently working on. We deliver it to Regina's townhouse every night, and she returns it to us in the morning with her notes. Normally, it would be the job of the second assistant to do this… but until you have proven to be trustworthy and not a total psycho, I get stuck with the lovely task of waiting around for the Book."
The job gets more and more complicated by the minute and Emma does not know what to make of it. Run errands? Wait for the Book? Paris?
Suddenly, the phone rings. "Um, should I…?" Emma asks, hesitating.
"Let me, as an example. The next one is yours." Lena grabs the phone on her own desk and answers it. "Regina Mills' office. No, she's not available..." Lena's typing away on her keyboard and Emma pays attention to all the details, lest she miss something. "Yes, I will tell her you called," she finishes, ending the call.
Emma really hopes she has to follow the same script for the next call.
"Well, I'm off to deliver this. Do not leave the desk and you'll be fine." Lena encourages, holding the Book like a precious baby in her arms. She exits through one of the glass doors.
Taking a deep breath, Emma fiddles with the impersonal desk and promises herself that if she lasts for a week she'll be bringing in a portrait or two to decorate it. At least there are hundreds of pens and pencils neatly organized and at her disposition. Oh God, what if Regina calls for her now and—
The phone is ringing.
Her eyes widen and she pushes a wayward lock of hair out of her face before reaching for the phone. Here we go. "Hello. Mrs. Mills' office… Yes, I meant… Regina Mills' office," she rectifies, wincing. "Um… she's in a meeting right now. Can I please take a message?" she asks, back on track. "Mhmm. Okay. Could you spell Dolce please?" The line clicks. "Hello?"
"I guess not…" She mumbles to herself, writing down that 'D and Gab Ana' called and that they have the pieces ready (whatever that means). She'll remember how to pronounce the name to Lena, she's sure.
Okay, so Emma may have failed quite successfully on her first phone call, but it could have been worse, she thinks positively. What's important is that she remains alert and tries to block out Regina's voice coming from the main office, because it is intimidating and pleasant all at once. When the next call comes, she'll be ready.
Emma is so absorbed in her musings that she misses Jefferson's presence until he's clearing his throat in front of her. She jumps a little when she realizes he's there.
"Well, well, look at you…" he says. "Still cannot believe she gave you the job, New Jersey girl."
"Yeah, yeah, she did... Actually I'm from Storybrooke."
"Where's that again?"
"Maine."
"Ah, now I see it," Jefferson smirks, looking at the schedule on her desk.
"Lena." She hears Regina say, but since it has nothing to do with her, Emma marvels at the Apple computer she has all to herself.
"Lena?" Now it's starting to get annoying. Where's Lena, by the way? Shouldn't she be waiting here—
"She means you," Jefferson provides.
Oh.
Emma runs inside the room and notices the portfolios on top of a round glass table located at the left side of the office, where her boss and two other people are examining them. She didn't have the time to look around the office yesterday and doesn't get the impression she will today either. She waits for Regina to acknowledge her presence in silence, adjusting her glasses.
"…I don't want more ideas. I want actual good ones." Regina sighs, drumming her fingers on her crossed arms. "I say, 'Greg and Ursula. Put together a portfolio with proper selections.'" She gestures to them. "You two give me uninspiring and ridiculous ideas not even I can save from the total disaster it is. Is it so hard to do as I asked?"
"We could just cut this out…" Greg suggests.
"That's not what I asked you. I specifically told you— Oh, there you are, Lena. How many times do I have to raise my voice for you to listen?"
Now Emma does something that will come to 'bite her in the ass', as she likes to put it, so fast she will only much later realize that throwing caution to the wind is not the best idea. Not when she wants to impress her boss. And especially not when said boss has just insulted two people's jobs with one stone.
Emma corrects Regina.
[SQ]
"Actually, it's Emma. My name is Emma... Emma Swan."
Regina arches an eyebrow. Then she chuckles, but it is not a pleasant sound. Her new assistant has a backbone after all… She cannot allow it. Not at this stage of the game. Emma has much to learn still — she is not taking the job seriously yet.
So she starts spouting off instructions to throw Emma off. "Go to Calvin Klein. I need ten skirts—"
She is not expecting to be interrupted so soon. Honestly, has Lena taught nothing to the girl?
"What kind of skirts do you…"
"Please bore someone else with your questions. And confirm that we have Pier 59 tomorrow at 8:00 am. Remind Kathryn I need to see the satchels today at mid-afternoon for tomorrow's shoot. Tell Ingrid I'll take Dorothy if Mulan isn't available. Did Demarchelier confirm?"
"D-Demarch…?"
It shouldn't be this satisfying to reduce Emma to a stuttering idiot, frozen and eyes wide in shock. But it just is. "Demarchelier," Regina corrects. "Get him on the phone."
However, she's not done. She has to comment on Emma's perception of business attire. Just as Emma has whirled around to probably try and complete any of the tasks given, she calls her back. "Oh, and Lena?"
Emma turns to her, having learned her place. "Y-yes?"
Regina smirks and does a slow perusal of Emma, from her scuffed Dr. Martens to the awful shamrock sweater. She hopes her point was made. "That's all."
[SQ]
By lunchtime, Emma is replaying the wonderful image in her head of herself throttling Regina, Lena and any other worker in no particular order. Either wearing a sensible pantsuit, high-heels or any other designer clothing is enough to fill the bill.
Regina has proven to be as demanding as she had sounded yesterday when giving instructions to Lena. Emma had been overwhelmed the day before, yes, but nothing compares to being on the receiving end of the instructions. And she can't shake off the wolfish smile on Regina's face when Regina stared her down from head to toe — she almost withered right there, she swears.
Emma is now in the Calvin Klein showroom; a place she never knew existed until this moment. Patricia, an assistant there with a bubbly personality, is showing her to the clothing rail with a variety of skirts. It's when Regina calls her for the hundredth time — Emma should really change her ringtone to something else, because the constant blip blip blip is grating on her nerves — that she realizes people are truly ruthless in this line of work.
"What do they have?" Regina asks over the phone, sounding deeply bored.
"They have… skirts…?" Emma fumbles with the rack, moving the hangers around.
Regina sighs exasperatedly over the line. "Who's there with you?"
"Patricia."
"She's completely useless... And unattractive. Find Maggie, and get the skirts with her and only her for tomorrow's shoot."
The call ends. Just like that. What does the salesperson's attractiveness have to do with the skirts? Emma has no clue, but who is she to question it.
Emma coughs and fiddles with her glasses — Patricia is right behind her, and is head over heels for Regina Mills, if the "Ugh, she's such an icon… Probably doesn't remember me though," she'd said prior to the call serves as an indicator.
And now Emma has to turn around and ask, "Is Maggie here…?" knowing that she's crushing someone's heart.
Since Emma's already complaining, she can't forget how infuriating is the fact that Regina never greets her on the phone or says 'goodbye'. No — she's straightforward and no-nonsense on her calls, as if five seconds of pleasantries are not an affordable waste of time.
Emma's also tired of hearing 'I would kill for this job. You're so lucky!' Oh yeah… Tell that to the three year-old M&M's she's just eaten from the town car. Apparently, Regina goes to work with Sidney, her driver, for over three years and hasn't once touched the sweets. Not even Henry eats the damned M&M's (Emma finds out he's Regina's son just a few minutes later, when Lena calls to remind her to visit Dalton because 'Henry has forgotten his assignment there.').
At least Sidney is patient and drives her around and that is so much better than using the subway. Even if she has to run around on foot a lot and finally learns what 'you'll run errands and get coffee' means. She's starting to hate the tourists, though. They think it's a good idea to stop right in the middle of the sidewalk to take pictures of every little thing. It never used to bother her, but since the fifth apology she's had to give after running into another photographer wannabe today, it definitely annoys her very much.
She's been inside the CK showroom. She's grabbed bags upon bags of Dolce & Gabbana's products. She went to Dalton. She's run to gather the thirty Hermès scarves order for Regina. And finally, she's had Sidney take her back to the Elias-Clarke premises for her to get another scalding Starbucks for Regina per Lena's request.
All this before lunch.
"Oh my God, what took you so long?" Lena asks, coming around her own desk to pull the door open for Emma. "I have to pee!" she whispers quite loudly.
Emma, on the other hand, still struggles to enter the corner office while carrying the sacks of skirts, the coffees, the scarves and other bags she doesn't remember getting on her way here. Her hair is even messier than before, if that's possible; and she's pretty sure her tights have holes in them.
Of course, Lena doesn't help at all.
"You haven't peed since I left, like, over four hours ago?" Emma asks astonished, setting everything down on her desk, which is a total mess already. She frowns at it and attempts to arrange the bags somewhat.
"I've been manning the desk, haven't I?" Lena sneers.
All of a sudden, in comes Regina with her killer heels and form-fitting dress, not even glancing their way when she pushes open the glass door.
"Oh, hi," Emma says awkwardly from her place behind the desk. She's been nervous as hell around Regina after the 'stare-down' incident a few hours ago.
Regina's response is to throw her coat and bag in a practiced move on top of Emma's desk before going inside her office.
If Emma wasn't so shocked she would mutter bitch under her breath.
Who's she kidding? She doesn't have the guts to insult her boss and risk her hearing it.
"Do the coat! " Lena hisses, snapping her fingers in its direction.
"Wha—"
"Hang the coat." Lena says enunciating her words pointedly.
"Oh! Right." Emma is so not prepared for these… unspoken rules around here. How is she supposed to know all of this?
While Emma is hanging it, Lena tells her to be on alert; the phones will be ringing nonstop since it is run-through day. "People are panicking. The run-through is at 12:30."
"Run-through…?"
"Editors bring in options for the shoot, and Regina selects what she wants. She chooses every single thing in every single issue. Run-throughs are really important… you should know this, Emma."
Yes, of course, because on the 'need-to-know basis' so far, she will definitely know what a 'run-through' means.
"Anyway, I get twenty minutes for lunch, and you get fifteen. When I come back, you can go."
Fifteen? They think she's what, the Flash?
[SQ]
The Elias-Clarke cafeteria is bustling with activity once she gets inside. Adjusting her glasses, she heaves a tired sigh and gets behind the line with her tray. The buffet doesn't have anything mildly interesting, but the pasta calls to her nonetheless.
While she waits for her turn, Emma glances around and notices the magazine advertisements lining up the walls. It's no surprise at this point thatRunway is the first and biggest one. She rolls her eyes. First day and she can't bear another second of seeing Runway displayed anywhere, thus her aching neck when she turns her head quickly as if it'll erase the magazine from existence. She successfully hides her childish pout.
She has just taken a portion of pasta with tomato sauce to her plate when she hears, "Those carbs…"
She closes her eyes and counts to ten. Emma won't take another comment about her appearance without punching someone in the face. And Jefferson seems like the perfect candidate at the moment. "What about it?"
"You might be the first one I actually see getting something else besides a salad around here."
"So none of the girls eat anything?" she asks while serving herself to a portion of mashed potatoes.
"Bingo." Jefferson smirks.
They are silent for a moment before he leans in, playful tone clear in his voice. "Are you trying to blend with St. Patrick's Day?" he deadpans, pointing at her sweater. She glances down at it and rolls her eyes. "You do know we still have some time before the date, right."
Emma clenches her jaw — despite the comment being funny, she won't let him get to her. "I don't really care if you think my clothes are awful. I'm not going to be in fashion forever, that's for sure," she defends herself. Jefferson hums, so she takes it as indication that he's really listening. "So I don't see the point in changing everything about myself just for the job."
"Yes, that's true…" he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Inner beauty is really what this multibillion-dollar industry is all about." Jefferson's lips curl up as if he's told the biggest joke ever.
She doesn't get to rebuff, nor eat — Jefferson's cellphone pings and she's being ushered away from the cafeteria because: 'Regina's always fifteen minutes early.' 'Which means?' 'She's pushed the run-through up a half-an-hour. You're already late.'
[SQ]
They are waiting for the elevator. Everything's fine until an older man joins them.
"Mr. Gold," Jefferson greets.
"Jefferson." Mr. Gold pauses, leaning heavily on his cane. "How's the issue going?"
Mr. Gold, as Jefferson had called him, is dressed to the nines with his expensive dark suit. His silver hair is cut short, and despite the noticeable limp in his leg, he's still imposing, an aura of power rooted to him. Emma gets the feeling this man is important, so she stays silent and watches their dialogue unfold.
"Oh, fine, fine. March is always seamless."
Silence. Emma clears her throat to avoid saying anything she might regret, while praying for the numbers until their floor to decrease faster. Come on, come on…
Mr. Gold clearly isn't interested in the March issue, though. "I heard Regina killed the jackets story for April and pulled up the Givenchy shoot. What's that costing me?"
"About 400,000, I'd say." Jefferson says rather flippantly.
Emma refrains herself from spluttering in time. So much money!
They board the elevator, Mr. Gold's cane tapping on the floor as they walk inside it.
"Robert Gold," the not-so-mysterious man introduces himself, turning to her with an outstretched hand. Oh my.
Thankfully, Jefferson comes to her rescue. "Oh, this is Emma Swan, Regina's new assistant."
She shakes hands with him. "Emma... What a lovely name." Okay… so he's creepy as well as powerful. Good to know. "Welcome to Elias-Clarke. A million girls would kill for that job, certainly."
You don't say.
He leaves the elevator and Jefferson senses her question before she voices it. "He's the chairman of Elias-Clarke."
Damn.
[SQ]
Begrudgingly, Regina admits to herself that having a somewhat competent second assistant makes her job ten times easier.
Arriving home before six is nothing short of a miracle.
It annoys her though — Emma was not supposed to survive as well as she did. Emma has a stubborn streak in her. Regina wonders what will cause her to inevitably crack.
Regina has had assistants running out of her office crying their eyes out on their first day simply because she threw out the coffee for being two degrees less than acceptable.
She has never had such an unusual assistant in her seven years working as Runway's editor-in-chief though — someone who has absolutely no interest in fashion, who knows nothing of her not-so-favorable reputation with the media, who does not care whether Regina stares down at their horrible wardrobe choices or gives ridiculous demands their first day on the job.
Hanging her coat and walking up the steps to the foyer of the townhouse, Regina comes to a conclusion: just because she finds Emma intriguing, it does not mean she will succeed — especially with that sense of style she has. Only time will tell.
She hates waiting.
[SQ]
"You should have seen the look she gave me! I thought I was going to melt, like…my flesh, ugh," she groans, her sentences not really making sense, words stilted from catching up to the events of the day. "All because I corrected her! I mean, why can't she say my name?" Emma whines, pacing back and forth in their living room, not being able to wind down before she has complained about everything to Neal.
He chuckles, so she stops in front of him and crosses her arms. "It's not funny!" She almost stomps her foot.
He shakes his head. "Of course it isn't—"
"You should see those people… They act like they're the center of the universe or something!"
He places his hand on her shoulder and stops her from continuing her pacing. "Emma—"
"Ugh Neal…" She massages her temples, falling into his embrace. "And then, Regina is not satisfied until everyone is miserable," she complains. He laughs softly. "I'm serious," she mumbles to his shoulder.
"Okay, come on, I made you a grilled cheese." Neal tries to move them to get the plate from their table, but she remains still.
"It's ridiculous."
"What…what are you talking about, Em," he asks.
She probably has thrown him for a loop. Oh well. When she's frustrated like this, she doesn't often make sense.
"You know what?" she inquires, detangling from his arms to look him in the eyes. "I just have to survive one year. One," Emma holds up her index finger to mark her words. "One year. I'm not going to let this job, or Regina, get to me."
[SQ]
Emma's first week passes by in a hazy remembrance of demands and crazy requests each and every day she arrives at work. Emma's mantra, just like Lena's muttered 'I love my job' whenever the day's being particularly stressful, is 'Be optimistic.' Her mother had always gone to great lengths to assure she's known that there's hope everywhere, just be optimistic.
We'll see about that.
On Wednesday, the "good morning" to Regina goes unanswered, but her promise to be optimistic doesn't let it deter her.
"Get Kathryn…Where's my breakfast? I don't see my breakfast here."
On Thursday, "Good morning, Regina."
"Henry wants new art supplies… Pick up the Polaroids from the shoot and my shoes from Prada."
On Friday, she doesn't bother with pleasantries, only hangs up the coat tossed her way in record time. Emma can't decide if the frown she saw marring Regina's face was a figment of her imagination or if it was real, before Regina's expression returned to its unreadable professionality.
Regina clears her throat, composed as usual. "Get me Kathryn…" she says, entering her office, Emma right behind her to take notes. "Also, get me a reservation for dinner for two tonight at…I don't know, find somewhere suitable, I don't care. Get me that paper I had in my hand yesterday. Find Jefferson and bring him here. Go," Regina says, waving to the door, dismissing Emma.
On Saturday, she gets a call from Regina asking to e-mail her the notes she took from the last run-through, all typed, because Regina had mentioned once she could never understand Emma's illegible handwriting. (There were five whole pages to type. She doesn't leave the house to finish it.)
On Sunday, she sleeps in until 2 pm, and by then Neal has left. She has noticed they are barely having time to talk to each other. She hopes that with the Valentine's coming up on Tuesday, she'll be able to do something nice for him.
She arrives at work on Monday and realizes it's been practically a week since she started the job — it feels like a lifetime has passed. Lena wasn't kidding when she said being Regina's assistant was not child's play. Be optimistic, she thinks bitterly as Regina throws her trench coat and Gucci bag on top of her desk and starts with her infinite orders for the day. There are demands she doesn't realize what they mean until she's asking Lena for clarification and Lena is rolling her eyes, sighing as if Emma should know, but is helping her just the same.
For all of Lena's faults, at least she helps Emma somewhat, because Lena's own job depends on her success.
On Tuesday — namely Valentine's Day — there's a mix up with the Fendi bags Regina wanted for the run-through, which has to be postponed by a few hours. Neal calls her in the middle of the day telling her he has plans for their night out. She can't bring herself to tell him the truth — she probably won't be arriving home early, because Regina is not on her desk all day and that usually means she'll stay until later proof-reading some article with those amazing rimless glasses she now knows come from Versace. (She feels proud of herself for knowing.)
That night, she's late as she predicted. Neal's whispered "I missed you," when she finally crawls into bed hurts — more than if he had given her the silent treatment like he normally does.
If she's honest with herself, she's getting better at her job. She's staying late every day in hopes of impressing Regina somehow. The truth is, whenever she does her job well, it is never acknowledged. However, if she makes a mistake, no matter how miniscule… oh, then Regina's glare and monologues about incompetence leave her hands trembling, but she never once cries. Besides, Regina's not so terrifying once she starts to really pay attention and do what is asked before it is actually asked. Regina will have to do more than a few speeches to bring her to the end of her tether.
[SQ]
A Roster by Emma Swan (February 14th)
· Regina Mills – Editor-in-chief
· Jefferson Hatter – Art Director
· Lena Green – First Assistant
· Robert Gold – Chairman of Elias-Clarke (creepy guy)
[SQ]
Slipping her glasses off the bridge of her nose and setting them down on her desk, Regina rolls her neck in hopes of alleviating the kinks caused by several hours scanning one of this issue's stories. It had a shocking amount of misplaced punctuation, yet it was not the worst piece she has ever revised, all things considered. Johanna won't be fired yet, it seems.
Regina gets up from her chair, refraining from wincing as her aching feet make themselves known. She walks to the closest window, crosses her arms and overlooks the city lights. She closes her eyes briefly, remembering that today is Valentine's Day. And that she had promised to be there in time for Henry's bedtime. It's already 11 pm.
She turns her head to stare at her second assistant, who is oblivious to her actions, concentrated as she is on the computer. Lena has already left for the day, no doubt having received the Book, ready for her pre-editing at home by now. And Emma, the poor woman never leaves before Regina does, she cannot fathom why. She's not being paid for extra hours.
Emma is still a mystery to her. Despite Regina's difficult — bordering on impossible — demands, Emma never complains before running to complete the day's list. And if she's being honest to herself, Emma is improving. She's learning some of Regina's habits and predicting more of what she wants — all this in less than a week. It's certainly impressive.
What annoys her is Emma's outfits. Anyone with the minimum of fashion sense would agree that it is atrocious. For god's sake, how many abominable sweaters are still available in her wardrobe?
She is so absorbed in her musings that she misses Emma's footsteps until Emma is clearing her throat to make her presence known. Years of practice ensure that Regina does not jump in fright. Instead she leisurely turns in her direction. "Is—is everything alright, Regina?"
One hand perches on her tilted hip, the other fiddles with the long Givenchy necklace she's wearing today as she analyzes her assistant, not understanding the reason for such a question. After a moment of deliberation, she turns back to the view from her window. "Go home… Ms. Swan." Her eyes widen, glad that she has her back to Emma. Why had she called her that, and not Lena? Emma has not proven herself yet, she admonishes herself.
Thankfully, Emma doesn't question the use of her surname. A beat passes before she hears a soft "Good night, Regina," from behind her.
When she whirls around, Emma is nowhere to be found. In the empty office, she whispers a good night and immediately scowls at herself. She must be exhausted to have become this… this… sentimental (the word leaves a bad taste in her mouth) on Valentine's Day. She tells herself it's only because she knows Henry will be upset, and not for having realized that her strenuous relationship with her husband is going to get worse today.
[SQ]
"Regina, is that you?" she hears as soon as she gets inside and has closed the door. Why is Robin speaking so loudly when Henry is definitely in bed by now?
She walks up the steps by the entrance and struts to where she knows Robin is — the living room, probably having played the piano for a few hours. She finds him there, sitting on the sofa. He's reading one of his economy tomes and nursing a cup of tea. So damn British, she thinks while rounding where he's seated to make herself comfortable — no, no, poise and composure, straightened shoulders, her mind supplies, and it sounds awfully like Mother — on the armchair in front of him. Robin is aware of her power move. There's the coffee table between them to show she's not afraid of what he'll say, not afraid of staring him down in equal measures.
"Robin, could you not with all the noise? Henry's already sleeping." She answers in lieu of a proper greeting, giving him the cue to say what he has to.
"He sleeps on the third floor, Regina. The boy is fine— don't try to…" Robin starts, setting his book on the coffee table with a loud thump. "To… to change the subject, Regina," he warns. "You're late, again! Do you know how embarrassing it was, having to say that I was not sure to my colleagues what our plans for Valentine's were because you're so bloody busy! " he says, gesturing with his hands to prove his point. He crosses his arms and looks right in her eyes, willing her to contest him.
All the while, she stayed put, the corner of her lips uplifted in amusement. Regina places her forearms on the chair's arms and leans back slightly, without breaking the staring contest. "Are you quite done?" she asks, her tone bored. "You know I'm in the middle of March's issue, which means I cannot leave whenever I please. There are standards to meet and tasks to accomplish. I'm sorry, my dear husband, that I could not have dinner with you today, but sometimes I have commitments just like you do."
Robin scoffs. "Yes, yes. God forbid you stay there until six pm one day, right Regina?"
"Don't you even start—" she says threateningly, getting up in a swift move.
He stands and she has to straighten her posture to avoid being shorter than him, even with her high Jimmy Choo's. She miscalculated her move — move, yes, everything for them is about getting the upper hand. When did things turn this sour?
"What, Regina. Don't start what?" he snaps. "I rush out of important meetings while you're there playing dress-up—" Robin realizes his mistake before she has fully processed what he said. "I-I mean…"
She blinks. "What did you just say?" whispers Regina, mirroring his crossed arms. She cannot believe it.
Robin sighs dejectedly, dragging a hand across his face. "I'm sorry. I did not mean that. I'm sorry." Of course he meant it. He always does.
Regina moves around the seats and struts purposefully until she stops at the threshold. She whirls around until she can glare at her husband properly. "Until you start taking my job seriously," she says, leaning forward, "I will not take you seriously."
She's leaving to climb up the stairs when she feels her wrist being caught in a gentle grip by Robin, "Regina, don't be like that…"
Removing her wrist from his hand, with her back to him she states, "I don't want to hear it." She knows she needs time to calm down. She climbs the stairs and does not have to look back to know he's watching her. His words have hurt her, they always do, except she never shows it on her face — she never quite managed to stave off her need for approval, which took hold as soon as she was old enough to understand what being a disappointment for Mother meant.
A few hours later, Regina refuses to spend the night awake looking over to the empty side of the bed, so she stubbornly closes her eyes and wills her mind to stop replaying tonight's events over and over again. She cannot fathom why ask herself the reason she called her assistant by her surname, so soon — these slips never happened before. Regina's intuition never fails her, though. There's a sense, even if only a week has passed, that something in Emma Swan is waiting to bloom. She's special, and Regina hasn't quite figured out yet why. Nevertheless, she's determined to find out.