AN: Hi there! I'm Jennifer and I'm coming back to writing with a new Gold and Belle story. I'm in LOVE with OUAT and hope you guys enjoy this story. Please read the first chapter and let me know if I should continue or try something different. Thanks!

Chapter One:

"Shit, shit, shit," Belle French muttered as she loaded the desserts into the backseat of her sky blue Lexus.

"I'm so sorry about the delay, Belle," Mr. Marrotti yelled from the doorway of his bakery.

"It's okay, Mr. Marrotti," Belle called over her shoulder. "Shit, shit, shit." She repeated in a whisper. The sweet baker's delay was going to royally mess up her day. She slammed the door and hopped around to the front seat, threw the convertible into reverse and quickly pulled into traffic. A quick glimpse in her visor mirror proved that she was in fact screwed. Her brilliant idea to run to the gym before the bakery had turned her hair into a sweaty mess and her face was devoid of makeup. Shooting a quick glance at the clock, she switched lanes and floored it. 12:05. That left her 55 minutes to get back to her house and make herself presentable for Mr. Gold. And that was if he wasn't early.

Belle shuddered at just the thought of his name. Mr. Gold was a legend in the New York area. Hell, he and Gold Industries practically owned New York. He had his hands in everything publishing, entertainment, banking, and other businesses. He was a collector by trade. He collected failing businesses and folded them into his parent company. They ended up being profitable and flourished. Of course, most of the hard working middle class workers lost their jobs in the process. Belle grimaced knowing he thought it was a fair price and one her own father's company might have to pay.

Belle had met him once at a benefit that she had long forgotten the name of. Her father had introduced her before the dinner, he had politely greeted her, and then ignored her in favor of the men and their business talk. Never mind that she could run circles around their boring notions with her innovative ideas. That master's degree from Harvard wasn't just decoration for her office wall. Although, she thought, it really did spice the place up.

The car in front of her slowed and she threw up her hands in frustration. "Seriously?" She yelled out loud. She eyed her gauges and noted yes, seriously, the car was going the speed limit. She checked the oncoming traffic and made a fast, slightly hazardous maneuver around navy BMW sedan. Belle pressed the gas pedal down and prayed her good karma would buy her some time.

* * *
Her father's house was stunning, she knew that. Its large six bedroom, five bath estate towered over the clean grass landscape. Not a blade of grass dared to be out of line. Although she would have preferred a little more chaos and bright flowers, it was impressive, which was her father's goal. She pulled the car around the back and parked at the kitchen door. Belle grabbed the small desserts and ran through the back door.

The house may not be her tastes, but the kitchen was heaven. It was always warm and welcoming with yellow walls, wood countertops, and fresh daisies on the counter.

"30 minutes. You are cutting it close, Belle. You need to stop going to Marrotti's Bakery. I don't care if he's the nicest baker in the world." Mrs. Jensen tisked as Belle set the desserts on the counter. The graying woman began lining the pastries on a silver serving dish. "I have all the hors d'oeuvres ready. Your dad requested that we open the bar for refreshments."

"Does he realize it's not even one in the afternoon?" Belle muttered as she started moving out of the room.

"I'm sure he doesn't care," Mrs. Jensen muttered right back.

Belle rushed to the front hall and to the large bar that occupied the left wall of the formal entryway. She looked at the two shelves of booze and grabbed all the bottles with the purple sticker on the bottom. Not being a drinker she had sweet talked one of the visiting bartenders into organizing the alcohol into color hierarchy. The red was for her guests and employee parties. Blue for the middle level donors and elite. And then there was purple. Purple was the good stuff. She plunked the bottles on the bar top and arranged it so the expensive labels were all showing. She pulled out a multitude of crystal glasses. Cherries and olives followed. She might not know her alcohol, but Mrs. Jensen could fill in for bartending in a pinch.

Belle took the stairs two at a time, her over exercised muscles screaming at her. She turned to the right, her wing. At 26 she craved a place of her own outside the cool, pretentious walls of her father's home. Just a small home where she could plant flowers in the front yard and paint the walls a pale calm blue. But that did not seem to be in the cards for her. Her father's job as CEO of French Enterprise led to a lot of social engagements and meetings that she organized. She called it 'social work'. She played a doting hostess to the movers and shakers of New York City and her father's business had benefited for it. It wasn't how she liked to spend her hours, but as a trade her father had allowed her to manage the publishing branch of their business. It was her baby and it had prospered in the last year. Too bad the rest of the business hadn't.

Belle stripped off her exercise wear and threw it in the hamper before stepping into the shower. She let the hot water run as she worried in circles. If Mr. Gold didn't go for their business plan thousands of people would be out of work. She and her father would survive, they had stocks and savings, but their employees would be out in the cold. She washed off quickly, threw on make-up and quickly blew her hair dry. She tried the still damp strands up into a pony tail with a black bow. She pulled a simple blue Calvin Klein dress that fit her well, but had a slightly flared skirt that felt summary. Adding black flats, she rushed down the stairs just as doorbell sounded. Belle took a deep breath and moved towards the large oak door.

"Mr. Gold, welcome to our home," Belle greeted as she opened the door wide. She smiled as she took the man in. She had met him that once before but he still surprised her. The man of legend who always seemed twenty feet tall but was actually slim and average height, only 4 inches over her diminutive 5'6. His hair was long, slightly shaggy in a way only rich business men could get away with. It made him look younger but his face was lined slightly showing her was in his early forties. He was good looking, in an older, David Bowie kind of way.

His brown eyes skimmed over her body before landing on her face. It was the politest assessment she had ever gotten from any of her father's business partners. Respectful. He nodded at her briefly before she stepped back to allow him entrance. "My father should be in his office. Before I take you there can I get you a drink?" Belle motioned to the bar that was now expertly stocked.

"It's a little early for that I think, dearie," He spoke for the first time. She caught his accent, not British, Scottish she decided. She also caught the sound of disapproval that rang clearly in the empty room.

The disapproval, while deserved, set her off balance. "Well, may I get you something else? Coffee?"

"Tea, if you have it?" He requested politely. "I'd like to get on with this business, if you don't mind Miss French. I'm a very busy man."

"Of course," Belle verbally stumbled and motioned for him to follow her. "I hope finding our house wasn't too difficult."

"Not at all," he replied, his tone dismissive and curt.

Okay, apparently he wasn't the chatty type. At least that means he probably won't try to grab my ass. Sometimes things just worked out. Belle shivered as she thought of the last of her father's chatty business associates and his wayward hand.

She opened her father's study door, "Papa, I have Mr. Gold here to see you."

"Thank you, Belle," Maurice replied moving around the desk to greet him. "It's a pleasure to see you Mr. Gold. Has Belle been attentive?"

"Quite," Mr. Gold allowed. "She was going to get me some tea, right dearie?" He asked raising his eyebrows at her.

Dismissed, she thought in annoyance. She left the room and marched to the kitchen. "Stupid archaic Neanderthals," she muttered. She was use to the treatment of course, but she had made a vow a long time ago to never lose the anger that came with the dismissal. She was responsible for the most profitable section of her father's company. She had a Master's in business from Harvard. However, one look at her trim figure, shiny brunette locks, and blue eyes, and none of that mattered. She was merely decoration for her father's meetings.

"Mr. Gold not interested in the bar?" Mrs. Jensen questioned knowingly as Belle stormed into the kitchen.

"Of course not, it's 1 in the afternoon," Belle laughed scornfully. "He would like tea. Do we have any? I doubt he had Lipton in mind."

"In the cupboard, although it's probably older than you are."

"Well, it'll have to do," Belle answered rummaging until she found an old container of Earl Gray Tea. She looked for the seldom used teapot but couldn't find it so she grabbed a coffee mug, filled it with water, and microwaved it. Hell, if she knew how to make tea. She removed the cup and dunked the tea bag into it until it turned a medium brown. Good enough. She dumped it into the tea cup Mrs. Jensen had waiting and hit the door.

"Your tea, Mr. Gold," Belle greeted as she pushed into the study. She could feel the tension in the room before she looked at her angry father's face. She noted the business plans were still in the folder she left them in. Her father's rage no doubt clouded his judgment. Their enterprise was hemorrhaging money and they owed a debt to Mr. Gold, due in under 3 weeks. The business plan was their last resort to obtain an extension.

"Thank you, Miss French," Mr. Gold took the tea cup. He sipped at the liquid before grimacing and placing it on the book case next to him.

"Mr. Gold," Maurice started turning the man's focus away from her. "I asked you here to see if you would consider extending the terms of our loan."

Mr. Gold frowned as he took his seat in front of her father's desk. He made himself comfortable and although he was not in the chair behind the desk, he controlled the room. "Why would I do such a thing? Your company is floundering. I don't see anything that could entice me."

Belle moved to rest her hip on the bookcase behind the pair, hoping she could ease drop on the meeting. She watched her father pull out the business plan and lay it out in front of Mr. Gold.

Mr. Gold, to be fair, looked over the documents for many minutes. "Impressive," he finally commented and Belle let out a breath she had been holding. "Whoever drew up these plans had many good ideas. Turning the publishing house into your bread winner is smart. Closing the failing music business is reasonable, although funneling those workers into other departments is sentimental. Hazardous if you ask me. You can cut personnel and additional spending."

"The goal was to keep as many of our staff on as possible. If you notice we can cut both the music and motion picture department and relocate them into audiobooks and advertising. If we are expanding we can train those who would like to stay on new mediums." Belle pointed out.

"At what cost? Why not fire them and hire people with natural talent?" Mr. Gold questioned still looking at the plans. "No matter, the loan is due in three weeks. You won't have time to implement them."

"Then buy the company," Maurice floundered pulling out another set of papers that Belle hadn't seen before. "You can buy the company, fire who you want, take on which divisions you want."

"Papa!" Belle cried out. "You can't do that. Think of all of your employees and their families."

"Quiet, girl," Maurice ground out between clenched teeth.

Mr. Gold looked between them his brows and mouth twisted in amusement. "I don't believe I'd like to buy the company either. Even with the improvements and redistribution you fail to account for all details."

"What do you mean?" Belle frowned looked over the plan. She couldn't think of anything that had been missed.

"Well, dearie, because you have no idea about your father's gambling debt. That debt far outweighs the debt owed to me."

"What are you talking about? Papa? Tell him you have been going to gambler's anonymous. You haven't stepped foot in a casino in years."

"Days, actually," Mr. Gold snarked with a grin.

"Papa?" Belle looked at her father with his face turning pale. "No, Papa."

"Oh, yes, actually. He is going to bankrupt his company, oust those thousands of employees you are so worried about, all to fuel his gambling habit."

"How did you find out?" Maurice questioned angrily.

"Oh, I have my ears and eyes everywhere. You think I don't investigate my business ventures? I leave nothing to chance. My debt is due in 3 weeks, your debt to your gambling 'buddies' is due in 2. Seems like you've gambled your chances away. " He let out an indigent snicker at his own play on words.

"Please," Belle begged. "Please, is there anything you can do to help?"

"I don't buy lost causes, dearie."

"The house?"

"Belle!" Her father interrupted, "This is my house."

"And that is your company you have squandered," She fired back. "The house, cars, artwork, anything?"

Mr. Gold narrowed his brown eyes at her before racking them over her frame in a way she was very familiar with.

"Anything?" He questioned seriously.

"Anything," She confirmed.

"Alright, dearie. I choose you."

************************************************** **********
Okay what do you think? Should I continue on? Please review and let me know