This prompt was too awesome for a one-shot so this is part 1. Part 2 coming next week. Hope you like it! :))
A/N: Henry is not Emma's son.
He has to give it to her, her imitation of a deer caught in the headlights is nearly flawless.
"Miss Swan," he recovers first, gives a slight bow and enters all the way, closing her office door.
His grin seems to break book publisher Emma Swan out of her stupor too and her eyes narrow dangerously as she leans forward on her desk.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she hisses at him and it's nothing but threatening yet Killian cannot help the little shiver that runs down his spine at hearing her voice again.
"Well, Swan, naming your publishing house Swan Publishing is not all that low-profile of you. I really think you should consider renaming it, if you truly want to escape any further contact with your one-night stands," he nears her desk, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Unless, of course, you do desire… further contact."
His smirk waveres as he sees horror begin to dawn on her face. Alright, maybe creepy stalker isn't the impression he wants to give.
"I'm kidding, love, kidding!" he says quickly as Emma opens her mouth, probably to call security or tell him that she is going to haul his ass out of her door all by herself. "I work here! I'm your new editor."
"What?!" Emma screeches before she can stop herself.
She tries to compose herself, leaning back, closing her eyes for just a couple of seconds and taking a deep breath. He finds her clearly unsuccessful attempts to remain calm truly adorable.
"You got a job here just to stalk me easier?" she grits out through her teeth once she has managed to reign in her voice.
"What? No!" Killian sighs in exasperation, bloody hell, he has really messed this up. "Emma, listen."
He pulls out the chair in front of her desk and sits down, leaning forward.
"I didn't know that was your publishing house until 5 minutes ago when I opened the door, alright? You didn't even tell me your last name, I was kidding about finding you through that. I applied for this job two weeks ago, you can check my file. I was interviewed last week by this guy named David, David Nolan. I thought it went really well, which, obviously it did, so I was celebrating the night we… met."
Killian takes a deep breath, slumping back in his seat and watching her to see if she believes him. It's the bloody truth! For her part, Emma looks torn between calling David and just kicking him out without even checking.
"Come on, lass," he tries one more time, knowing full well that he has crossed the line with his new boss a dozen times already anyway. "You know I wouldn't lie to you."
Emma gives a little huff but her eyes tell him that he has convinced her that he is not a stalker at least.
"So you are the new editor?" she asks, a skeptical look now on her face.
"Oi! What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"First of all, please, watch you language in my office, Ki- Mr…" she quickly backtracks from his name, looking down at the note in front of her where he guesses her secretary only wrote down his last name and the hour when she was to 'welcome him into the company'. "Jones."
She sounds annoyed by his name for reasons he cannot fathom.
"Second of all, it means that I will have to make sure to handle all future interviews myself."
"Well, isn't that wonderfully biased and judgmental of you," he sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. "And on what exactly, if I may ask, do you base your assumption that I'm not a good editor?"
"I-" Emma lets her sentence hang, scrunching up her brows together before giving an exasperated sigh. "Fine. You're right. I should not judge your work before I have actually had the chance to see it. So what are you working on?"
Her voice seeming unconsciously has become extremely professional and Killian is reminded of the thoughts that had been raging inside his head before he found out that his boss is the blonde firecracker he slept with a week ago. He is bloody excited. Swan Publishing is one of the best publishing houses in all of Boston and he was pacing his flat all week, waiting for David to call, his frustrations only slightly furthered by the fact that a certain someone disappeared from his bed before he had even been able to wake up, let alone ask tea or coffee.
"I'm editing a book of fairytales called 'Once Upon A Time' by Henry Mills. It's-"
"Wait! Wait! Henry Mills?! As in Mills&Gold Publishing?!"
Killian's grin falls a little. He knows that his boss might not approve of the young author who entrusted him his very first book. It is asking for trouble. Which, of course, is one of the main reasons why Killian took the project, promising Henry that they were going to get that book published and it was going to make his mother's sales look like the result of a cheap Paulo Coelho knock-off.
"Yes," he sighs eventually, scratching the spot behind his right ear. "I've been working with the lad for a month now. He's just turned 21, he's in his independence phase, wants to show his mother that he can make it on his own. If you don't wanna bump heads with Mills, I get it but you don't have any say in what I do with my personal time so I'm not going to just drop his book. I've made a promise."
When he looks up Emma seems to be sizing him up and there's a gleam of something in her eyes. If he were a more optimistic person, he would have labeled it as respect.
"Alright," she says, giving him a firm nod and them transferring her attention to her computer screen.
"I beg your pardon?"
This time he is sure what the light in her eyes is – amusement and the little quirk to her lips seems to confirm his suspicions.
"I said alright, Jones. Work with the kid, send me a fairytale or two to look at once you're ready. You said it was fairytales, right?"
"We have about five done and ready for publishing. Traditional fairytales are the base but the lad has given them all his own twist and it's quite brilliant actually. You'd never guess who Snow White and Prince Charming's daughter ends up with," he says leaning forward again, hands gesturing wildly as he talks about Henry's work.
He's invested in this project and he knows it. Thinks he will be as devastated as Henry if it didn't work out.
"Snow White and Prince Charming have a kid? Wait, no! Don't spoil me!" exclaims Emma but her eyes are bright and he can tell that he's got her hooked (and laughs at his own stupid joke).
"Thank you, Miss Swan," he says with a smile that's only one third teasing.
"Don't thank me just yet. I've e-mailed David and told him that you will be tackling his wife's lasted novel as well as working on a project of your own."
"His wife?" he tries to hide his gulp.
He is pretty sure that David liked him but he's not nearly comfortable enough to start criticizing the man's wife.
"Yes, Mary Margaret. She's absolutely lovely even you should be able to get along with her."
"Ah, here we go again with the bias."
Emma shoots him a look but at his lifted eyebrow just rolls her eyes and mutters another 'fine'.
"I'm giving you a chance, Jones. Don't make me regret it," she states, something almost vulnerable flashing in her eyes.
Killian gets up, grabbing his boss's hand before she can react and planting a quick kiss on her knuckles.
"That's all I even wanted, love," he murmurs, his eyes telling her that he was talking about more than just his job.
But before Emma can snap at him for getting personal again, he's out the door and she is left with a little ball of tension in her belly.
"Ugh. Fairytales," she mutters. "Figures."
She had just gotten rid of one pervert when she felt him take the stool next to hers.
"If you are here with a 'plan for attack', I suggest you go compare notes with that moron over there first," she shot before turning towards him.
Oh, boy.
Emma wasn't sure she would mind going home with that specimen of the male race even if he had the cheesiest pick up line prepared.
"On the contrary, milady. I was hoping to partake in a dashing rescue."
Not a creep then. And an accent to boot.
"Sorry. The only one who saves me is me," Emma replied honestly because suddenly she didn't feel like playing the part of damsel in distress or ice queen in front of him.
"I'd drink to that!" he replied lifting his glass of what she would soon find out was rum and waiting patiently to see what if she'd except his company.
Emma clicked her glass of whiskey against his.
From then on things escalated quickly, a quick exchange of first names, favourite bars, favourite drinks and favourite brands of chocolate let into a light, surprisingly pleasant, conversation.
Emma did this considerably often. Well, not this. That was the thing, this was different. This felt like connecting, like liking the guy. It felt like a freaking date. The thought had barely crossed her mind when she threw back her drink and asked him if they were going to go somewhere more private already.
His eyes widened a little and reading the hesitation there Emma felt her cheeks start to burn. Had she misunderstood him? What the hell could he want from her if not sex? But the look was gone soon enough, replaced with his most 'dashing' grin and he was helping her off her stool and holding the heavy door open for her and soon enough giving the cab driver his address.
His apartment, for what she managed to glimpse before attacking his lips with hers, was clean yet with a slightly artistic messiness to it, lots of books, lost of flying sheets of paper, a mug of tea and a half eaten plate of cookies beside his laptop, which reminded her that his sweet tooth and knowledge of chocolate brands had charmed her way more than it should have.
He wasn't the biggest she'd ever had and he didn't last the longest but she couldn't deny the truth – it was the best sex she had ever had. And the night was as far from a quick fuck as she had had in nearly a decade. He took his time with her and she just couldn't help doing the same. Couldn't help running her fingers through his hair, racking her nails down his sides, sucking at his pulse point and licking his nipples, nuzzling her nose in the hair that led down, down, down. And, fuck, she couldn't stop kissing him, sucking as his bottom lip and panting into his mouth, moaning his damn name.
And afterwards she told herself that she just didn't have the strength to roll away from him or to tell him to let go of her. Surprisingly, she did have the strength to tangle her feet with his and trail her fingers teasingly over his rubs, grinning at his attempt to stifle his laugher.
Unsurprisingly, seconds after he had muttered a soft 'night, love' and succumbed to sleep, the battle inside her began.
Even less surprisingly, she lost. Lost to her fears, lost to her doubts, lost to the fucking voice inside her fucking head that was alternating between ordering her to run and mocking her for even contemplating the possibility of staying. And then she was disentangling herself from him, slowly, gently, with a lump in her throat, picking up her rumpled dress and soaked underwear, crawling around on her hands and knee for a couple of minutes before she managed to locate her left shoe, standing at the foot of his bed, frowning down at his gorgeous face.
Surprisingly, she caved in, allowing herself the small victory of leaning down and kissing his cheek, breath catching in her throat when he hummed slightly and shifted a little.
Even more surprisingly, she felt a traitorous stinging in her eyes when she closed the door behind her.