Author's note: I am truly so grateful for the welcoming reception to the first chapter of this story – I had been quite worried that few people would be interested in such a set-up, but the reviews and messages I received were wonderfully encouraging. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this, and especially those who have reviewed, followed, favorited, or PM'd me. It makes the process of writing so much easier and more enjoyable.

One reviewer asked to know whom I picture as this redheaded Margaret, and for me it's a young Odessa Rae. I'll link a specific photo on my profile, for anyone interested. John Thornton, of course, is and always will be Richard Armitage in my mind. Because who could dream up anything better? Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this second chapter, and thank you again for reading!

Chapter Two: Unshakeable

In the weeks following that fateful meeting at Helstone, John's life continued to be a blur of stress and activity. There was the legal mess to sort out, questions he did not wish to answer about why he was suddenly selling so much of his ownership to a seeming stranger. From his lawyer alone, of course – he did not bother to tell his family. The less people who knew about what sort of deal he'd struck and why, the better as far as he was concerned. It helped that Ms. Hale was herself a brilliant attorney, but then he hadn't been in contact with her in anything more than emails since their appointment. Not that she hadn't tried to, but it was simply more than he could bear at the moment.

There was also a sudden influx of money to be spread out over the vast deficits he'd incurred, and he had to work hard to keep at least some of it discrete. Though the immediate danger had passed, his ordeal was far from over. He could still be found out, if he wasn't careful, and such secrecy meant he could not delegate the work as he otherwise might have. It was stressful, and it was isolating. Though he was a man who did not typically need the company of others to feel comfortable, it nonetheless had begun to eat away at John.

His workers noticed, of course. Thornton's walks along the production lines had grown far less frequent, and when he did pass amongst them his replies had become snappish rather than simply terse in nature. They'd never gone out of their way to try and befriend him before, when he'd been merely a chilly individual, but now they actively tried to avoid him where they could. There was a visible anger to him now, darkening an already grim face, and so soon after the strike many were worried about keeping their jobs, what with so many factories closed and men desperate for work. So they kept their heads down as the owner passed by, and in private sometimes murmured worriedly to one another.

In truth John was exhausted. He could not remember the last time he'd slept soundly through the night, undisturbed by troubled dreams from which he woke panting and covered in a layer of sweat, despite the chill of the winter air. Things were not nearly so bad as before, it was true; he no longer found himself nearly smothered by the despair of his situation, now that his work and family and life were safe, for the moment. There was a lot of work left to be done, certainly, but so long as he took the time each night to sit and go over what money needed to go where to keep things running smoothly, everything would be fine. Weeks ago, it had been terrors of being found out, of inevitably running out of places to hide and options to explore that had haunted him.

Now, he dreamed of her.

It was understandable that he was concerned, of course – while Ms. Hale had rescued him from a certain doom, she had at the same time cast him into an uncertain place of vulnerability. John detested being under another's thumb in any circumstance, and with such leverage as she held over him it was all the more unbearable. He would not, could not trust her not to take advantage of the power of her position now, but it was more than that. For all that she had shrewdly and decidedly taken advantage of his helplessness and need, she had saved him and those he cared about. He had never put himself in the position of needing to be saved before, and he found himself resenting her for it. It was not to say he was not thankful, but the gratitude he felt was a perverse one, tainted by a wounded pride and an awareness of the lack of security of his position.

But even still, such concerns for his future and that of his company troubled only his waking moments. At night, he was not plagued by imaginings of being blackmailed into ruin, nor even of enduring his current subjugation. It was only Ms. Hale herself that visited and disturbed his rest, night after night. In his dreams he saw her again, and once more he felt that sharp sense of vulnerability beneath her gaze. She had stared into him, almost straight through him, and not even his formidable temper and near-legendary stoniness of face had been able to drive her back. In that moment of sheer desperation, faced with the inescapable fall of everything he had worked to preserve, he had cracked as he never had before, revealing the rawness of his fear and his uncertainty. It had been his weakest moment, and in it she had seen into his very being. He'd felt that exposure keenly, and now was forced to relive it over and over again, seemingly every time he closed his eyes. Always she was there, watching him knowingly. Smiling that serene smile as he felt himself threaten to shatter there before her.

He threw himself into his work, to distract his weary mind. None of it would matter if he could not continue to drive his business to success, and so he focused all his time and energy into turning profit and mitigating waste. It was dark when he arrived at the Mill, and darker still when he left it. More than once his mother had commented on the dark circles forming around his eyes, and he had claimed to be ill, though he would not hear her insist that he go home and rest. John had not told her, not bothered to worry her with the knowledge of the catastrophe that had almost been, nor the trouble that currently was. She could read him well enough to see that there was something, but no matter how she pried he would not budge. Eventually he had snapped at her as well, and she had stopped visiting him there at the office. If it made him feel badly to have treated her thus, he did not let himself think on it much. Better that she was not around, really. He would have this sorted eventually, and he would make it up to her.

Today he was especially immersed in it all. Papers piled high upon his desk shifted steadily from one pile to another as he worked through them, stopping every so often to send off emails and inquiries and expense reports to one person or another. It was repetitive and dull, but the work soothed him. He was too tired to focus on anything other than the numbers and names before him, and such a state was preferable to useless worrying about all the things he could not control. Once in a while he would glance behind him, looking out the large glass window into the factory below, but more often than not his eyes were fixed on paper or screen.

He almost didn't hear the sound of the page on his phone line, and when he did he answered with annoyance. "Yes, what is it?" he demanded, attention still firmly on the spreadsheets before him. Likely his secretary was used to the bite of his impatience by now, especially after the last few days. Either way, he didn't complain or balk at the tone.

"A Ms. Hale to see you, sir." The words were like an electric shock to his mind, jolting it from the relative bliss of rote work. He went still as a statue for a long moment, his chest growing tight as his breathing faltered. What on earth was she doing here? He certainly had not been expecting her.

"Mr. Thornton?" He must have hesitated too long, though it felt like he had no time at all to steady himself before making his reply. His eyes cast about the room, as though something in it would save him, and for a moment he nearly demanded she be sent away. But of course that would have been a grave mistake, and he was sensible enough even now to recognize that. Really, he didn't have much of an option.

"Send her in," he managed, pushing himself up from his seat to await her arrival. Idly he tugged his suit into place and fastened a button, looking down upon the state of his desk with a sudden wish to straighten it. The door opened before he could do more than wish, however, and suddenly he could think of little besides how much worse it was to be under her gaze in the real world.

"Ms. Hale," he said simply, unaware perhaps of how very rough his voice sounded just then. For all the trouble her eyes caused him, he could not seem to bring himself to look away from their depths. The sound of the door closing behind her nearly made him jump, and his mouth tightened into a thin line as he inwardly rebuked himself. "I was not expecting you."

"You look terrible," she said abruptly, as though he had not spoken at all. She, of course, was every bit as put-together as the last time he had seen her – the very picture of a professional woman of note. There were no shadows beneath her bright emerald eyes, no disarray to her long strands of ginger hair. Combined with her words, the sight of her served to make John bristle defensively, though there was no way he could dispute her claim, inappropriate as it was for her to have made it. Not even a "hello" or an explanation, just a remark as unapologetically blunt as her gaze was unashamedly fixated on him.

"I have been unwell," he replied dryly, letting her make of that what she would. Very purposefully he did not try to straighten himself out under her gaze, though he could tell almost immediately that she saw through his indifference. "What can I do for you?" It irked him that the words sounded so inherently subservient, but they were polite and professional and were not out of place amongst persons of equal standing, for all that the truth of the matter twisted them.

Rather than approaching the desk, or taking a seat across from it, Ms. Hale seemed content to wander the office slowly. Gazing upon the shelves of books, reaching a hand out to run her fingertips across them from time to time, she seemed to forget for a moment that he was there at all. It was a minor relief, to be freed from the sight of her staring at him, but nevertheless his feet shifted in discomfort and his forehead creased with annoyance. Who was she, to come barging in unannounced and then act like his time was of no real importance?

"You did not come to sign the papers, yesterday," she said eventually, her attention returning to him all at once. Her face was inquisitive, and her feet did not stop their movement, carrying her to the window overlooking the workers so that he had to turn himself to keep his gaze on her. Glancing out it for a moment, she then looked back at his face, eyes shifting over him in obvious curiosity. "Are you truly ill?"

"There was no need for me to come," Thornton replied flatly, trying to ignore the way her study made him uneasy. The tie about his neck felt suddenly suffocating, but he would not give so much of himself away by tugging it looser. "I signed them as you needed me to, but I am not a lawyer and we both-" he faltered, jaw flexing before he continued, "we both knew I would agree to whatever you stipulated. So I sent my own lawyer, and he assured me everything was taken care of." He tried to keep his voice as steady as possible, and did not make comment as to the state of his health. He could hardly tell her what it was that kept him up at night, after all.

Other than blinking at his rather blunt allusion to her superiority in terms of negotiating vantage point, Ms. Hale hardly reacted. But that stare, that damnable scrutiny that had permeated his dreams so effectively, never ceased. In fact, John was the one who had to turn away, unable to bear the way it made him wish to hide himself. He'd never cared what others thought or saw in him before – he wasn't sure why he'd suddenly started, but it was maddening. Disguising his breaking eye-contact as a need to resume his work, he set now anxious hands to straightening his desk after all, organizing it as though it was simply something he'd needed to get done eventually. "Is that all?"

But she wouldn't let him off so easily. The moment he felt himself able to regain a bit of his composure by directing some of his attention away, she was suddenly far too close to him. In reality, she stopped a good three feet away, but he felt her presence as vividly as though she were touching him. It was just barely not a flinch, the way his muscles seized and his back straightened suddenly as she so assuredly closed the distance between them, and immediately he looked to her face once more. There it was again – that urbane smile tilting at her lips. Was she laughing at his reaction? He was too startled in that moment to tell.

"Have dinner with me," she said before he could think to protest or question her sudden closeness. Not that he would have, right away at least. Just now, all he seemed able to process was the way he could feel the warmth radiating off of her, could smell the faintest hint of perfume. Or maybe it was just her. When his weary mind finally made sense of the words, he was dumbfounded, and yet he could do nothing but stare back at her blankly.

As usual, she continued as though it was expected that she should carry on without his input. "You look like you need it. I've already spoken to your secretary – I know you don't have other plans."

"I have work to do." They were a long time coming, but the words eventually found their way through his constricting throat, steadier than he felt. If the brusqueness of his tone bothered Ms. Hale at all, however, she did not show it.

"And you can do it tomorrow," she countered effortlessly, glancing down at his computer before finally, blessedly, stepping away from him. Back around his desk, turned away from him for a moment or two before she paused just at the door, her hand on the frame. "I insist. The fate of this business – our business – depends on you, Mr. Thornton. We can't have you wasting away at your desk." She checked her watch, head tilting as she considered things.

"Seven should work. I'll leave my information with your man outside. Until then." And she was gone just as quickly as she'd come, the door shutting behind her without John managing another word. He stared at it for a moment, frozen in place, before sinking back down into his chair. A minute later, his head was in his hands, back bowed over the desk as he pressed his palms into his temples.

What had just happened? He'd have never allowed another to speak to him, for him, like that. Even she, with all her blackmail and leverage against him, should not have been able to shake him so. He'd been pathetic, really – useless. Unable to think or speak up as she'd made such assumptions, presumed to be able to order him about. It shocked him, truly, to have been reduced to that so effortlessly and completely. Angered him, once the shock wore off, and his fist slammed down onto the wooden desk hard enough to rattle the things atop it. It was too much – he would not let her get to him in such a way again. He blamed the lack of sleep, the suddenness of her appearance. Next time, he would be prepared.

And as it turned out, "next time" was in fact that very evening. He looked to his own watch: it was barely past two. Plenty of time to compose himself before he joined her for dinner, which he knew was at this point non-negotiable. Resigning himself, he shut down his computer and packed his briefcase quickly, though he doubted he'd get much work done at home. It was the first time in over a month he'd left the office before nightfall, but of course everyone knew better than to question his reasons.

Sure, he could have stayed, but he could at least admit to himself that his mind was not in any state to continue working. Ms. Hale had seen to that. The best thing he could do was go home, try and catch a few fitful hours of rest before he had to ready himself to meet her. Perhaps then he'd be able to think more clearly, and school his expression effectively. At the very least, he would look better for it – less like he was stressing himself into an early grave.

The address she'd given his secretary was that of an apartment downtown – he'd have to face her in her own home. The thought was nearly enough to make him cancel, but he thought she might see that as weakness, to say nothing of rudeness. No, he would play along for now, but he would set her to rights as to how things would go from then on. She may have held all the chips, so to speak, but John Thornton did not stammer and quake before anyone. He had his pride if nothing else.

And he would show her, one way or another.

End note: Thanks so much for reading! I would love to hear what you think so far, and I will happily answer any questions you may have. Until next time!