[A/N: Reviews feed my soul and creativity! Many thanks to the reviewers I wasn't able to reply to. I hope you enjoy this plot-thickening chapter...]

Chapter One

CC finally spun around in her desk chair and looked out at the Manhattan skyline at night. Squinting her eyes, she made the various lights in offices and apartments turned into tiny glowing points. She amused herself by thinking they were spelling out various warnings to her.

"Is that a joke?" she asked guardedly.

"I'm not one to joke about this," Max replied seriously, and CC had to grant him that. He'd never once chided her for what had developed and ultimately fizzled between them.

"Is this…why did you give this to me?"

"Because it's a fine play, CC. I'm pleased to know you think so, too," Maxwell responded.

"And you didn't think to tell me he wrote it?"

"Would you have even read the play if I had?" Max shot back, not unkindly.

You know nothing about me, CC thought furiously. While she might have put on a show of dismissing the script as rubbish, CC's curiosity would eventually have bested her and she would have read it.

"So what was your best case scenario, here?" CC asked, the fight leaving her as soon as it came.

"I wanted your unbiased opinion about the best play to produce. You think his play is it. The one."

CC cringed at her choice of words. "So now I have to work with him."

"Not too terribly much," Maxwell replied crisply. "In any case, CC, you're a professional businesswoman."

CC didn't need him to say any more to feel both chastised and annoyed. It was unwise to expect Maxwell to be anything close to resembling considerate concerning matters of the heart, and yet CC couldn't help but wish she worked with a more understanding person. Though she had to admit, she would love to see Fran's reaction to Maxwell's decision.

Yet CC had to confess, to herself at least, that Maxwell's air-headedness had come in particularly handy when the entire thing had imploded and Max hadn't asked any questions. Not even when he'd resigned. CC had never imagined that he would have gone on to write plays and she found it hard to believe that was his only source of income, but she refrained from asking any questions.

"CC? Are you there?" Maxwell asked.

"Yes, I am."

"Should we have the legal department start drafting contracts with Niles?"

"Maxwell, the 'legal department' is Ted and a filing cabinet."

"I know, but I love saying 'department'," Maxwell responded happily. "Makes us sound impressive, like Lloyd Weber." He cleared his throat. "Anyhow, is it a deal?"

CC considered seeing him again and her stomach dropped strangely, in the way that a roller coaster ride caused a terrifying and exhilarating feeling in one fell swoop.

"CC?"

"Yes. I'll talk to Ted."

Niles sat at the bar in his restaurant and looked at a small piece of paper where he'd scrawled the tentative list of that week's specials. The restaurant had closed over an hour ago and cleared out quickly after that; only he and his head chef remained. Niles hadn't anticipated starting a small restaurant after he'd dipped into his savings and enrolled in a six-week pastry course at one of the culinary schools in the city, but he'd hit it off surprisingly well with 25-year-old Nathan, who had big dreams and an infectious enthusiasm, like so many just starting their lot in life.

Moreover, Niles hadn't expected it to actually be successful. He wasn't making enough money to call it a complete profit, and he was still dipping into his savings to make rent. But the restaurant already had a solid customer base, and referrals were helping immensely. Niles also suspected that Fran had conned her relatives into making the trek from Queens to Manhattan, but their impressive dessert menu certainly helped.

"Great ideas for this week, pops?" Nathan asked, walking around the bar and sitting on a barstool next to Niles.

"Yes, I have high hopes for the pot pie and meatloaf to go with the early bird specials," Niles quipped. The light back-and-forth between them regarding Niles' age and Nathan's youth partially fulfilled Niles' daily sarcasm quota, but he still felt a void. Regardless, Niles had a fondness for the boy not unlike a father's for a son, and given his history, Niles felt it was as close as he'd ever get.

Nathan laughed and slid his cell phone out of his back pocket, reading through his recent text messages.

"How's your girlfriend?" Niles asked concernedly, not least because Nathan's distraction had nearly caused him to ruin the entrees of two regulars that very evening.

Nathan shook his head and tossed his phone onto the bar, ignoring the clattering it made as it hit the polished wood. "I don't know, man. She's crazy."

"Some people like that sort of thing," Niles muttered darkly, looking back to his list without seeing it.

"Not me," Nathan declared strongly. "Anyway, I'm heading out. See you tomorrow at 3."

"Have a good night, kid," Niles said as Nathan clapped him on the back before walking toward the front door. As Niles heard Nathan lock the front door after him, his own cell phone began buzzing on his pocket. He pulled it out and flipped it open, surprised to see Maxwell calling so late.

"Hello?"

"Niles, old man, great news," Max said.

"What's that?" Niles asked, expecting to hear about Grace's honor roll status or Maggie's college acceptance.

"CC's in! We're going to produce your play."

For a full two minutes after they'd hung up, Niles stared at the bottles of liquor shimmering in the low light from the restaurant with his jaw dropped, his mouth a comical O.

Babcock had read his play? Babcock had liked his play? Niles wondered if she'd noticed the similarities but dismissed these thoughts at once: firstly because he oughtn't to wonder about her and secondly because she was a fiercely intelligent woman, perceptive when it came to theater (and little else but business, sadly).

Following his resignation from the Sheffields, Niles had begun renting a loft apartment and enrolled in culinary school. Despite his former interest in law, Niles knew he was too old to attend law school and the thought didn't appeal to him in the least. His real pleasure in life had been helping raise the Sheffield family (among other things but Niles was not thinking about those things, no, he wasn't), and he'd always enjoyed cooking. Thus his foray into the culinary arts began and soon after, he and Nathan had begun planning for their own restaurant.

Aside from this, however, Niles had found his new existence woefully lonely. He'd always been somewhat lonely working for the Sheffields, but it was easier to ignore when surrounded by people 24/7. This was not so when he lived on his own, and so he'd returned to another former passion of his: writing.

The words had come surprisingly easy and it wasn't until Fran had surprised him with a visit that he'd ever considered submitting the play to his former boss. The former nanny turned producer's wife had read a few pages before declaring it the best thing evah and insisting that Niles show it to Max. In a surprisingly astute moment, Fran mused that Max would probably take Niles more seriously now that he wasn't his butler and evidently, she'd been correct.

Leaning his elbows on the polished bar, Niles rubbed his hands over his face. Babcock. For someone who thought about the woman often enough, Niles hadn't actually considered that she'd read his play or acquiesce to produce it. He slowly shook his head as thoughts of the woman flooded his brain, as though the movement would dislodge her from his memories. A strange feeling—something like dread mingled with fear—slunk into his stomach and took firm root there.

He was going to see her again. And he wasn't at all sure how he felt about it.

The sun had just crested the horizon as CC entered the workout room in her penthouse, clad in sleek black pants and a sleeveless shirt, her blonde ponytail bouncing off the back of her head. Chester followed eagerly at her heels, ignored by the blonde on a mission. She turned on her stereo, cranking it up to an unfathomable level given the hour, and hopped onto her treadmill. Never one to ease into anything, CC set it to a high speed and began running.

Running was a habit she'd formed an on-again, off-again relationship with throughout the years, though it had remained her mainstay whenever she needed to clear her mind. Following the implosion of her relationship with Niles and the upheaval her life had taken from there, CC had turned back to running when others had expected her to turn to alcohol, her other preferred vice. She had wanted to rid him from her thoughts, though, and alcohol had never helped her do that before. Running didn't either, but CC figured she might as well maintain a decent figure lest she die alone like a dog.

CC was still livid that Maxwell had dropped Niles' script in her lap without any mention of the author, and she was even angrier that she'd had a dilemma from then on: pass on a wonderful script just because of its writer or earn the Tony nomination the script was sure to garner and risk seeing him again? As usual, CC had chosen her career, but she had to admit that the choice had never before given her such doubt.

While Niles battled with his dread unbeknownst to CC, she was starting to deal with some of her own. Not only was she dreading seeing him again and realizing what it meant for her battered and entirely unhealed heart, she was also fearing how she would need to treat him. Tradition dictated the usual insults and scathing comments, but Niles was not the butler anymore: he was the playwright, and if he felt he was being treated unfairly, he could yank the play out from under Sheffield-Babcock Productions and CC had no doubt that Niles would do that, just to stick it to her.

As Chester hastily exited the gym room, CC's steps became heavier and she began panting through the stitch in her side. Niles. How long had it been? A year? 12 months later, and his name still evoked the same feelings in her. She didn't know what it was she lacked that caused her to be unable to face an inevitable meeting with him: maturity? Security? Happiness? Whatever it was, CC wished she had it because she knew that she would have to meet with Niles before long.

She tried to focus on the business side of things: how much they'd offer to purchase his script, how many potential rewrites it would have to undergo, which actors and actresses on file could fill the leading roles, etc. For once, however, CC's brain refused to do her bidding and continued sliding back to memories she thought she'd banished from her mind.

Why are you being like this?

Why are you surprised I'm like this?

I can't do this anymore.

That doesn't surprise me.

I love you.

I don't believe you.

She reduced the speed on the treadmill to a slow gait and rubbed her face, pulling her hands back in surprise as she realized there were tears there.