Note: Thanks, again, for the positive feedback on the last chapter. I apologize in advance for what I'm going to do to you all, but I didn't want to up the rating of this story and I have a feeling that this chapter is already borderline.

Chapter Thirteen: Housewarming

"You're sure about this?" Max asked Rapunzel. They were at the Dupont Circle apartment Wednesday afternoon. It had been rather uncomfortable to explain to them that she was moving out not because she had a job now, but because she was going to move in with a person whom one of them disliked and with whom she had already fallen out once. At her request, Flynn had left the explanation to her. He had not arrived at the apartment yet; he had gone to rent a van because there was absolutely no chance of moving her belongings out of the apartment in his Corvette.

She packed the last T-shirt back into a box and sealed it shut with tape. "I'm sure," she said. "We made up for everything... and more." She smiled. "He flew me home so that I could make peace with everything that had happened."

A look of surprise came over his face. "Home as in Alaska?"

She nodded. "I couldn't believe it either."

"Well," Max said, "that's... really something."

She smiled again. "And he's going to write books from now on," she said.

"Well, I wish him luck with that," Max said stiffly.

Rapunzel looked away. It was obvious to her that he didn't like the situation, but how could she explain it? The details that did the most to convince her of his sincerity were also the hardest to express to other people. She supposed this was how any relationship would be. Those on the outside never really knew what went on. Explanations always sounded cloying, silly, desperate, or shallow, and no matter how sincere, they never managed to convey one's true feelings anyway. The only thing that would truly persuade Max, she knew, was time.

Pascal had been listening to the conversation silently. Finally he spoke up. "I hope it works out this time," he said hesitantly.

"It will," Rapunzel reassured him. "It only didn't work out before because we each had some... personal problems... and we weren't being honest with each other about them. Primarily me," she admitted. "We've done a lot of serious talking this week, though, and got it all out in the open. It'll be fine."

Pascal smiled. "I hope so. But if anything does go wrong—"

"Then we'll fix it."

He laughed. "Well, you've definitely got the attitude to make it work," he said. "Okay, how to put this, then? If you need us, we're here. How about that?"

She smiled. "I knew what you meant, and I know we're all here for each other, but I don't want to start thinking like that. It almost sounds like making plans for getting out of it."

"Oh, I understand," he said.

The door buzzed. They looked out the window and saw the van parked in a short-term parking space down the street. They let him in and began moving the items out of the apartment.

When the van was finally ready to go, Max turned to Flynn with a look on his face—a mixture of dislike, dread, and resignation. Flynn turned to face him with a similar expression on his face. They were about the same height, and though Max was more physically imposing, there was something about the way Flynn carried himself—a certain confidence in his air—that made it a standoff between equals.

"Go ahead and say whatever it is," Flynn said with a sigh.

Max raised an eyebrow. "Okay," he said. "I'll say it. Rider... there is a part of me that still thinks you're a total dirtbag for everything you did in the past, but there's another part that wants to get on bended knee and thank you for being there for her when she needed it." He paused. "Now you speak your piece."

Flynn scowled. "All right. Morgan... there's a part of me that thinks you're a self-righteous bully who can't stay out of a situation even if it doesn't concern you. But there's another part that's grateful to you—and Pascal—for being there for her when she had nobody else." He glanced ruefully at Max.

He nodded gruffly. "Shake?"

Flynn nodded too and held out his hand.

Rapunzel, who had been standing next to Pascal and watching the exchange in silent amazement, finally spoke as they broke the handshake. "There's a part of me—most of me—that thinks this is completely ridiculous, but I guess you alpha males have to do what you have to do."

They stared at her as she smiled wickedly at them. Then Pascal started laughing. They continued to stare as the two other began howling in mirth. At last, Flynn and Max began to chuckle at themselves. The pretentiousness of it was pretty funny, Flynn supposed. And yet... alpha male? He liked that thought, and he liked even more that Rapunzel regarded him as one.

Late that afternoon, they finally finished moving in everything of Rapunzel's that they could. Most of her paintings now adorned the walls of the condo (though she couldn't bear to put up the "Expressionist" painting of the fire—that was far too personal to display on the wall), her computer desk had been set up in the study across from his, her hand-painted table had been set up in the living room, and her clothes had been put up in Flynn's extra closet. Apparently the bedroom had been designed as a master suite for a couple, but Flynn had divided his clothes into cool- and warm-season and, until now, had used both closets. The only thing of Rapunzel's that they could not unpack yet were her books. She had more than he had available shelf space for. That, he assured her, would be taken care of as soon as possible, but neither of them wanted to go shopping for a bookcase today after all the moving.

While he showered that night, she walked around the place in her own nightclothes now—her loose, comfortable purple-and-white pajama set—taking it all in. It was a strange feeling, seeing her stuff set up in his condo like this—though she supposed she should stop thinking of it as exclusively his condo. Legally, she supposed it was; he owned it, but he had told her to think of it as her home too.

She looked at the sectional couch. Her yellow blanket was folded over the back of one side, used for decoration rather than functionality now. This couch was not threadbare or battered as the one furnished by her old apartment community had been. Still, Flynn had wanted to have it there; he said that between her artwork and her little personal touches like the blanket, the place might actually look homey now. She smiled and sat down on the couch, leaning against the blanket and thinking pleasant thoughts about the day's events.

He came out of the shower and went into the living room, sitting down next to her. She leaned into him as he put an arm around her. "You smell nice," she remarked, and at that, she scooted up his side and buried her face in his freshly dried hair. "I like the smell of your shampoo."

He chuckled. "Well, you look remarkably cute in those," he said, referring to her pajama set. She drew away and regarded him with a soft smile. He smiled back and leaned in for a kiss. She groaned, took his face in her hands, and at once it became deep, passionate, and long.

"Love you so much," he murmured in the middle of it, making her heart flutter.

"Love you too," she said quietly, though it seemed anticlimactic—but she had to say it. It was what he needed to hear, though, and as soon as the words escaped her lips, he moaned and pulled her in so close that she could hardly move, plundering her mouth ravenously as he somehow deepened the kiss even more. She loved this. Everything about this felt right. It felt like... dare she think it... being home, and it had nothing to do with her material possessions being here.

Finally, they broke apart. He looked sated and content. She was relieved; she still was not quite ready to take things further. She smiled serenely at him.

Then, with only a playful spark in his eyes to warn her, he leaned over, slipped one arm beneath her knees, and scooped her up as if she weighed nothing at all. "Oh!" she exclaimed, her heart suddenly pounding, as he stood up and began to carry her into the bedroom. She reached around his neck for support, though she knew he would not drop her.

He looked down at her, grinning. "What?" he said.

She giggled. "Nothing," she said. "That was just a surprise."

"A nice one, I hope."

She nodded. "Mmhmm."

He set her down on the unmade bed and then got on it himself. She wriggled under the covers and curled up against him. He threw an arm around her. "Welcome home," he whispered in her ear. Then he kissed her good night and turned off the bedside lamp.

Before she fell asleep, she thought about what had happened during the day. Suddenly she recalled the fear that she'd had when they were on their last trip. It seemed so silly now to imagine being disappointed in the reality of this. Of course this would be all that she dreamed it would. It would probably be better. It certainly had so far.

The next morning, she woke up to an affectionate nudge. Her eyes popped open and she instantly saw him looking at her with a very tender gaze.

"Morning," she said, sitting upright and giving him a kiss on the cheek in passing. It was a totally spontaneous act, but she really liked showing affection to him now that they were together and took every opportunity to do so. She remembered that she had always liked being comforted and touched even when they were just friends.

"Morning," he replied with a smile. They got out of bed and went over to their respective walk-in closets to get dressed.

"So," he said as they headed back to make breakfast, "I mentioned wanting to write a tell-all about the Crown Group and everything that happened. I'm thinking I'm going to begin the book proposal today. I can sell the proposal to an agent without actually having to write the whole manuscript... and to be honest," he added, "I don't think it'll be all that hard to find an agent for this."

"Well, I've never looked into anything like that. Of course, you have," she said. "I hope you get it all worked out soon... I know this isn't really what you want to write."

"No, but since I'm going to write this book anyway, there are a lot of things that I'd love to talk about," he said, smiling wickedly. "Things that never came out during the trial because they had no relevance to the corruption case. Don't get me wrong; most businesspeople aren't like this, but there are some very wealthy people who... well, you'd be appalled at what they do and get away with. And I'm going to call them out on everything that I saw. I've kept it to myself for too long." He was clearly relishing the idea as a predator relishes the sight of a vulnerable prey animal.

"I'm not sure I even want to know what you're talking about," she said uneasily.

"You probably don't. It's bad."

She shuddered. "Good luck, then," she said. "I'd want to just forget things like that if they really happened and I saw them myself. But I guess pretending that bad things never happened isn't a good plan."

For much of the day, he researched literary agents, making a list of those most likely to take an interest in his proposal. She wasn't sure what to do. She didn't want to interrupt him even to bestow affection on him, because she realized that writing—and everything associated with it—was going to become his job now. She realized that she really needed to find employment herself. But since she was living in Fairfax, where the subway didn't run...

He took a break after firing off a series of e-mail queries and went out to the living room. "Flynn," she said as he came in view, "I want to learn how to drive."

He stopped and turned to her with a smile. "Okay. You'll need to become a resident here, but you can go ahead and get a copy of the driver's manual and start studying to take the permit exam. Then it'll be legal for you to practice driving with me in the other seat. Of course," he added with a smirk, "lots of people drive with somebody else there without a permit, and I'll neither confirm nor deny that I did this back in the day—"

"You don't need to," she said. "I would have guessed it anyway." She smirked back at him.

"Ouch," he said, laughing. "Okay. Anyway, that's what you do." He paused. "Do you need to go somewhere today?"

"Not really, but I was just thinking that I really need a job, and I can't job-hunt in this town very well without a car."

He gave her a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry. If I could snap my fingers, pull strings, anything, and get you a job, I would in a second."

At this moment, Rapunzel's phone began to ring. She scampered into the study, where it lay on her computer desk. She stayed in there for a few minutes and then emerged from the door, beaming but shaking slightly. Flynn raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.

"It's amazing how these things happen sometimes," she said in a shaky voice. "That was this graphic design firm I gave my resumé to before I even moved out of my apartment. It was probably a month ago now. They actually have a client that's another place that I gave my resumé to, a nonprofit that works with kids who were taken out of bad homes, and they need another person for that contract. Somebody who can update the website and do the public awareness materials for this organization. And they want to meet me tomorrow!" She burst into a grin.

"Awesome," he said, smiling himself. "What sort of work?"

"They said it would be part-time, four hours a day every day. Mornings. I'd get paid extra if they needed something done during off-hours. The website part is all Flash, too, which I took a class in. I'm really glad I did now, because I don't know the first thing about website coding in anything else."

"That'd be perfect if you get it," he said. "It'll give me a reason to get my ass out of bed in the morning, too, because I'll want to work while you're not around so that we can have the rest of the day to ourselves. There's no way I'm going to sit at that desk and write for eight hours a day."

"Flynn, you're really counting your chickens," she said. "It's just an interview."

"An interview that you'll ace."

She smiled. "I'll certainly try."

She did try, and she was beaming ear to ear when he picked her up at the Vienna station after the interview to drive her home. "They said they'll give me an answer by Tuesday at the latest," she said. "I think it went great, though. They were impressed with my portfolio."

"As they should have been," he said sincerely. He turned to her with a smile. "I've got some good news too. I've heard back from an agent who is interested in my book."

"That's wonderful," she said, her eyes shining. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "I feel so much better lately. Everything seems to be turning around."

For the next several days, he worked busily on the book proposal. A couple of times he set up a videoconference with the agent, a middle-aged man in New York. When he wasn't working, they spent most of their time enjoying each other's company. Conversation was much easier now that Rapunzel didn't need to worry about it going to a place that would make her uncomfortable or embarrassed, and often they would sit side by side on the couch and talk until they had nothing else they could think of to say for the time being, at least with words. Then they would just gaze at each other, or curl up together, or exchange kisses, until something else that needed to be done took one of them reluctantly away.

Even while he worked on the book proposal, she spent a lot of time in the study with him at her own computer. Neither he nor the agent minded her being in the room when the videoconferences took place. She just wanted to be around him even if they couldn't carry on a steady conversation. There was something very appealing in watching him go at something so determinedly. When he wanted something, he was resolute, unflinching, and maybe even stubborn in his determination to get it. That was the pragmatist, she realized. She knew that, although he expected it to be cathartic, he primarily regarded this book as a means to an end: acceptability as a writer of young adult books. Still he worked on it feverishly, so much so that by Tuesday, the proposal was ready to be sent out.

After he and the agent held a teleconference about the acceptability of the proposal, he decided to go out and pick up some items at the grocery store. When he came back, he was immediately greeted by an ecstatic Rapunzel. He guessed the truth immediately.

"You got it?" he asked, grinning.

"Yep!" she exclaimed. She threw her arms around him. "I can start next week!"

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. "They're lucky to have you," he said.

With a contract with the agent in hand now, Flynn began working on his book at once. All week long, Rapunzel watched as he dug up old documents from the trial record and pored through them to make sure that he had the factual information correct. Sometimes he would take notes on something that he read. Other times he would put the records aside, sit at his laptop, and write a personal reminiscence for an hour or two.

Rapunzel didn't want to distract him—something that often happened now when they were around each other—but she found herself continuing to spend time in the study while he worked. One time later in the week, she slipped behind him and peered over his shoulder at what he was writing. She instantly caught the words "dumpster," "prostitute," and "assault," and her eyes popped wide open. She quickly read a paragraph about the Stabbingtons—who, it seemed, were a pair of thugs underneath their expensive suits—getting high on drugs and beating the women that they hired for some of their exclusive parties for firm partners and the lobbyists. The third senior partner, named Facilier, apparently covered for them whenever this happened.

He finally realized her presence and turned around, a look of concern in his face as he realized exactly what she had been reading.

"Flynn, did you really see this kind of thing?" she exclaimed before he could say anything.

"It's libel if I didn't... and yes. I saw it more than once," he said grimly. "I'm not taking it out of the book. I'm tired of keeping their dirty secrets for them."

Her eyebrows knitted. "Why did you?"

"I was afraid of them," he said simply. "I was afraid of what could happen to my prospects if I accused them of something like that." He heaved a sigh.

She ran her fingers through his hair and gave him a soft kiss on top of his head. "It's okay," she said. "It's going to come out now."

"Yeah," he agreed, his eyes lighting up again. "It will."

She smiled and returned to her desk, where she had been looking over Flash design in advance of starting her new job.

On Monday morning, he brought her to the Vienna station and dropped her off. She rode the train into the city and walked the increasingly warm walk to the organization's office.

Her new boss, a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair, greeted her at once and quickly introduced her to the other people with whom she would be working. It was a small but growing firm, and they simply needed another person for this new client. There were several people who did promotional materials; she would be on that team but have primary responsibility for the children's nonprofit client. There was also a pair of computer programmers who, it turned out, did the coding side of any client websites; Rapunzel would simply do the design parts. She spent much of the morning becoming familiar with the types of work that the client needed to have done, and by the end of the morning, she was starting to have ideas about what she might like to do. She decided, however, to wait and run them past her new co-workers the next day.

When her shift ended at noon, she considered something that had been nagging at her. Lately, ideas were entering her mind that were unusual for her. Heretofore, she had relished the comfort of being around him in casual clothing and knowing that he found her attractive regardless of what she wore. She had loved the domesticity and familiarity, but suddenly, she wanted to look sexy and alluring. Feeling self-conscious yet bold, she marched to Victoria's Secret and browsed around before finally settling on a lavender satin negligee and matching underwear.

She glanced down at the bag as she left the store. If he saw it, he'd instantly draw conclusions about the contents. She folded the bag and slipped it in her messenger bag. Then she called him to tell him she was ready to be picked up.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with an hour-long call with the literary agent, lots of pleasant conversation mostly about Rapunzel's new job, and a very enjoyable dinner. That evening, he turned to her with a spark in his eye.

"You know," he said, "There's an indoor pool here. It doesn't close until ten. If you've got a swimsuit, we could go swimming. It's really pretty in the pool room after dark because they turn on all these lights in the pool."

She bit her lip. "I have a suit," she said, "but I don't know how to swim." She looked up at him in embarrassment. "I never learned when I lived on the mountain, and since then, it just... I just haven't had the time."

"Hey, that's okay," he said. "I could teach you."

She decided that this would be a good idea. She did want to learn how to swim, just as she wanted to learn how to drive, and now that she didn't have any claims on her time except a morning job, she saw no reason not to begin learning. She grinned at him and scampered up to dig out her purple one-piece swimsuit.

He was right about the pool room being beautiful at night. The underwater lights built into the side of the pool gave it a bright, vivid blue glow. The floor was tiled, allowing the light to reflect off the smooth surfaces of the tiles, and the one exterior wall had floor-to-ceiling glass panels that offered a view of the lights of Fairfax. They were the only two in the pool this late. He was treading water in the deep end, watching as she tiptoed around in the shallow side. She was scared to take her feet off the bottom.

"Let me hold you while you kick and paddle. It's the only way you'll learn," he pleaded, swimming over to the shallow end. "Come on. I won't drop you."

She finally nodded and took a deep breath as he lifted her up by her sides and held her horizontally in the water. Her mind was occupied by thoughts about something else—it had been, to varying degrees, ever since she saw him in his swim trunks—and she had to force herself to concentrate on swimming.

She practiced paddling for a little while, letting him guide her out to deeper water, feeling a rush of pleasure as she realized that her kicking was apparently keeping her legs from sinking. Flynn seemed to realize it too.

"I'm going to let you go," he warned, "but if you start to sink, I'll catch you."

She breathed in and out and then nodded. "Okay," she said.

Suddenly the pressure of his hands vanished. Where there had been the warmth of his skin on hers, there was now the sensation of water that was cool compared to his touch. She flailed for a second before her legs started to sink. She panicked when her feet did not touch bottom, and then, she was in over her head.

He was there at once, just as he had promised, grabbing her and lifting her head above the water as he gripped the side of the pool. She clung to him immediately, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as she coughed up the water she had inhaled in her panic.

"Hey, it's okay," he said comfortingly, stroking her wet hair. "I've gotcha."

Her heart was thumping. "That... was scary," she muttered. "I mean, I knew you were there, but for a moment—" She shivered.

He wrapped one arm around her, continuing to hold the side of the pool with the other. "I think everyone who learns how to swim goes through that," he said. "I did too. It's okay." He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "You'll be swimming in no time, though."

She looked up at his face. "You really think so?"

"Definitely."

Her terror was dissipating with his affectionate touches and the closeness of being wrapped up together like this. She smiled at him, kissing him back and wrapping her legs tighter around his waist. He groaned. "Rapunzel, don't—"

She realized what she was doing and immediately untangled herself from him, gripping the side of the pool. "I... think it's time to head back," she said. All of a sudden she felt weak in the knees, and not at all in the mood to practice swimming.

He raised an eyebrow and broke into a smirk as he realized what she meant. They got out of the pool, wrapped their towels around themselves, and went back to the top floor.

She was hardly able to contain herself while he was in the shower. She took out the new lingerie and wadded it into a ball along with her regular pajamas so that he wouldn't see it when he came out. He didn't take long in the shower, only washing the chlorine out of his hair and then drying it. As soon as he was out, she dashed in.

When she was finished, she put on the lavender lingerie, brushed her newly dried hair, and spritzed herself with some of her summery-scented body spray. Her heart was pounding with anticipation, but also nervousness. She knew what wearing this nightgown would imply to him. She was okay with that, though. The idea didn't frighten her anymore. If she grew uncomfortable with something, she would tell him to stop. She trusted him. Taking a deep breath, she emerged into the bedroom.

He was sitting on the bed, legs stretched out, and as he saw what she was wearing, his eyes grew wide. "Rapunzel," he gasped, "you look gorgeous. What's the occasion?" he asked with a grin.

She smiled enigmatically at him and climbed on the mattress. He stared for a moment, but then a wicked, knowing smile crossed his face. Before she could react, he pounced on her, pinning her down, and instantly began to trail kisses down her body past her neck and shoulders.

"Flynn!" she gasped, overcome with surprise at his actions. She felt a fluttery sensation in her abdomen.

He looked up at her, smiling benevolently. "Yes?" he said innocently. "Do you want me to stop? I can." Immediately, before she could stop him, drew away and rolled off her so that they were not even touching.

She groaned. "You are such a tease," she complained. "I liked it. I want you to continue... and go farther," she ended in an embarrassed whisper.

His eyes darkened as he stared into hers, but he nodded quickly, rolled back over, and continued where he had left off. She closed her eyes in bliss and let him take over. At one point he placed his hands under her negligee, against her sides, and gazed at her, wordlessly asking permission. She gave him a quick nod, signaling to continue.

After about half an hour, she lay flat on her back in nothing but her new underwear, breathing heavily. He lay at an angle with his head nestled in the crook of her shoulder, placing soft kisses against her neck that were quite chaste compared to what he had just done. She could hardly believe the sensations that he had managed to create in her—and she marveled at his self-control at not ravishing her after being allowed to kiss and touch her pretty much anywhere. He wanted to; she could tell that, but he also wanted her to know that no matter how vulnerable she made herself, he would not take advantage.

And that made her want him.

"Enjoy it?" he whispered softly against her neck.

"Mmhmm," she said. She gazed at him pleadingly. "But I want more. I want everything you can give. Please."

He swallowed. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

He breathed in and out deeply, then put his hands around her waist and rolled on top. "First time?" he said huskily, gazing down at her.

"Mmhmm."

He leaned over and kissed the shell of her ear. "All right. My dear... I'm going to give you a first time to remember. The first," he whispered, "of many, but even years from now, you'll still think of this every time I take you to bed." He winked and smirked at her.

Her heart pounded. "What do you mean by that?" she said.

"What does it sound like?" he said evenly. "Now that I've got you where I want you, I don't plan to let you get away from me again." He continued with his ministrations.

Deep embarrassment came over her as she thought about his words, though they also gave her a warm feeling all over. She realized the significance of what he was saying under a veneer of teasing. But her thoughts could not stay focused on his words for very long, not when he was doing so many things that stole her full attention...

Afterward, they lay cuddled against each other, laughing softly and exchanging occasional kisses. She felt a mix of emotions—incredible closeness to him, awe at herself for actually doing this, and relief. It had hurt, but at some point she stopped noticing that. He had promised her it wouldn't hurt again in the future, but she reassured him that it hadn't been a big deal because the rest of it had overpowered the pain she felt at first. He smirked at the compliment.

They couldn't stay up much longer, however, because they were both quite tired now—her especially—and they would have to get up in the morning.

The cockiness that he had shown the night before was still present in the morning when he saw her off at the Metro station, and when he called her to meet up for lunch somewhere in Washington after she got off work, there was still a bit of a swagger in his words. She didn't mind, though. It was a part of him and she couldn't imagine him without it.

They decided to have lunch at a relatively nice place. He had actually wanted to take her to a nice restaurant for some time, but her concern over being "lobbied" with expensive dates had kept him from doing it. Now that she was comfortable with him, she realized that he just wanted to treat her as well as he was able.

While they were waiting on their meal, Flynn suddenly looked down at the table with a groan.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"They're here," he muttered.

"Who?" she asked, but her question was answered immediately. The two large-bodied characters that she had seen in the airport—the Stabbington brothers, she realized—were ambling away from the bar along with a thin, equally well dressed African-American man that she supposed must be Facilier. He looked considerably sharper than the burly pair that he was with, and she recalled reading in Flynn's manuscript that he had been the one to invent cover stories for the others' violent drug-induced actions. He must have been the brains of the outfit, she decided.

One of the redheads leered at them. "Hey, Rider," he said in a decidedly unfriendly tone.

Flynn snapped his head up and glared back through narrowed eyes, regarding the party with absolute contempt. He would not even speak to them.

"You still got her," the other redhead remarked. "How're you managing that, Rider? It must be draining your bank account, since you're unemployed and all." They chuckled to themselves.

"She's my girlfriend, idiots," he remarked, disdain dripping from his words. "But I suppose you're too vulgar for that to occur to you." He turned to her. "I'm sorry. Just ignore them."

The two redheads gaped, though Facilier did not seem too surprised. "Girlfriend, Rider?" one of them said. "How'd you pull that off? She must be a shallow one to go for somebody like you."

Rapunzel's eyebrows narrowed in anger, and that sight had more of an effect on Flynn than anything they might say about him. "I don't deserve her, but I'm doing my best," he said. "And I never corrected you on one thing. You said I was unemployed. My agent would disagree."

"Agent?" Facilier said, finally speaking.

"Yep. I am currently very much employed with writing an insider's account of things that I witnessed in the Crown Group—and a certain brokerage firm. Everything that I witnessed," he added smugly, "and as you all know, that includes some things that, once they get out, would be a bit... how to put this... difficult to explain away." He leaned back in his chair, smirking cockily at the trio.

It was evident that they recognized exactly what he was referring to. They became visibly uncomfortable at the allusion. "Yeah?" one of them said in a show of bravado. "You haven't got proof of anything."

"Maybe not," he said, "but I'm sure there are others who would agree with what I write, because they experienced it. And it's a funny thing... once certain kinds of allegations come out, with independent sources attesting to them, true 'proof' isn't really necessary anymore." His tone was still arrogant and confident, and his eyes were shining with pleasure at watching them squirm.

One of the Stabbingtons leaned in. "Listen up, Rider. You write your little tell-all about everything that's already on record. I don't even blame you trying to make money off a book, because the public won't read a court record. You go right ahead and profit off that. But if you know what's good for you, you'll keep your mouth shut about anything else." At this, the three of them walked out of the restaurant, leaving Rapunzel and Flynn to themselves at the table.

She turned to him, eyes wide. "Flynn, that was a threat," she said quietly.

He shrugged, still grinning. "Yeah, but you don't know them. They're hotheads. They'd say things like that if they got rattled... and it's pretty obvious they were rattled. Besides," he added as he realized that she still wasn't convinced, "they wouldn't do anything now. They'd be immediate suspects. Even my agent would probably suspect them, since he knows all about the book. And the third one, Facilier, is smart enough to know that. They're just a pair of hotheads, Rapunzel. Don't worry about them."

She sighed and managed a small smile. She supposed he was probably right.