A/N: Thank you all so much for your suggestions. I will definitely see which ones I can incorporate.

(This chapter is the first time we have Enjolras' POV. Now, before you get confused, when he mentions Éponine he refers to her as Veronica, because he only knows her as Veronica. Just thought I would explain that before I got people telling me to fix it. All for a reason, guys! But, really, if it is too confusing that way, tell me and I will change it.)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter Thirteen: Speeding Ticket.

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June 20th; Augusta City Hall.

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Éponine's summer had been boring as hell so far. In the past, she and Gavroche had always traveled to North Carolina to spend a few weeks at Adrienne's beach house, but now that she was Veronica, there was no more beach house, no more Friday night parties at Adam's; there was only boredom and the community pool and unfinished art pieces. The second weekend of summer Max offered to take Gavroche and Éponine to New York City for the weekend. At first, Éponine had been completely opposed. It was only the second week of summer and she didn't see any reason to leave already – even if it was just a mini-vacation. But after Gavroche begged and begged and begged, she relented. And though Max and Gav had a marvelous time, Éponine found it rather lackluster.

One positive of the summer was that Éponine didn't have to deal with Les Amis. With her job at the café scheduled in the mornings, and besides the one time she ran into Joly at the supermarket, she never had to see them anymore – much to her satisfaction.

Augusta in the summer was beautiful. The old marble buildings shinned brightly when the sun hit them just right, and the trees lining the streets towered over every car, offering much needed shade when the car got too hot. Éponine drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, looking up through her windshield. Finally, Éponine found Augusta City Hall. She sighed and parked in front of the building, wrinkling her nose. A week earlier, she had received a traffic ticket in Augusta for driving a little too much over the speed limit, so she was back to pay it.

Éponine took the stairs two at a time, eager to get in and get out as quickly as possible. Inside the building, Éponine found the front desk easy enough, checking in. The woman behind the desk pointed to a group of chairs near the window.

"Wait until he's ready for you, hun."

Éponine smiled her thanks and went to the chair, sitting down and crossing her legs. She picked up the magazine laying on the table beside her. Five or so minutes passed before the woman behind the desk called her forward.

"Go down the hall. He's the third door on the left."

Éponine hoisted the strap of her bag a little higher on her shoulder. "Thanks." Humming softly to herself, Éponine walked down the hall, looking in the offices on either side of her. Each office was even more boring than the last. "Third office on the left," Éponine whispered, stopping before the man's office who would take care of her ticket. She went in and plopped down in one of the two gray chairs in front of his desk. She glanced around the room. The desk was more than unpersonalized, besides his framed diploma on the wall and a potted plant in the corner. Éponine scoffed; it was worse than the cubicle she had used back in Florida.

Éponine whistled lowly, picking up the name plate in front of her. Her heart clenched and she threw it back on the desk, groaning.

Jack Enjolras, Attorney at Law.

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June 20th; Augusta City Hall.

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Enjolras' day thus far had been less than exciting – just like his summer. Fresh out of law school, Enjolras couldn't expect to have all the good cases right off the bat, but that didn't mean he should get stuck with the menial cases. Glancing at his watch, Enjolras cursed. Didn't he have an appointment? It could wait; it was only a traffic ticket. Besides, his lunch break technically wasn't over yet.

Enjolras opened his laptop and checked his email, surprised to see the first contact from Marius since he moved. Enjolras opened the email and read it quickly, knowing he was crunched for time. Marius relayed that all was well in the Pontmercy household. He'd gotten the great position he wanted at the law-firm and Cosette was expecting a baby girl. He sounded happy, which should have made Enjolras happy, but it didn't. Not only were things slow at the workplace, things were also slow for Les Amis. Everyone used to meet at the café every day, now he was lucky if people showed up once a week. Usually there was a lull in the beginning of summer; the guys went on vacation or started to search for their next summer fling, but after the first week, things fell right back into the place.

Not this time.

Even when they did meet, the conversation was dull and everyone looked like they'd rather be somewhere else. Enjolras had approached Combeferre about it one evening, but he had shrugged him off, claiming he had to rush to a date he had planned earlier that day.

"Hey, Enjolras!" Christopher poked his head into the lunch room. "You've got a client sitting in your office. She's been there for fifteen minutes!"

"Shit, yeah, I know." Enjolras stood up, throwing his trash into the trash bin and swiping his laptop into his arm as he flew down the hall. If he ever wanted to get a promotion, he would have to start acting a little more involved (even if all he did was handle the cases no one wanted).

Clearing his throat, Enjolras slowed his pace when he reached the door to his office, straightening his tie with his free hand. The woman sat in the chair, jiggling her leg, looking around the room. "Sorry, ma'am," Enjolras apologized, going around the desk, plugging his laptop back in and opening the lid. He sat down and turned to face his client. He sighed when he recognized her. "Oh, it's you."

The woman – Veronica? – chuckled, pulling a piece of paper out of her bag; Enjolras couldn't help but notice that her chuckle bode no hint of actual humor. "Yeah, it's me; all the more reason to get through with this." She placed the paper on his desk, refusing to make eye-contact.

He took the paper, narrowing his eyes. She'd gotten to her hair cut since he last saw her. Come to think of it, she didn't work at the café anymore, did she? At least, not during the evenings. Probably his fault, but he wasn't bothered about that. Enjolras turned to his computer and opened up her file. Veronica Walter; he was right. Her record was perfectly clean. He glanced back at her; she picked at something on her finger.

"So, sixty in a twenty?"

Veronica rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I was in a rush."

"You flew through a school-zone." He raised an eyebrow, swiveling his chair to face her.

Veronica brushed some hair behind her ear and faced him, shrugging. "No kids were out."

"There could have been."

"There weren't." She huffed. "Please, can I just pay this and go? I've been here longer than I would have cared to be."

Enjolras nodded, pulling open a drawer beside him. He cleared his throat again and brought out a slip of paper. "Yes, of course. That was my fault –"

"Yes, it was."Enjolras looked up, frowning. She looked too pleased with herself. He looked back at the paper, filling in the details that he needed. "What are you doing?"

"Filling out a report, ma'am."

Veronica stuttered. "What – what do you mean?"

Enjolras shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Like I said earlier, you flew through a school-zone. That's illegal. I'm sorry, but I have to file a report."

Veronica's head drew back as she frowned deeper. "You really can't do that."

"Actually, I can."

"Why?! What is this going to do –"

Enjolras sighed and itched the side of his chin for a moment. "The worst it could do is revoke your license for a few months."

Veronica slashed her hands in front of her, her face turning a deep scarlet. Enjolras sat up straighter. "I cannot have my license revoked!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but –"

She was up on her feet, hands on her hips. Enjolras sighed; this wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with an angry client before. "Don't apologize to me, okay! I don't want to hear it!" She faced the wall and bunched her hand at her side, then sat back down, leaning forward, her voice quiet now. "Is this about our argument?"

Enjolras nearly scoffed, his hand clamping around the pen in his fingers. "Excuse me?"

Veronica rolled her eyes. "You know what I'm talking about: our argument? In the library? Is this pay back or something for what I said?"

Enjolras shook his head, chuckling. "You flatter yourself."

Veronica slouched back in the chair, her arms folded across her chest. "Fine. Write the damn report."

"All right, then. It will only take a few moments. And, if you could please get out the money for your ticket, this would go a lot faster." Enjolras shot her a tight-lipped smile before turning to his laptop.

She was even more infuriating than the last time they'd met. Enjolras cracked his knuckles and stared blankly at the computer screen, listening to the sounds of her muttering and rooting around for the money. In truth, he didn't need to write a report for her speeding through the school-zone. But, dear God, she was the most aggravating thing he'd ever come across. Not only was she down-right rude, she was also seemingly incompetent about safe roadway speeds, stuck up, and self-absorbed.

But then again, was he really this much of an asshole?

Blowing out a deep breath, Enjolras slammed his laptop lip shut. Damn his conscience.

"I'll cut you a deal," he said, folding his hands together on the desk. Veronica looked back at him, her eyes narrowed. "Are you willing to listen?"

She shook her head and looked away, chuckling. "Sure, whatever."

Enjolras raised his eyebrows, drawing from all his years of practicing in the art of manipulation. "Come to lunch with me and I won't report you." During his early college years, Enjolras had been caroused into working for his father's paper, something Enjolras had sworn he would never do. His father claimed it would help him with becoming a lawyer – all of the lying, and deceit, and manipulation. Enjolras supposed that it did; he learned how to keep a straight face and twist his words, twist their words. Soon, after all the stories he'd gathered for his father through lunches, and fancy parties, and secret midnight trysts, lying and manipulating had become a part of Enjolras. And not necessarily a part he was ashamed of. He used it on all his friends, on all his co-workers, and bosses, and professors.

He'd lied his way through college and soon, he would lie his way into a better job.

But first, he was going to lie and manipulate Veronica because he could tell there was something different about her. She was hiding something; of course, people always hid something, but her – on the other hand – she was hiding something big.

And Enjolras wanted to know what is was, just in case he needed it for future reference.

"Well?" he asked when she didn't answer.

"Why the hell would I go to lunch with you?"

Enjolras turned his head slightly to the side and smiled, hoping it looked as sincere as he knew it did. "Because then you won't get reported."

Veronica's jaw fell slightly; she clamped it shut and her eyes grew wide, scared even. That wasn't something he would have expected to see. "You're – they were right," she breathed, looking toward the blank, tan wall on her left.

"I'm sorry?"

She looked back at him. "No – nothing." She nodded, clearing her throat. "I'll go to lunch with you."

Enjolras straightened his head and clapped his hand. "Great. Just let me get my things."

Veronica stood up, her face drawn into some sort of confused look. "What? Now?"

"Yes, now." Enjolras turned around from the coat rack in the corner. "Is that a problem?"

Veronica swallowed, shaking her head. "No."

"Good. Then let's go. I know a quaint little sandwich place around the corner."