"Good morning, Mark." Oliver nodded to his assistant before opening the door of his office. It was Monday, he'd spent the whole weekend goofing around with Hal or patrolling, and kind of dread the moment he would open his emails. "How was your weekend?"

"Good. My brother managed to video-call from Kandahar on Friday, so my parents were ecstatic."

"Great. How's your dad?"

"He's good. Adjusting to retirement well, according to my mom." The young man paused. "Actually, I pretty sure he hates it. He's browsing online tutoring websites."

Oliver laughed. "Tell him to contact Sister Clare at the Oasis. They'll keep him occupied for sure."

"Mom will kill him. And me for helping."

"Of course not. She'll brag about the volunteering to her girlfriends."

Mark stared at Oliver above the rim of his glasses. "She'd harped at my dad to retire for three years straight."

"Okay. Maybe she'll kill him. But she likes me, so she will only maim you a little so you can continue to work for me."

"That's reassuring."

Oliver grinned, and accepted the pile of messages from his EA before he entered his office.

By nine, he regretted he didn't take another day off. By ten, he wished he'd stayed in Denmark altogether. At noon, he started to wonder how drunk he was when he decided seducing Lena Luthor was a good idea. The twin towers project in Metropolis was behind schedule, over budget, and people were complaining about the additional traffic due to construction work to whomever was willing to listen.

That much was expected for a major urban development. But the empty land he'd bought from her in Star City… That one was a nightmare in its own right. The developers he'd shut out were the least of his legal problems. The First Nations council was claiming ancestral rights and flooding City Hall with petitions. An environmentalist group had decided paperwork was not enough and their happy-go-merry manifestation had forced SC Public works division to do emergency repairs on one of the main waterline on the beach front over the weekend.

The City Council was under pressure, which meant it was looking for a space goat. And who'd better for the role than the man who'd tried to help when no one was asking? He could write the headlines himself : "Oliver Queen buys his way into politics". "Oliver Queen interferes with the economic development of the city". "Oliver Queen has a hidden agenda for the beach front". The press was going to have a field day.

Oliver pushed away his keyboard, leaning back in his chair. The fact that the loudest councilman had voted for the original development project, and was eyeing the mayor's seat in the coming election went unnoticed for now. The bruise he'd collected on his hip during patrol throbbed. "You won't have anything out of my check book, that's for damned sure."

"I already have your money, Oliver. All I need is a name."

The young man lifted his head toward the newcomer. He smiled warmly at the woman in her fifties who stood on the threshold, tablet in hand, the other on her hip and watching him with that mix of fondness and resignation one reserved for a beloved wild child. Oliver immediately rose to his feet, inviting her to step inside his office for their weekly appointment.

"Can I get you anything, Barbara?"

"Like I said, her name."

Oliver motioned for the sofa and sat opposing on his PR advisor, and masked his puzzlement with a smirk. "I am afraid you're going to have to be a little more specific."

Her sigh at the quip didn't bode well. "The Halloween Masquerade Ball is the weekend after next, Oliver. The Oasis is your project, not something out of your parents' legacy."

Damnit it. He'd forgotten all about the gala. Barbara had been pestering him for weeks about it. "How does that include bringing someone with me?"

"Image, as you well know, is everything. You need to project the image of a reliable man. You care, we all know that. But showing up with your typical lingerie model or some Hollywood prospect is not going to cut it."

Oliver opened his mouth. She stopped him before he could utter a word. "And do not mention Hal Jordan. I love this boy, but if you show up with him one more time, some rumors are going to gain traction."

He really should have stayed in Denmark.

Oliver leaned back against the sofa. He could chat up one woman or another to accompany him easily enough, but he doubted they would meet with Barbara's approval, even if they did more with their lives than smile and look pretty. "I am not seeing anyone."

"That's a problem." The woman started to play with her tablet. The more she opened and closed files, the more nervous Oliver became. "You could give a call to Lena Luthor. People will assume you made amends and you are trying to rekindle your relationship. Of course it would bring back some by-lines about your indiscretions, but that will die quickly. Yes I can w—"

"Hell, no."

She looked up sharply. It was rare Oliver used that tone with anyone, let alone her. Barbara had been his mother's right hand and by his side from the start. He stood to grab a stack of papers on his desk.

"This," he dropped the pile on the coffee table in front of her "is the mess my association with darling Lena put me in. I am not asking her to the gala. If you put the both of us in the same room, I guaranty there will be blood."

Barbara dismissed his snarl with a wave of her hand. She leaned forward to read some of the emails he had Mark print for him. "What is this about? Salina Point?"

"Yes."

"Hush. Let me read."

He knew that tone. Barbara Hall was a brilliant woman, excellent at her job, and as strange as it was, one of his best friends. She was certainly his best ally with Queen Industries. She'd called him on his bullshit more than once, forced him to clean his act too often for his liking, all the while saving his hide from the public eye and the board, and never breaking a sweat doing so. Oliver grinned.

"Would you do me the honor to come with me to the Masquerade Ball, Barbara?"

"You're sweet to ask. But no. My husband would not appreciate. I can work with this."

"I beg your pardon?"

Barbara straightened the piles of emails in a neat pile, tapped one finger on the top of it. "This is excellent PR. Give me two days. Have Mark forward everything you received so far to me. And play possum. Anyone call, send them to me." She stood. Oliver imitated her, more than a little baffled.

"Yes, Madam."

"And don't call me Madam. I'm fifty-two, not sixty."

"Yes, Barbara."

"Better. Two days."

She disappeared before he had a chance to ask what she was thinking. Not that she would have told him. When she had that gleam in her eyes, he knew that he was either going to hate every minute of her plan, or worship the ground she walked on for a year. For now, she'd taken a thorn of his side for a couple of days, and stopped pushing about the gala. Oliver stretched his arms behind his back and above his head, winced when the movement strained the muscles in his back. Hopefully some more Yoga would help. He didn't want to call Emil again. The Doc's last lecture still made his ears ring.

"Mark, I'm going to finish the day upstairs, but hold my calls for an hour, will you?"