ATTENTION: THE AUTHOR IS POSTING THE LAST CHAPTER ON MAY 5. TO THANK ALL THOSE WHO HAVE READ HER STORY, SHE IS ALLOWING THE ENTIRE STORY TO BE PUBLISHED UNTIL MAY 22.

THIS BOOK OR ANY PORTION THEREOF MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM WITHOUT PERMISSION. THE SCANNING, UPLOADING, AND DISTRIBUTION OF THIS BOOK VIA THE INTERNET OR VIA ANY OTHER MEANS WITHOUT THE PERMISSION OF THE PUBLISHER IS ILLEGAL AND PUNISHABLE BY LAW.

MIDWAY THROUGH THE afternoon, Regina was moving from irritation to a full-on brood. Her broods entailed bouts of silence, snapping when provoked, and a simmering temper that could scare the toughest of men.

Dividing out caseloads, picking up lunch, and moving things around had taken up most of her time. With Swan canceling, having to deal with the never-ending questions from Robin, and focusing on which clients to toss his way, she was in a state of mad. A deep dark point of emotional vortex that you could get swallowed whole if you broached it.

Robin walked in hesitantly with a double shot, he observed she needed it more than he guessed. "Maggie said it was your favorite," he said setting it down on the desk. He watched her eyes narrow before picking it up and drinking deep. "Ah…it's hot," he watched her burn her tongue.

Glancing around her desk, he noticed she'd moved files around, there were sticky notes on each file and a notepad with lots of scribbles on it. It was a mess, he could see that but guessed it made some sort of sense to her. She took another drink of her coffee carefully this time. She scowled at him, "What?"

He eased on to the edge of her desk, "Some system," he commented. When she only stared at him, he reached up to lift her chin and turned it from one side to the other. "You're tired and a little pissed. Maybe you should take a break."

Pushing his hand away, she set her coffee down and started righting the desk. Folders were closed and stacked until the mess turned tidy. "Is that what you do? Take breaks when you're tired?"

Her tone pissed him off, "No, I'm partial to long hours. But you look tapped."

"Tapped?" she frowned, and he saw the shadows under her eyes more clearly.

"Don't be touchy. Anyone walking in here can see you probably didn't sleep well last night and that mad you have on isn't doing you any favors."

Picking up the stack of files, she stood and walked to his desk. She dropped them on the edge and turned, "You can start with these. If you have any questions—and I don't doubt you will—I'll assist when I can." Saying nothing else, she walked out of the office.

He rolled his eyes to the sky, what a woman, he thought. Sitting at his desk, he opened a file. Taking out a notepad, he made notes, jotted down phone numbers, court dates, meeting schedules. When he had what he needed, he moved on to the next. Six cases, he counted when he was done.

It wasn't the number that counted, he mused, but he'd work these cases and planned to work them well. He lost track of time making phone calls, setting up meetings, and working on his laptop. When she walked back in—looking less pissed and tired—he glanced at the clock. Nearly three hours.

Well, she had clients and things to, he mused. He wasn't going to ask her where she was or where she was going. He guessed he'd come and go as easily when he got his feet under him. "You have a minute?"

She'd shrugged off her blazer, discarded a scarf, and sat before she said, "Sure."

He took his notepad with him and sat on the edge of the desk. While she didn't look pissed and tired, he took advantage and dived right in. "I set up meetings with these five. Thanks to you, I'll be busy for the next few weeks. This court date was changed," he said pushing a note at her.

"I'm filing to push back these two," he gave her the notes. "I still need to figure out what to do with the last, but let's be honest, it'll get dropped."

Regina took the notes, read his competent scrawl, and put them down. "Looks like you've been busy."

He ignored the comment. "I called Swan and left a message. I figured I'd go by her place, attempt an in-person meeting."

"Would you?" she looked at him. "Do you always make personal calls?"

The comments were starting to eat his gut, her tone was irritating, and the fact that she left and came back looking like she did, infuriated him. "When it's necessary."

"I imagine, given your reputation, that occurs often," she said.

He sneered at her, walked around the desk, and pushed her chair back resting his hands on the arms to pin her in. He was rewarded by the brief wide-eyed panic in her eyes. It was replaced quickly by dismissal and something else he couldn't peg. "That's what you figure? That I fuck my way through my clients? What do you take me for?"

"I haven't figured it out. Day one and you're already making the moves on my colleagues, clients," she said crossing her arms.

"What do you care who I speak to? I haven't made moves on anyone and I wouldn't, given all the women in this building are married. You have some twisted vision of what kind of man I am. Fine. Keep that vision for all I care. But you draw the line where clients are concerned. I don't fuck with clients," he said.

He watched her consider him, "Fine."

To annoy her and please himself, he let his eyes drop to her mouth and linger. "Has anyone ever told you how arousing you are when you're angry?"

She swallowed, he could see the contraction in her throat and the relaxation after. She met his eyes, "What?" He seemed to surprise her and throw her off.

"Watch it, Regina. I'm a friendly sort, but if you piss me off enough, you'll become acquainted with the bastard I can be underneath it," he warned. "I keep it at bay for special occasions because my mother taught me how to treat women. But I can turn it on when I find my patience is wearing thin. I just met you, dammit. Give me a chance to prove my reputation is bullshit before you throw it my face. Deal?"

Her mouth thinned, relaxed, opened, and closed. He waited while he saw her working out what she was going to say. Her eyes met his, "Deal. Now let me up."

Releasing his hands, he simply leaned back against her desk to give her room. He'd never been this worked up over anyone he'd just met but he wasn't about to start a job with her thinking he was a dirty lawyer with some sexual agenda. He didn't work like that and hell if she was going to think it.

"I'm sorry," she said. He could see it cost her to say those words. "I jumped to conclusions, maybe because I take my job more seriously than you do."

"Do you? How can you tell?" His eyes turned hot.

"I…" she met his gaze again.

"You're used to being in charge, is that it? You don't want me in your office, doing your job. I get it. It wasn't exactly simple moving from where I was at. I'm giving it a chance. I ask you to do the same. While we're at it," he grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. She stumbled and braced his arms to stop herself from falling.

He gripped her hips and jerked her forward as he crashed his mouth onto hers. Her taste, her smell, her body blew threw him. He let himself sink into it after she stopped protesting. For a moment, he indulged and maneuvered until she pressed a hand against his chest and pushed. He didn't stop. He needed a few more moments before he lifted his head and released her.

She stared at him with flushed cheeks, lips red and swollen, and arousal in her sleepy eyes. "You expect me to apologize for that, you're not getting one." Her mouth opened, but he pressed his fingers to her lips. "It's been here since I walked into this office. The zing. I felt it, you feel it now. Let's work together and we'll be just fine."

To prove it, he nudged her back down into her seat, walked around to push her back in, and wheeled his chair in front of her desk. "Let's get back to work." Regina watched him while he began talking about his plan to approach Swan and wondered how he managed to outmaneuver her.

EMMA SWAN managed to elude him for a week before he tracked her down at a diner where she waitresses weeknights. Sitting in a booth, he waited until she came near, "What can I get you to drink?" She had a fountain of blonde hair cascading from a neat ponytail, her face was clean, her eyes blue. Her mouth curved down a little.

"Coffee, please."

Setting down a menu, she said, "I'll get that right out."

He watched her walk from table to table to refill water, take empty plates, she was competent and fast on her feet. She returned in under two minutes with a mug under a bowl with creamers. Setting down the mug, she filled the coffee cup with a kettle after pushing the bowl of cream in the center of the table. She set the kettle down and pulled out a notepad. "What can I get you?"

"Five minutes is all I need."

"Excuse me?"

"Emma Swan, I'm Robin Locksley civil attorney with Holloway, Dunn & Gold. I've left you several messages. I figured an in-face attempt would be necessary. All I need is five minutes," he said. "Please," he gestured to the seat in front of him.

Glancing behind her, she sighed. "Fine but I don't know what I can tell you that I haven't told the other lawyer."

Robin waited until she settled, he doctored his coffee and gave her a minute. "I just joined the firm and I do things a little differently. So, I'd like to know your story. How you got here and maybe we can help you."

Her eyes narrowed, "Help me? How?"

He took a sip, "For starters, I can help you figure out how to get straight with the rent. There are programs, Emma. Programs that help single mothers. Is this your only job?"

"No."

"I suspected. I have many clients who have been in a tight fix. I can help you, if you let me. I have a few social worker friends who can set you up with a program. Are you interested?"

She held her notepad tightly, twirled the edges, and chewed on her lip, "I don't want to depend on the system to help me out. I grew up in it, it didn't help me much."

Robin sighed, "I'm not asking you to be in the system long term. I'm telling you they can help you out with cash assistance, temporarily. To help your son," he added.

Her eyes darted to him, "I take care of Henry. He's got clothes, food, and he's in school."

In a friendly gesture, he placed a hand over her busy ones, "I'm not questioning your ability to care for your son, or yourself. I just want to help."

"Why?"

He paused and let himself dig deep into himself and be honest with her. It wasn't something anyone knew about him because he didn't let them see. It was why he wanted to be a lawyer in the first place, he needed to help those who were in her situation.

"My mother tried her best when I was a kid. I changed homes often enough to not fit in. I didn't have new shoes or new clothes. I get where you're at. Maybe not completely, but I get it. I didn't come from houses where there was a constant. I'm telling you this because that's what I want to help you do. Get a constant. Be a constant. It's hard as hell, I'll admit. But you have the drive and determination, I can tell, to get that."

His words touched her, he could see it. "Alright. I'll tell you my story, but I'm working."

"Keep your appointment for Tuesday. Come in and I'll see what I can do. Deal?"

Emma nodded, "Deal." They shook on it. "Are you going to eat lunch?"

Robin smirked and picked up the menu, "I'll take the club sandwich."

REGINA SAT IN GOLD'S office with a notebook in hand and a pen ready. He listed off time, location, and must-haves for the Thanksgiving mixer. While Robin was out in meetings, she was designated to meet up with Gold for his requirements.

"Make sure you plan for 200 guests. The Sheridan is locked down for the location, I just confirmed this morning," he said.

"Nice choice," she said. "I've got a few feelers out and I've reached out to Henrietta to cater the party. They'll do a combination of hors d'oeuvres, appetizers, entrees, and desserts. I have a few design ideas, but I'll run that by Robin first."

"Great. Just make sure you have some space for the dance floor, the DJ, and I want a podium for the speech at the end of the night. I'm sure you can figure out the rest."

"Got it. Anything else?"

"Yea, I want you to fill this out." He handed her an evaluation sheet with Robin's name at the top. "It's been a week, I'd like your take on his progress. Is that a problem?"

"No. I'll take care of it." She slid it under her notebook and jotted down a few more notes before standing and walking into the common room. It was her week to take care of the kitchen. She'd purchased scones, donuts, and cookies that morning.

Putting on a fresh pot of coffee, she reached into a cabinet to replace the pastries missing on the tray. Straightening up the sugar packets, creamers, and wiping the counter, she moved onto the fridge. Checking expiration dates, she chucked a few outdated items and made a note to pick them up that night when she left work.

The dishes were washed and placed on a rack to dry, the rag hung over the side to dry. By the time, she'd finished the room, she had enough time to pull out her grilled chicken salad and sat to eat. While she ate, she used her phone to look up design ideas, made notes, and price lists.

After lunch, she returned to her office to see Robin sitting at his desk with his fingers flying across the keyboard. He had an intense look on his face -as he always did when he worked-his eyes didn't spare her a glance.

Pulling up an excel sheet on her computer, she started to add in the items she needed for the party. She added Henrietta's price points, the price for the food, the cleanup crew. She jotted down possible schedules and printed them off. When she took the papers from the printer, she glanced over as Robin stopped typing. He was eyeing the document, she guessed. Then, the printer next to him sounded and he took a stack of papers and clipped them together.

"How did it go?" she wondered. "Did she talk to you?"

"Who?" Distracted, she watched him pick up notes, jot something down, stick them to the paper. He closed the folder, slid it into a drawer, pulled out another. When he worked like this, she admired it. Despite her impression and his reputation, he worked well, and he could focus when he put his mind to it.

"Swan," she prompted.

He stopped, looked up, "She agreed to meet with me on Tuesday and not to cancel. I want you there," he added. He started working again, writing, posting, switching folders. Typing on the computer and back again in the same rhythm.

"Alright." She watched him and couldn't figure it out. He'd kissed her a week ago and made no move since, not that she wanted him to. It was like he'd forgotten about it and she was grateful, mostly. But, sometimes, he looked at her in a way that warmed her insides. Other times, like now, he all but ignored her.

It was infuriating. "I met with Gold this morning on the mixer. I need your input, when you have the time."

Robin dropped a folder in the drawer, closed it, and put down his pen. "Lay it on me," he said. He typed something on the computer, used his mouse to click a few things, and turned to look at her. "Well?"

"It requires your full attention," she said.

Puffing out a sigh, he stood and pushed his chair to her desk. "Lay it on me," he repeated.

Pulling up a document, she turned the screen to face him. "This list is what Gold is requiring. He wants a dance space, a podium, and room for a DJ. It's at the Sheridan ballroom, it's big enough to accommodate and the guest list is 200."

"Two hundred? Geez, that's a big party," he said. He rubbed his hands on his pants and shook his head, "You can plan this?"

"We can," she corrected. "I've planned parties before, it's really a matter of prioritizing, scheduling, and keeping it all organized. I've hired Henrietta for the catering, I hope you don't mind. We've used her in the past."

"Henrietta?"

"Henrietta Lucas. She owns the diner on Hillcrest and 2nd."

"Granny? I love that diner, I call her Granny. Most people do," he smiled.

"Henrietta," she emphasized, "is a family friend. She's an amazing cook. She'll work on the menu and I trust her implicitly to come up with something perfect."

"No doubt." He pointed, "What's this?"

She clicked on the excel sheet, "I was crunching some numbers. I put in a few things, added some for ideas, and figured I'd talk them over with you. This is our budget," she said and wrote down the figure.

"For a party? Damn, that's just crazy," he said baffled.

"It's doable. Peter Mueller, his lawyers, his wife, and half a dozen of his team are going to be in attendance. I want to take on his case, so this party has to be perfect."

"Case? This party is about taking on his case?"

"Indirectly," she admitted. "We always throw a holiday party, it's our tradition, but there are usually ulterior motives behind it. In this case, Peter Mueller. It could put this firm as the top in the state."

He whistled, "What's the deal?"

"Peter Mueller is suing Texas Tech for breach of Contract. His son, Sean was one of the coaches for the men's basketball team. He had a two-year starting contract followed by a five-year term depending on his work ethic. In the middle of the first year, he was fired by some unknown reason, I'd love to know. So, breach of contract."

"Fired or pushed out? No idea why?"

"I have a few ideas, but none I can verify. Sean was seeing a woman who happened to be a student at the time he was fired. If I can figure out who the student was, it could lead to a reason. I also heard rumors of the coaches trading players for monetary gain. They had a side business with a ring of prostitution, again it can't be proved, and there were a lot more secrets going on behind closed doors."

Robin shrugged, "If you can prove it, it'd be news. Frontpage," he said. "You'd be the hammer to crack it open."

"Exactly. I want it," she said.

"Then, I guess we better plan a hell of a party," he grinned.