Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who answered my questions!

Disclaimer: I only own the events that do not appear familiar to you. The rest belongs to Jane Austen.

Chapter 6

He walked confidently, almost like an arrogant swagger. Almost, but not quite. No, he was too uptight and his expression too severe. And Fitzwilliam Darcy, owner of Pemberley Hotels and holdings and member of the highest echelons of society did not swagger. Such a thing was absurd! Unheard of! What would people think of him? No, he walked with grace and poise, and an impeccable posture.

"Thanks," he said and nodded to Miss Jones as he passed her. When he turned back to address the person he had flown half way around the world for, he fixed the mandatory "it's nice to meet my new business partner whom I care nothing about but have to make a good impression to" smile on his face. That is, he was about to, until he got his first proper look at the occupants of the room.

Two pairs of stupefied blue eyes blinked back at him. The two ladies were wide-eyed and open-mouthed. If he wasn't the one who had landed in this awkward situation, he would have laughed at their startlingly accurate imitation of goldfish. But as it was, he could do nothing but stare back, as wide-eyed and slack-jawed as they were, doing his own excellent impression of the aforementioned species. The speech that he had rehearsed in the car ride died before it was even born.

Slowly, he backed out of the room. He looked at the name plate fixed on the door. Miss R. Elizabeth Bennet. Chairman. Well, he concluded, he hadn't walked into the wrong room. He had followed the secretary. She must know her way around here. Which led him to two options. Either they were in the wrong room, which seemed hardly likely due to the casual way that they were standing in the room as if they owned it. Or one of them was R. Elizabeth Bennet the owner of one of the biggest business conglomerates in the country.

Shit.

What seemed like a century passed before either party found themselves capable of forming sensible thoughts, let alone be able to say something coherent.

"Oh. It's you." Becky blurted out, breaking the stifling silence. Or maybe not so coherent. Darcy blinked, as if he was surprised to be there.

"Uh…"

"Well? What do you want?" Becky cut in impatiently before Darcy could form his sentence properly. "Come on, spit your sentence out. Or has the indomitable Darcy tongue finally been caught? Do tell me which cat got your tongue. I would like to personally thank it."

Again, Darcy tried to begin a sentence; however his wits seemed to have deserted him – traitors - after hearing her sardonic comment. Standing there humming and hawing like a blubbering fool, Darcy wanted to crawl into a hole.

Meanwhile, Becky was rather sadistically enjoying making Darcy squirm. She wasn't usually a vindictive person, but there was something about him that made her want to aggravate him. Maybe it was because he was making it so damn easy to rile him up. His face looked so red that it could spontaneously combust at any given moment. For such a (from what she had seen) stoic person, he had an amazingly broad array of different facial expressions. His look varied from absolute horror to anger – probably at being laughed at – to acute mortification. Darcy would have been quite surprised at how easily Becky could read him. In fact, even Becky was surprised at how well she could read the emotions flitting across his face.

Although she had barely spoken two proper sentences to the man standing before her (not including their arguments), she found that his carefully controlled face was an open book to her. The widening of his eyes and slight opening of his mouth before he schooled his expression indicated his surprise and horror. His nostrils flaring and the almost unnoticeable tightening of his mouth gave him away as being angry or severely displeased, the slight dot of pink on the tip of his ears signified embarrassment, and the way that he kept fidgeting with that signet ring on his little finger gave away his discomfort. She felt a small niggling in the back of her mind that he seemed a little familiar, but she couldn't place that sense of familiarity. So she pushed that thought aside, knowing that she'd remember it at probably the most unexpected of times.

Finally, Becky took pity on him and held out her hand.

"Liz Bennet. Chairman and owner of Wilson and Co. business conglomerate, and all that. Surprised to see me?"

"Hi, I'm William Darcy, President of Pemberley Hotels and holdings. Wait… Liz? But I thought your name was Beck?"

Crap. She was caught out. While she was trying to figure out how to avoid answering that question, the niggling came back. Stronger. What had triggered it this time? All he had done was introduce himself. Turned out that Darcy was his last name, not his first. Wait a second. What did he say that his first name was? William… William… Why did that name sound so familiar to her? William Darcy…

Holy Mother of Flying Cows!

Realisation struck Becky like a bolt of lightning. She suddenly understood why he seemed so familiar. And why she felt as though she knew him very well after only meeting him twice. At this new revelation, she shot out of her chair as if it were a burning hotplate.

"FITZWILLIAM GEORGE ALEXANDER DARCY!" She yelled out before her brain had fully processed its monumental discovery. This man, this arrogant, aloof, rude, conceited, proud, jerk-face, was Will. Her Will.

Will jumped about a foot in the air at her harsh tone. Hearing his full name spoken so sternly for the first time since his mother had died; he was immediately confused and felt oddly ashamed – although he didn't understand what he was in trouble for. They had even gotten the intonation right! Mum? He looked around for his mother before his mind recognised the impossibility of it being his mother come back from the dead to scold him for something he had done wrong. After double checking that there was no one in the room apart from himself and Becky, he snapped his attention back to Becky. How the heckled hens did she know his full name?!

He peered at Becky. She didn't look like the stalker type. Yet the only person other than his sister and close family that knew his full name was…

"Becca?" he gasped.

Darcy racked his brain. He remembered something about Mr Wilson owning a business. And Becca had told him about the accident four years ago. So that would explain why she was here. And why the Chairman of the company was so young. But the name of the woman in front of him was Liz! No, it couldn't be. But…

Wait.

Darcy also shot out of his seat. Without a word, he sprinted to the door, leaving a bemused Becky staring after him. He opened it and looked at the name plate. R. Elizabeth Bennet. R. R stands for… REBECCA!

Shit on toast! What had he done?!

Sheepishly he slunk back into the office.

Sorry for the shortness... writer's block... any suggestions?